#and going to see his recovering lover because it was the only thing keeping him sane and going after so many deaths

[memorydragon]

When you sit down to read an old childhood favorite book and expect covid flashbacks, but don't expect very Loud subtextual commentary about the AIDS epidemic that only put up the most token attempt to camouflage it so the book could actually be published.

[youronlydarlin]

warning: Sex pollen :), noncon/dubcon, some of them are mean on this one, horny desperate men going insane for your hole, not proofread 😭

Jus' over here havin thoughts about sex pollen infecting your favorite boy man

Finding yourself in the middle of a botched mission, you desperately try to open the door that separates you from your lover. You can hear him hacking, n coughing on the other side. N'd your sweet soul's nearly crying at the thought of what's happening to him. Is he dying !? Pink gas escapes from under the door and you don't even have the time to react before it suddenly opens.

Captain John Price who tries keep some of his composure. You must commend him for it, really. But you turn around to see if the coast's still clear and that's all it takes for his composure to break. Before you knew it you're being lifted into the air. Back pressed tightly against your Captain's chest while he holds you up with the back if your knees. He's got you in a full nelson :( And all of a sudden there's a knife in his hands. You cry out at the thought of what he could do to you but you're silenced the moment he uses it to rip an opening through your trousers, all the while he's rutting against your ass, cause he's just so pent up. Oh, you have to understand!

His dick is inside of you the moment it's freed. Tries to be considerate about it, gives you a few seconds to adjust before he's drilling into you with wild abandon. Fucks you so deep, there's a bulge in your tummy and spots in your vision. Sinks to the floor with you the moment he cums, holding you close to his chest and trying to come up with a decent enough explanation.

Simon "Ghost" Riley who let's out a loud grunt before falling on top of you. The impact makes your head spin, and it momentarily knocks the wind out of your lungs. His body crushes yours beneath the concrete floor and you don't have time to recover before the feeling of phantom hands start to roam your body. And you can no longer blame it on your fall, because your trousers are being ripped away by rough gloved hands.

Poor, little, you can't even object when he wrestles you into a mating press :( Shoving two of his thick digits inside of you with no warning. He's moving them in a scissoring motion, and you cant help but cry at the dry, and painful insertion. He's so mean!

"Shhh, puppy... 'I need this..." Doesn't even say please! Doesn't even give you a warning before the mushroom tip of his cock is breaching past your entrance. It's definitely way thicker than his fingers, and a lot more harder to get used to. He uses your bunched up knees as leverage to fuck you deeper, n deeper till your pretty eyes roll to the back of your skull.

He sounds like an animal when he cums. Growling pure filth to your ear while he grinds his dick inside you. Ready for a round 2?

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish who doesn't even wait. He was already hard as a fucking rock, hearing your cute voice cry out for him on the other side of the door. But now that it's opened, the only thing in his mind is dicking you down till your addicted to his cock.

Very impatient. You're literally like a ragdoll to him and he jus' manhandles you so you're face down, ass up :(

Shoves his fingers in your mouth while pulling your trousers down. He eats you out like a man starved. Like this was going to be his first, and last meal. Not a moment later and he's bullying your hole with his fat cock. Babbling nonsense about how fucking tight you are and how he's "waited to do this for so long". But he cums, and he cums deep.

The definition of painting your insides white.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who looks like he's in so much pain. Unlike the other boys he tells you not to get close. He's not right in the head, can't you see that?? But you're sweet. Too sweet, and he wonders if you taste just the same. He's wetting his lips before knows it. He feels terrible. Eye fucking you while you're just trying to get him to talk about what's happening. Is he ok? He's not dying, is he? Tell me where it hurts, please.

You fret over him, and he's never felt such embarrassment in his life before. He feels bad, looking down at the massive tent in his pants. But he feels worse when he's pushing you against the wall. He's tried to hold back. Really, he did. But there's just so much a man like him can take in a situation like this. And he's trying to whisper apologies to you while he hasn't fully lost himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just please....Fffuck–let me fuck you. Please..."

He's so desperate n'd whiney. As if he's not making your thighs shake and your brain into goo. He's fucking your mouth with his tongue, sturdy hands grabbing hold of your legs and wrapping them around his firm waist.

It's all too much. You're brain moving slower than your mouth can say "slow down". In a second he's got your trousers to the side, and his pants bunched up on his knees. He's shaking so much you're worried he might topple over. But he doesn't. Instead he slams his hips directly into yours. Your mouth opening in a silent scream.

He cums the moment he gets his dick in you. He's just so sensitive, ok :( And he doesn't stop at just one round, not even two. Three and his cum's leaking out of you, staining the floor and both of your thighs. Still moving his hips like a man possessed. Four, you're nearly passed out. And there's a slight bump in your stomach from where you're sure his cock, and cum is.

Head lying limp on your shoulder, you wonder how many times you've cummed already, or if this was even going to end. He smiles at you, so brightly he looks like your Kyle again. But he's kissing the side of your mouth before biting at your lips.

"Jus one more. Jus' one more, I promise..."

a/n: I literally don't know what bought this on. Are the parts where I lost motivation obvious? Yes? Ok. Fuck Some characters parts are longer than others I'm so sorry 😭 This has been rotting in my drafts for about 2 days. Hope you enjoy this more than I do 😞. Eat up, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[nochepsicodelica]

Bear boyfriend Toji who dreads getting sick more than the average person. He gets so grumpy during this little stunt in his health because he can't do much besides manage his harsh cough and runny nose, rest in bed and eat, but that's not even what he's most upset about. He's so pissed off that he can't be around you, unless he wants to get you sick too.

Oh, but you make it so hard on him. Walking into the room with a mug of tea with that smile that could nurse anyone back to health. You linger for longer than you should, even after he told you that if you're in there for too long, you'll get sick too. It's an annoying dilemma because on one end, watching you be sick is one of the most heart wrenching things he's ever seen. Like him, you pretend that you're fine, when really you feel so debilitated by the virus that invaded your immune system. You tell him you feel better, but your hearing is muffled and your voice is gravelly and doesn't seem to be recovering quickly. Toji sees right through it and his protective instincts kick in. He insists on doing everything necessary to get you back up and running. On the other end, he wants to see you and kiss you and just hold onto you through this horrible time he's having. He hasn't kissed you in almost three days. It really sucks that he's sick, but it's entirely unfair that you can't be near him. There is truly so much for him to be reasonably grumpy about.

"Hey, you're gonna get wrinkles on your handsome face," you say, smoothing down the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. "Do you really want me out of here that bad?"

He sighs. Your cool hands are heaven on his burning skin. "You know I don't, ma," he croaks out, pulling your hand down from his face and holding it. "I want you here, but you can't stay."

"Baby, you lost your pretty color. You look like a zombie, but also, it's killing me to only be allowed to check on you once every hour. I think it's time I come sleep in here, again."

"No," he protests, while shaking his head. He wishes he had rethought the gesture once he's steady again. He feels like he shook his brain and his head hurts, now.

"Toji, i'm taking care of you. I'm sleeping in our bed, tonight. I'm more worried about you than I am about getting sick."

He wants to laugh at how you sound like a mother scolding her child, but he knows it'll throw him into a nasty coughing fit. He can't argue with you too much in this state. He doesn't want to argue anyway. You care and it feels nice.

"If I get sick, I get sick," you say, settling down next to him, on your side of the bed.

Toji has never been one to pull the 'woe is me' card, but when you're smothering him with so much affection and cooing at him while caressing his uncomfortably warm face, it's hard not to lean into it. You relieve his discomfort with your methods of care. Be it medicinal remedies or your extra love and affection, even your patience. You weren't the one who proposed keeping distance from him. You didn't want to sleep on the couch those last couple nights, but you did it for the sake of letting Toji be comfortable. He's your lover and you don't see a reason to avoid him, like what he has is something more fatal. His contagiousness is disregarded, because it doesn't matter.

You know he would do the same for you so you don't wrinkle your nose when he starts feeling safe enough to nuzzle into you and sluggishly kiss you, while clinging onto you. He's extra clingy, too. Your body is a lot cooler than his, so it feels nice when he rests his cheek on your chest or when his hot, clammy hands go to your arms. You don't turn away or block your face when he coughs. You rub menthol onto his reddened chest and neck, and watch as he grins dumbly when his nose clears up for a little. When he falls asleep, you stay with him, even if he doesn't wake up for the next five hours. You watch over him and only get up to grab things that are necessary, like his medicine, some water, and a damp towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead and neck.

He takes on the role of the little spoon when you take care of him. Being pampered by you makes him feel small in all the best ways. He feels protected, like you're his guardian. It's really as if the only remedy he needs is you. The expanse of your love for him is unquantifiable, but when you wrap your smaller arms around him and press featherlight kisses onto his skin, it's like a force field that blankets him.

[hsunrry]

better // one shot

drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: you’re both actors, who’re competing in everything what’s possible. (special request from my dear love @drewsvies)

|| masterlist ||

words: ~2,3k

tropes: rivals to lovers

warnings: smut18+, dirty talking (praise, degradation), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, chocking, hair pulling, size kink, edging (if you squint)

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you thought you’d never get along with him. you two had too big of an ego to ever admit one of you is better than the other. not even at any interviews or whatever. the worst thing was, that you were getting tired of it, but you were stubborn. so stubborn you couldn’t even process the thought of admitting that. “look who it is.” he smirked, leaning on the wall next to you when you were reading your script. you rolled your eyes at his appearance, causing his smirk go bigger at your reaction. he knew you hated when he was looking at your script, but he did it anyway just to provoke you. “what are you reading?” he tried to look at it, but you quickly closed it.

“what do you think?” you asked sarcastically. he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“i think it’s probably some boring script you’re trying to memorise for your next mediocre role.” he teased, pushing himself off the wall to stand beside you.

“better than yours anyway.” you shrugged, going back to reading.

“oh come on, we both know my last role was amazing.” he scoffed, trying to peek at your script again.

“yeah, keep telling yourself that.” you shook your head.

“fine, be that way.” he crossed his arms over his chest, pouting sarcastically. “but just so you know, i heard the director is looking for someone to play the lead in his new project and he thinks i’d be perfect for this role.”

“okay? if it’s male role then i don’t really care.” you shrugged.

“they didn’t decided yet if it’s male or female. it’s just the lead.” he emphasised.

“so both?” you raised your eyebrow. he paused, realising his mistake.

“well, i mean, even if, you know i would still get it over you anyway. we both know i’m the better actor here.” he quickly tried to recover. you smiled slyly.

“it’s gonna be mine.” his expression turned competitive at your words.

“no way, it’s mine.” he leaned closer to you, his voice low. “and when i do get it, you’ll have to admit that i’m the better actor.”

“let’s bet then.” you smirked, looking up at him. he grinned, taking the bait.

“okay, if i get it, you’ll have to admit i’m better. if you get it, i’ll admit that you’re better.” you nodded, extending your hand. he looked at it and then at you. “and, to make it more interesting…” you raised your eyebrow at his words, backing away your hand. “if i win you have to be my personal assistant for a week and if you win i’ll be yours.” he extended his hand, waiting for you to shake it. “so, do we have a bet?”

“fine.” you shook his hand. he grinned triumphantly.

“great, and no backing out.” he winked at you, his confidence oozing out of every pore.

“you know i’d never back out.” you smirked.

“i can’t wait to see the look of your face when i win.” he paused, then added smugly. “but hey, at least you’ll get a week of quality time with me, right?” you only smiled sarcastically at his words. after a week, you were both sitting on set, waiting for emails about this role. he checked his phone for the millionth time, his leg bouncing nervously. “i swear, if this email doesn’t come through soon, i’m going to lose my mind.” he glanced over at you, furrowing his brows. “you seem awfully calm.”

“because i’m sure i got this.” you smiled. “oh, someone’s nervous, Drew?” you pouted mockingly. he glared at you, his face flushing slightly.

“shut up, i’m just… eager.” he crossed his legs, his fingers drumming on the armrest. “you’re really not worried at all?” he asked, his voice tight with tension. you shrugged.

“shit, i got an email.” you said, looking at your phone. his eyes widened slightly as he looked at his own phone.

“fuck, me too.” he sat up straight.

“should we open equally?” you bite your lower lip, looking at your phone.

“on three?” he asked and when you nodded he continued. “one, two, three…” together, you both tapped on the emails to open them, the both of you silent as you read. he let out a low groan. you smirked, still looking at your phone. his face pale when he looked at you. “you… you got it, didn’t you?” his voice barely a whisper. he reached out and snatched your phone, his eyes scanning the screen. “fuck!”

“well, Drew, i’m listening then.” you smiled, grabbing your phone back. he glared at you, his jaw clenched.

“fine. you’re… better.” he gritted out. he leaned back in his seat, chuckling humourlessly. “what’s on my to-do-list for today, your highness?” his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“bring me coffee to my dressing room.” you stood up from your seat. “black, no sugar.” you started going towards your room. he rolled his eyes, annoyed. you quickly undressed yourself completely, putting on red silk bathrobe to be more comfortable at your break. after few minutes you heard a knock.

“your coffee, princess.” you heard, his voice dripping with sarcasm one again. you said he can come in, and when he did he froze in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance. he swallowed hard, trying not to stare at your bare legs. “uh, here’s your coffee.” he managed to say, his voice a little hoarse and he could feel himself getting harder in his pants.

“just put it somewhere.” you said dismissively, looking through your vanity table. he stepped further into the room, setting it down on the table that was standing near the couch. “here.”

“thanks.” you mumbled, bending down for the few baskets that were on the floor. his lips parted slightly when your robe opened slightly, giving him a view on your cleavage. his body reacted instantly, his pulse quickening as heat pooled in his stomach. he cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. “you’re waiting for another command, dog?” you smirked when you straightened. he glared at you, his face flushing in frustration.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he growled. you bit inside of your cheek, fixing your robe. “you’re… you’re not wearing anything under that?” his voice dropping to a low rumble. he could feel himself hardening even more, his body aching with need.

“excuse me?” you let out nervous chuckle. he stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours.

“just answer the question.” he could feel his self-control slipping, his body urging him to touch you, to find out for himself. “are you naked under that robe?”

“well, yeah.” you shrugged. he let out a low growl, his hands clenching at his sides.

“you can’t just… walk around half-naked in front of me.”

“and why is that?” we’re in my dressing room, i can even walk naked if i want.” you stated. he looked around the room, as if searching for an escape route.

“because i’m trying not to do something stupid.” his voice strained as he talked. “and it’s really fucking hard when you’re standing there, looking like a fucking goddess.” your eyes widened at his words. he clamped his hand over his mouth, he couldn’t believe he said it out loud.

“well, well, well, Drew Starkey just said something nice about me, what’s the occasion?” you smirked, crossing your arms on your chest. he groaned, looking at your exposed cleavage, before going back with his eyes at your face.

“i’m gonna do something i’ll regret.”

“what?” you chuckled. before you could even react, he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. his hands grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him. you moaned into the kiss as if shocked that he was hard. he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. your hand unintentionally brushed against his length. he broke the kiss, buckling his hips into your touch.

“please... please touch me.” he begged, his voice dripping with need. he couldn’t believe he was begging you like this, but at this moment, he didn’t care.

“fuck, what are we doing?” you took few steps back, your legs hitting the couch, causing you sit down on it. he followed you, his eyes on you this whole time.

“i don’t know, but i don’t fucking care right now.” he kneeled down in front of you on the floor. his hands untied your robe, opening it and exposing you to him. he leaned in, pressing his lips to your nipple and sucking it. you took sharp breath at the contact. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he continued to lavish attention to your breasts. his hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers parting your wet folds. he slowly slid one finger inside of you, pumping in and out few times before adding second one. his thumb rubbed against your clit in slow circles.

“fucking god.” you gasped, your head snapping back. he watched your face as he fingered you, his own breath heavy and ragged. he could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, your body trembling already. he added a third finger, scissoring them inside of you. “holy fuck.” you moaned. he pumped his fingers faster, his thumb rubbing harder against your clit. he could sense you were close, your body tensing and shaking. he curled his fingers inside of you and it was enough to make you finish. you cried out, arching your back. he moved his fingers slowly to prolong your pleasure. as you came down from your high, he removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. he stood up, his hands unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. your eyes widened at his size. he knew he was big, and judging by the look in your eyes, you liked it. he took off his t-shirt as well, crawling on top of you on the couch. he settled himself between your legs, nudging his tip against your entrance.

“i need to fuck you. hard.” he licked his lips. you nodded, feeling him thrusting into you hard and burying himself to the hilt. you almost screamed, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he started to pound into you hard and fast. only sound filling the room were your mixed moans and skin slapping against skin.

“fuck, you’re so big.” you cried out. he groaned, his pace becoming even more frenzied. he was losing control, his mind consumed by the feeling of being inside of you. he pulled out almost completely before slamming back inside, his thickness stretching you to your limits.

“you’re so tight, i’m gonna fucking ruin you!” he muttered, wrapping his hand around your throat, applying just right amount of pressure to make your eyes roll back. he could feel your pulse pounding against his fingers and it turned him on even more. he started to thrust even faster and harder. “look at me, slut. look me in the eyes when i fuck you.” you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. he squeezed your throat a little tighter. “i love watching you look at me like that. so pretty, so fucking helpless.”

“fuck, Drew.” you gasped, wrapping your legs around his hips. the new angle allowed him to go even deeper, his cockhead kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“taking my fucking dick so well, good girl.” he could feel your body tensing up again, your inner muscles clutching at him tightly. he knew you were close. he slowed his pace. “not yet, baby. not until i say.” you whined desperately at his slow moves, making him chuckle. his hand let go of your throat, caressing your lower lip instead. “patience, sweetheart. i’m going to fuck this perfect pussy until you’re a babbling mess. then, and only then, i’ll let you cum on my cock.”

“please.” you cried. he slowly withdrew until just the tip was inside, then pushed back in inch by inch, painfully slow. he did it few times, before pulling out and gripping your hips. he turned you around, so you were on your hands and knees. he positioned himself behind you, slowly pushing back. he immediately started pounding hard and fast, making you moan loudly. your hands gripped couch cushion.

“that’s it, baby, fucking take it. scream for me. let everyone know who this pussy belongs to.” he grinned, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back hard, making you look at the ceiling and arch your back. “look at that face. so pretty and fucked out. you’re mine, baby. my pretty little fucktoy.”

“yours.” you whined. he fucked you harder, his hips slapping against your ass with brutal force.

“fuck, i’m gonna fill this pussy up. you want that, whore?” he panted.

“yes, fill me up.” you moaned.

“good fucking girl, i’m gonna breed you so good.” he groaned loudly.

“yes, fucking god, yes!” he felt your body shook as you came, your inner muscles clenching around his thick shaft. his own release washed over him, his hips jerking forward as he buried himself to the hilt and unloaded inside of you. his warm seed spilled out around his thickness, dripping down your thighs. you could feel your body getting weak. he slowly pulled out, his softening cock slipping free from your stretched hole. he turned you over, sitting you astride his lap. his lips found yours in soft, sweet kiss. when he felt his release dripping out of you he cupped your swollen, well used folds with his hand.

“you took me so well, baby.” you rested your forehead against his, smiling softly at his words. he smiled back at you, his fingers gently caressing your swollen pussy, spreading his release around. he slipped his finger inside you, causing your whine. “shh, just relax, sweetheart. i’m going to keep all my cum inside this perfect little cunt.”

[awearywritersworld]

i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you

sukuna x reader summary: you and sukuna go out for a late night meal. gojo finds out about your... relationship. sukuna is forced to take care of you when you come home drunk. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. fluff. lots of banter. cursing. jealous/protective!sukuna. gojo being a flirt. aged up!yuuji. features a teeny bit of yuuji x reader. drinking and drunk!reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i think i like how this turned out! also, the first two sections could def be read as a fluffy lil stand alone. idc whats happening in the canonverse, sukunas just a tsundere who adores us very much<3 series masterlist // masterlist

"maybe if you stare long enough, food will magically appear," sukuna calls to you from the kitchen table.

"this is no joking matter," you scold from your place in front of the fridge. "i'm starving."

"well, here's an absurd idea— let's go eat."

you turn toward him, finally closing the fridge, and tilt your head to the side. "you eat?"

"of course." he leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "i typically prefer babies, but hell, i'd even go for an old man right now. i'm famished."

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. he lets the panic simmer on your face for a few more cruel moments. "i'm kidding, idiot. i eat food, same as you."

"i knew that," you assert. the way your shoulders sag in relief tells him otherwise.

"right," he smirks. after standing up, he grabs your purse and tosses it in your direction. "where to? you're buying."

with only so many places open at midnight, you begin your journey to a 24 hour ramen shop.

you've hardly interacted with sukuna outside of your apartment, so this is certainly an experience you didn't anticipate. and in fact, you're shocked at how normal it feels— almost as if it's a date.

as you walk down the street, people eye him suspiciously because of the dark lines they assume are tattoos. it doesn't bother you though, nor does the lateness of the hour. you know that you're safe because you're with him.

your hands keep brushing against one another's, and you're hoping that he'll eventually take a hint and reach for yours. he doesn't (i mean come on, do you even know who you're dealing with?).

he does at least pick up on your pouty expression with impressive ease. "what now?"

"nothing," you huff.

"don't be a brat."

you sigh dramatically. "you're supposed to hold my hand."

"sure princess," he says condescendingly, lacing his fingers through yours. "maybe use your words next time like a big girl."

he doesn't fail to notice the ensuing skip in your step, and he kicks himself for regarding it as cute.

when you arrive at the ramen shop, sukuna orders no less than three bowls, which earns him a glare once the waitress walks away.

"when i agreed to pay, i didn't know what a glutton you are."

"oh yeah? cause i'm just the picture of temperance any other time?"

you scoff. "well you've got me there."

a sly smirk settles onto his face before he speaks again. "maybe one day you'll learn how greedy i am when it comes to the things i've deemed pleasurable."

you choke on the water you'd just brought to your lips, your face heating up as if it'd been bathed by fire.

wiping at your mouth, you try your best to recover quickly. "whatever, you hellion. as long as that doesn't involve a fourth bowl of ramen."

you're no more than 10 steps away from the shop when you hold out your hand to him. "ahem."

he grabs it roughly and not without rolling his eyes.

"what?" you ask innocently. "that was a word."

"hardly," he jeers. "for as much as you read, i'd expect you to be more fluent than a child."

"and at 1000 years old, i'd expect you to be more charming than a teenage boy, but i guess we're both making concessions."

"see, this is the part that puzzles me. you never seem to have trouble with your words when you're being insolent."

"maybe it's a sign," you begin whimsically. "the universe decided you need to be taken down a peg."

"ah, yes. you as the executor of the universe's will. i don't know why i couldn't see it before."

you giggle, rather delighted that he's elected to play along with your quips. there's something that feels so warm and pleasant about it.

as you wonder if he feels it too, your hand tightens around his.

you're not quite ready to head back to your apartment just yet, because you're scared you'll lose the atmosphere surrounding the two of you. in truth, it's a bit intoxicating.

the perfect opportunity arises when you spot a small park up ahead. lights are strung around the trees, all of which are situated around a small fountain.

"we should stop at that park!" you hardly finish speaking before you take off in that direction, tugging him along behind you.

after you plop down on the fountain's ledge, sukuna takes his place beside you.

"let's sit here for a little while."

he doesn't respond and you take his silence as agreement. he's not really one to stifle his grievances.

as the minutes pass, the rush of the fountain is the only noise that fills the air, while you gaze at the trees with a serene expression.

sukuna, however, is looking at you. the only care he has for the trees is the way their lights reflect in your eyes. otherwise, he's fully occupied by the curve of your nose and the fullness of your lips.

"isn't this pretty?" you finally ask.

"it's pretty," he agrees, even when such a soft word feels foreign on his tongue.

his eyes still haven't left you, and you seem to be oblivious to this fact until he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the back of fingers.

when your gaze lands on him, the fondness written all over his face catches you off guard and you realize how close the both of you are. without really thinking about it, you lean into his touch.

"very pretty," he repeats lowly, as if he's talking to himself.

your heart lurches once in your chest, then hammers away at your ribcage without respite. he leans toward you a fraction of an inch, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief second.

truthfully, sukuna has never felt the way he does in this moment. it's a sincere sort of desire. he doesn't want the mindless devotion he once thirsted for from his followers. and he doesn't want the sex he used to crave from his concubines.

no. he just wants you— in whatever capacity you're willing to have him.

the way he's looking at you is just too much. there's a dull thudding in your ears and you swear your thoughts are moving at a million miles a minute.

so naturally, you blurt out the first thing you can manage. "we should take a selfie!"

his face shifts from whatever that expression was to one of confusion. "take a selfie?"

some twisted mix of relief and disappointment crashes through you.

"yeah, a selfie. a picture together. ya know, since the park is so pretty," you ramble.

he pulls away from you. not all the way, but enough that it gives you space to finally breath. he chuckles and it doesn't sound lofty like it so often does. in fact, he seems genuinely amused by you.

"a selfie," he deliberates. "that sounds great, but to the best of my knowledge, hell hasn't frozen over."

and just like that, your dynamic feels like it did during your walk from the ramen shop to the park— comfortable and fun.

"well i guess you would be one of the first to know."

ignoring his protests, you take out your phone and hold it far enough away that the camera captures both of your faces. you can see on the screen that he's put on an expression of complete boredom.

"c'mon," you nudge him with your elbow. "you look like you hate me."

the corner of his mouth curves upward. "that's because i do."

you think back on the way he was gazing at you just moments ago and laugh. "you're so full of shit."

then, without warning, you press a kiss to his cheek and click the button.

you decide that his vague look of contented surprise will just have to do.

when you and yuuji walk into the bar, you immediately spot one of the people you're there to meet. he's sitting at a hightop by himself, his snow white hair pretty hard to miss.

you tap his shoulder and his face breaks out into a grin. he slides out of the barstool. "if it isn't my favorite civilian!"

as he pulls you into a hug, you wonder if he's ever going to get tired of that joke. "if it isn't my favorite old man."

"35 is not old," he argues, moving to greet yuuji. "i'm still in the summer of my life, thank you very much!"

"gojo you're 36," the pink haired man remarks.

"gah! such betrayal, yuuji!" he presses his hand to his forehead and takes a deep breath. "now i'm going to need another round."

"i'll go and get drinks for all of us," you offer. "you two stay here so no one takes the table."

before either of them can respond, you turn and begin making your way through the crowd. you don't hear gojo when he calls out, "but darling! i should go with you!"

he takes a step in your direction, but stops when sukuna's mouth appears on yuuji's cheek. "you certainly should not, you insufferable half wit."

"relax, dude. he flirts with literally everyone," yuuji informs him.

gojo scoffs. "i am right here—"

"as if that makes it better?" sukuna barks. "she isn't some toy to be played with."

"of course she isn't! you can't honestly think i'd believe otherwise."

gojo is left forgotten for a moment as the other two bicker, so he interjects once there's a lull in the conversation. "do either of you care to explain what the hell is going on?"

yuuji turns toward him, trying and failing to hide the embarrassment on his face once he realizes that gojo is, in fact, still standing there.

his eyebrows are raised above his sunglasses and it's clear he is inappropriately amused by the situation (what else is new?). he moves to sit across from the younger man, looking at him expectantly.

having no way to talk himself out of this, yuuji relays the recent events regarding you and sukuna, sparing some of the finer details. gojo's face doesn't really betray much emotion throughout the story, though he does look thoughtful by the end of it.

leaning forward, he crosses his arms on top of the table. "maybe your feelings for her are influencing his own, forcing a sort of bond between them?"

"i don't think so," yuuji contends honestly. "other than her, you're the person i admire and respect the most, but he thinks—"

"that you are perhaps the most imbecilic rampallion i've ever had the displeasure of coming across."

gojo jerks back, as if the insult had hit him squarely in the jaw. the look of giddiness from yuuji's compliment, followed by the shift to indignation at sukuna's insult is almost comical.

he stretches his neck forward, cupping his hand around one side of his mouth as if it'd keep sukuna from hearing. "what'd he just call me?"

yuuji shrugs. "beats me, but i don't think he was singing your praises."

"i see your point." gojo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. you're approaching the table, so he turns back to yuuji and quickly adds, "we'll talk more about this another time, but for now, keep this between us."

a few moments later, you appear in front of them and exclaim, "look who i found!"

megumi and inumaki situate themselves around the table too, offering their greetings. you slide yuuji and gojo their drinks, both of which are filled to the brim of the glass. "now then gentlemen, shall we?"

when gojo teleports you and yuuji back to your apartment that night, it takes everything in you to keep from yakking all over your carpet.

"ta ta, hooligans!"

you turn to request that he never do that again, but he's already gone. taking one step forward, you promptly fall on your ass in the entryway with an unforgiving thud. yuuji staggers toward the couch, making it there just in time to face plant into the cushions.

looking down toward your shoes, you're dismayed to find that each one appears to have two sets of laces. you're fumbling with them determinedly when someone crouches down in front of you, their elbows resting on their thighs.

he doesn't say a word. brushing your hands away, he unties your shoes and carefully pulls them off your feet. you're lifted from the floor before you can register the arm that's looped under your knees or the other that's securely around your back.

"careful," you hiccup, your head falling into the crook of his neck. "'m gunna p-puke."

"i'd rather you didn't."

you groan. "s'not like i 'ave a choice in the matter."

he hums. "how much did you drink?"

"dunno. sss'much. nobara—" you hiccup again. "nobara n' maki made me."

he chuckles, placing you down on what you figure is your bed. "right, i'm sure you had no choice in the matter."

"tha's correct, yes."

unbuttoning your jeans, he tugs upward on your belt loops. "lift."

you do as he says, lifting your hips from the bed so he can slide your jeans off your legs. he knows you won't remember this— hell, your eyes are already closed— but he looks away as he does it anyway.

pulling your phone from your pocket and putting it on the charger, your pants are discarded off to the side. he only turns his head back in your direction once he's pulled the blankets up over your body.

"tuck me in?" you request.

sitting down on the bed beside you, he does so without protest.

he stares at you for a little while, worried about how poorly you're probably going to feel in the morning. he presses a kiss to your forehead, intending to get up and grab a water bottle for your nightstand.

instead, his body freezes when he hears you mumble, "i love you s'much."

his heart clenches so painfully, he honestly considers ripping it from his chest— it would probably be less agonizing.

but a thought that makes him feel like a fool occurs to him. of course it's not him that you love. "i'm not yuuji."

"well, duuuhhh. you're s'kuna." you're peering up at him through tired, hazy eyes. it's the first time you've ever seen him look bewildered, so a small giggle erupts from your throat. "s'okay. you don't 'ave t'say it back."

your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out before he even thinks to respond. all at once, it's as if his head is empty and as if it's about to explode.

love?

what does he know about love? it's a sentiment he's cursed for so long, but sitting here beside you, he can't quite seem to remember why. one thing he is sure of, however, is that there's never been a thing in the world he's loved.

suddenly, he's struck with remembrance of a quote from jane eyre you had emphasized with messy underlines:

"after a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you. you are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. i am bound to you with a strong attachment. i think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

rochester says it as he begs jane to stay at thornfield with him, an act sukuna had previously regarded as ridiculous, but is that still the case?

were you to ever scorn him, would he fall to his knees and plead with you to change your mind? or if you were in danger of dying, would he drag himself to a shrine and pray to the gods he doesn't believe in?

is that what love is?

could he stand to be apart from you? are you special to him? does anything else in the world compare to you? does he seek out your company? is he consumed by you? can he know himself without knowing you?

does the definition of love lie in those questions?

sukuna hopes not, because he's terrified of the answers. being in love is not his way, nor is it in his nature.

he buries his face in his hands as realization settles into his bones. it feels as if they're splintering beneath the pressure, trying resentfully to stave it off.

he transcends any imaginable scale of power. he's bled entire villages dry, he's commandeered death, he's the king of curses.

so why now? and why you? is it divine retribution? a sick sort of joke that even he couldn't have dreamed up?

gods, you were right. the universe has sent you to carry out its will and he's completely powerless to stop it.

the worst part of it all? he doesn't want to.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @thepup356 @risuola *users in bold could not be tagged

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: When M6 are forced to attack MC

-- to set the scene --

It was a nightmare.

Thick clouds of miasma hung over the city as you and your lover confronted the sorcerer in the fields outside its walls. Between a series of traps and some well-placed taunts, you had successfully cornered them, which meant that while victory was in sight your opponent was down to their last desperate measure.

The measure in question, it seemed, was for the most horrifying three minutes of your life as you watched your lover struggle against a vicious spell before suddenly turning on you. Their usual loving gaze was replaced with a cold glare and they didn't hesitate to lunge at you with the intent to kill. You ended up choosing to take the hits and focus your energy on dealing the last blow to the evil sorcerer instead, not wanting to waste time hurting the one you love.

As the dust settles, you're too relieved to see cognizance return to your darling's face to notice their horrified expression, or to feel your own blood soaking the ground below you.

Julian

Too busy focused on trying to keep you conscious and heal you to do anything else at first. He's already crying, tears leaking from under his eyepatch as he gives you frantic first aid

Can barely bring himself to look at you once you're safely tucked in at Mazelinka's and being tended to by visitor after visitor. You will need to remind him day after day that it's not his fault

And, yes, convince him not to leave you because of it

Still won't be able to find any peace with it until you tell him you've forgiven him, and even then struggles to believe he's worthy of it

Tends obsessively to your wounds, in a weird combination of torturing himself by constantly checking them and redeeming himself by being the one to help his uncontrolled actions heal

Is able to hold it against himself less the less he sees you suffering. Once you're fully recovered and back on your feet, it feels more like a distant nightmare

Has a new interest in learning magic, if only enough so he can protect himself against behind hijacked like that in the future

Asra

Completely numb and on autopilot. You're hurt. They're going to do whatever it takes to fix that. Just hold on, it'll be okay - it'll be okay

Refuses to leave your side or sleep for very long at a time while you're recovering. It's like his world has narrowed to your survival

Unusually quiet. As in, barely speaks unless you speak to them first, and yet hyper-observant to the point that they're bringing you what you need before you even realize that you need it

Neglects everything beyond his own basic self-maintenance in the process. It's easier to forget himself and save his own pain and guilt to be processed until after he knows you're safe

Itching to heal over any scars left over and terrified of suggesting it and seeming like they just want to brush the whole thing aside

Has to be pushed to talk about it and won't open up until after you're completely back to normal, at which point he breaks down and spends an afternoon hiccuping "I'm sorry"s into your chest

Regresses to a lot of their previous boundaries until you can tell them that you still feel safe with them physically and emotionally

Nadia

She has no doubts about you being a strong person. While she's horrified at what her body was used to do to you and the injuries you sustained, she's most upset at her losing control so easily

She feels guilty for you getting hurt, because she's convinced that she should have been able to withstand the sorcerer's spell

Surely, if she loved you as truly as you deserve to be loved, she would've been able to break free or stop it from working

Carries you back to the Palace herself and sees to it that you have everything you could possibly need, before effectively avoiding you for the next few days. She's convinced your relationship is over

Either because you're leaving her for not being able to protect you, or because you've lost your respect for her as a partner

It's also tapping into her own trauma of being trapped inside her body for a three year coma, which doesn't help the frustration

Genuinely unsure what to do with your forgiveness, understanding, and continued love and admiration for her

She doesn't know what she did to deserve you but she loves you

Muriel

The first count he holds against himself is that he hurt you. The second count is that he was so horrified and traumatized by what just happened that he froze while you were still bleeding out

Thankfully there were other people present to help you out, and you didn't have to find out what could've gone wrong

Refuses to touch you for days. If anybody else had caused the damage he sees on your body, he'd be wishing hell on them. Except not only was it his hands that did it -

He was controlled that easily. He's spent years reclaiming control and ownership of his body after being made a spectacle of in the Coliseum, and in a flash it was all taken away from him again

And it was used to hurt you. None of his nightmares adds up to the combination of violated, afraid, and horrified that he just felt

Relegates himself to being your bodyguard and keeping you provided for, but terrified that you're not safe around him until you're able to convince him otherwise

It's still a reoccurring nightmare for years to come

Portia

So angry at you for not fighting back

Already crying and scolding you while she's putting pressure on your wounds to stop the bleeding and helping you get back home

Did you think she couldn't take it? Did you think she wanted you to get hurt at her hands? Why didn't you fight her back if it would have spared you so much pain?

Why didn't you help her enforce what you knew were her own wishes, and at the cost of your safety and well-being too?

Simultaneously dedicating every fibre in her body to taking care of you. If you so much as breathe a little differently she's checking you over and bringing you whatever you need

Eventually able to find her own healing by being able to accept your love and by beating the absolute crap out of the sorcerer in question until she gets an "I was wrong" out of them

Determined to learn defense and protection magic to makes sure neither of you is left that vulnerable, ever again

Still cries when she sees the leftover scars, sometimes

Lucio

Pale from the shock of what's just happened and trying not to panic as he gives you all the first aid he's picked up through years of battlefield injuries and experience

Frantically muttering "don't leave, don't leave" through clenched teeth and pouring tears while he tries to get the bleeding to stop

Rushes you to the nearest doctor and won't leave your side

Convinced that you're not going to be able to love him after this

He knows he's done things worse than this in the past. He knows that you know that, but the thing that's made a better life possible has been his commitment to not being that person any more

And now he was that person. Event though it wasn't his choice and technically not his fault, he still did it. To you. You experienced it

Also worried that you won't understand that it wasn't his fault this time and wondering if maybe it was his fault, somehow

Able to accept your love and forgiveness pretty easily, but has a much harder time believing that he didn't lose all the progress he's made so far in making good use of his fresh start on life

[steveseddie]

rain check

steddie | rating: t | cw: none | wc: 3k | tags: steve has a crush on eddie, but he thinks eddie hates him, (spoiler alert: he doesn’t), miscommunication, confessions, flirting

click here to read on ao3

The sky starts falling just as Steve leaves Family Video. 

He doesn’t mean it literally- although he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the next weird thing to happen in Hawkins. After the Spring Break from Hell they just had, anything feels possible. 

For now it only means that it starts raining. Hard. So hard, in fact, that running across the parking lot to get to his car is enough to soak Steve’s Nikes and the bottom of his jeans, as well as flatten his hair against his forehead- his umbrella doing very little against the wind pushing the water in all directions.

“It couldn’t start raining five fucking minutes later?” Steve mutters, tossing the umbrella in the back and settling in the driver’s seat. 

His jeans stick uncomfortably to his legs and his shoe makes a squelching noise when he presses it against the pedal. Steve grimaces. He can’t wait to get home and change into dry clothes. 

Unfortunately, he can’t rush home to do that, not under these conditions. He has to drive slowly, squinting his eyes at the windshield to try and make out the road through the pouring rain. 

Steve considers pulling over and waiting for the rain to go down, hating that he feels like he’s driving blind, but he knows there’s a chance he’ll be waiting for a long time. 

So he keeps driving- slowly, carefully. It seems he’s the only person in Hawkins who got caught in the rain so crashing into another car right now because he can’t see past his windshield seems unlikely, and there’s no way someone would choose to walk under these conditions.

Or at least that’s what he thinks. 

Steve doesn’t see him at first- the only other person who’s out in the storm. 

He’s walking on the side of the road, hunched shoulders, no umbrella- not that it would do any good with the wind blowing every which way. 

It takes a moment for Steve to recognize him, but as his car gets closer and he squints at the guy through the window, Steve notices the familiar clothes, from the drenched leather jacket to the muddy Reeboks, as well as the familiar wet curls plastered to his face from the rain.

Steve’s heart swoops in his chest the way it always does these days when he sees Eddie. Almost immediately his stomach churns- also the way it does lately when he sees him. 

Because for some reason that Steve can’t comprehend, Eddie Munson hates his guts. 

Before the Spring Break from Hell, Steve wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Eddie hated him. In highschool, Steve was everything Eddie would stand on a table and loudly proclaim his hatred for- a rich popular jock. But after everything they went through, after fighting side by side to prevent the end of Hawkins, after Eddie jumped into Lover’s Lake to save Steve and Steve dragged an injured Eddie back from the Upside Down, Steve expected Eddie’s opinion on him to have changed. Hell, Eddie had even called Steve cool and badass and maybe even flirted with him a little.

Now, Steve is tempted to believe it was all a hallucination brought on by the demobat bites because as soon as it was over, and as soon as Eddie recovered from his own bites, it was like none of that happened. 

Eddie went back to hating Steve, shutting down his every attempt to get to know him and to become friends. 

It probably wouldn’t bother him so much if he wasn’t the only one Eddie seems to be avoiding, the only one he refuses to spend time with, but he is. In the last few months, Eddie has effectively wormed his way into their little group, becoming friends with everyone except him. He has study dates with Nancy, he hangs out with Robin, he has his nerdy campaigns with the kids and he has become Max’s go-to person for rides to the arcade and the skate park and the diner. All while shutting down every single one of Steve’s invitations to hang out and his attempts to start any conversations. 

It fucking sucks- especially because the constant rejection hasn’t done anything to squash Steve’s crush on the guy. 

Because even if Eddie ices him out and is sometimes a dick to Steve, he’s nothing like that with everyone Steve cares about. He’s good with the kids- constantly driving them to and from the arcade and Family Video, planning campaigns for them even during the summer. He’s nice to Robin- bringing her lunch to work, taking her thrift shopping in Indy. He’s sweet to Max- keeping her company when her mom is working, letting her paint his nails or braid his hair. 

And Steve can’t ignore any of that, or how cute Eddie is when he rambles about some nerdy book, or how hot he looks when he puts his hair up in a bun to fight off the heat or how talented he is when he plays his guitar.

Steve is helpless in the face of all of that, and within months, he finds himself falling for a guy who won’t give him the time of the day.

He knows it’s pathetic and yet, Steve keeps trying, hoping that Eddie will give him a chance, even if it’s just to be friends.

That might be why, instead of driving past him, Steve pulls the car over next to him, leaning across the console to roll down the passenger’s side window.

“Eddie! Hey!” He yells to be heard over the rain. 

Eddie whips his head around, brushing his wet bangs away from his eyes to peek through the window. When he recognizes Steve, his jaw clenches. Steve pretends it doesn’t hurt that the sight of him is enough to make Eddie tense up. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” He shoots back. He only ever calls him Harrington- not Steve or any outrageous nicknames. 

It shouldn’t bother him, but Eddie has nicknames for all of their friends- Birdie, Red, Wheels. So it’s just another reminder to Steve that he’s on the outside when it comes to Eddie. 

When Steve doesn’t reply, Eddie gives him a mean look. “Did you just stop to brag about having a fancy car to get you home while some of us have to walk in the rain?” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit in a frown, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Dude, no, of course not.” 

“Then what do you want?”

He does his best to ignore his hostility. “Where are you headed?” 

“Home,” Eddie says, his reply clipped. 

And because Steve is a pathetic man with a crush, he unlocks the passenger door and says: “Get in.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you a ride, man, get in,” Steve says, gesturing at the passenger seat. Eddie glares at it like it’s going to bite his ass. 

“I don’t need a ride,” he says with a huff.

“Dude, you still have like, five miles left in this downpour,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. Yes, he has a crush on the guy, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get on Steve’s nerves. 

Especially when he’s being a stubborn ass. “It looks like it’s stopping,” he says with a shrug. 

Steve groans, throwing his head back against the headrest in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Munson! Get in the car!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that an order, King Steve?” He quips, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s tempted to drive away and leave Eddie to walk five miles in the rain, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not even about his crush anymore, it’s just that Steve is a decent guy- no matter what Eddie seems to think. 

“Look, man. Whatever reason you have to hate me can’t be worth drowning out here or- or catching like, pneumonia or something. Just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean I don’t care if you die, okay? So suck it up and stop being a dick for five minutes and get in the fucking car!” Steve snaps. He didn’t mean to yell, but maybe he underestimated just how frustrated he feels about Eddie hating him for no reason. 

For a few seconds, Eddie just stands there, stunned, the rain still falling down on him. He blinks at Steve a few times, tiny droplets falling from his long lashes. 

He looks pretty, Steve thinks. Even if, realistically, he looks like a drowned rat- or at least that’s what Robin would say.

He knows she’s going to laugh when he tells her that Eddie picked a storm over getting in the car with Steve. Then she’ll hold Steve’s hand and listen to him whine about his unrequited crush. 

When a few more seconds pass and Eddie doesn’t move, Steve thinks he’s going to have to give up and drive away. But before he can, Eddie opens the door and slides into the passenger seat, quickly rolling up the window to keep water from getting in. 

Then he sits as far from Steve as he possibly can- his arms crossed over his chest, his knees angled towards the door, his head turned towards the window. Once again, Steve tries not to let it sting, focusing on cranking up the heat and switching the car into gear. 

The rain picks up as Steve starts driving them to Forest Hills. If he didn’t think Eddie would jump out of the moving car for doing it, Steve would give him a smug look because the rain isn’t stopping like he said it would, it’s actually getting worse. 

He’s been driving for a few minutes when Eddie breaks the silence, surprising him and making him jump. Steve thought Eddie would just stay silent and ignore him the whole time. 

“I don’t hate you,” Eddie mutters, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Even with the heat on, his clothes are soaked through and he’s probably still cold after spending so long in the rain. Steve wishes he had a hoodie or a blanket in the back that he could let Eddie burrow. 

“You have a funny way of showing it, man,” he says, not even angry at him, just confused. 

Eddie groans. One of his hands tugs a strand of wet hair in front of his face. “I know, fuck. Sorry.” He sinks down on the seat. “I just don’t know how to act around you, not without an apocalypse happening, I guess.” 

Steve thinks back to the couple of days leading up to their fight with Vecna. Even if they had a rocky start when Eddie almost killed Steve with a broken bottle, he thought they were getting along well, considering the circumstances. Near the end, Eddie was even cracking jokes and calling Steve names! 

And maybe it was just because the world was ending, but then, why did he keep acting normal with everyone except Steve?

“You don’t seem to have that problem with anyone else,” he says, failing not to sound too bitter about it, but it really stings being the only one Eddie doesn’t want anything to do with. 

“I guess not but- I don’t know, man, they’re a lot like me. Under that badass exterior, Wheeler really is just a nerd. And Buckley and I are both, you know, queer and well, the kids- I have a lot in common with them. But you- I don’t-” He tugs on his hair with a frustrated groan. 

“Wait, you- you’re queer?” Steve can’t help but ask. He knows he shouldn’t fixate on that. It doesn’t help his unrequited crush to know that Eddie likes guys anyway since he obviously doesn’t like Steve.

He realizes that Eddie probably didn’t mean to admit that at all when he drops his head in his hands. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. Now I made you hate me. How’s that for irony?”

“Woah, Eddie, hey,” Steve says, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the road. It’s getting harder to see from the rain picking up which means Steve’s attention should be solely on getting them home without driving off the road, but Eddie is a ball of anxiety and nerves and fear next to him and Steve can’t ignore that. So he pulls the car over on the side of the road and turns sideways on his seat so he can look at Eddie. 

“I don’t hate you, okay? I’ve been trying to be your friend for months, for fuck’s sake. This doesn’t change that.”

Eddie lowers his hands, looking at Steve with his big doe eyes that still look a little scared. “No?”

Steve shakes his head. He hesitates a little before tacking on his own admission. “Actually, it gives us something in common. I’m, uh, I’m bisexual. I like girls and boys.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “Oh.” He visibly relaxes except for his fingers that keep playing with his rings in his lap. “Um, it’s only boys for me.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, giving him a little smile. “Cool.” 

Eddie’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly into a smile of his own. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he ends up opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally getting any words out. “Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you-”

Steve frowns. “You said that already.”

Eddie holds his hand up. The tips of his fingers are paper white and pruney- Steve should probably start the car again soon and get him home before he dies from hypothermia. Whatever he has to say he can say it while Steve drives-

“I actually kind of like you,” Eddie finishes and Steve is glad he hadn’t started driving again or he might’ve crashed the car into a tree because-

Eddie likes him? Holy shit!

He’s still trying to wrap his head around that when Eddie starts talking again, nervously toying with his rings as he explains. “It wasn’t just that we didn’t have anything in common or that I didn’t know how to act around you- I was worried that you’d hate me if I got too close or if I flirted too much. It- it was easier when I thought we were going to die and I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with you turning me down easily or- or telling me to fuck off, so when we weren’t fighting for our lives anymore I just-”

“Decided to be a dick?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Eddie bites his lip around a smile. It’s not even a full smile, but it’s still directed at Steve and so far he’s only gotten scowls and glares from Eddie, so this right here is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. 

“Well,” Steve says sheepishly, hanging a hand from his neck. “You didn’t have anything to worry about. I, um, I actually liked it when you did that- getting close to me and flirting. I liked it a lot.” 

Eddie’s jaw drops, his round eyes blinking at Steve. “Really?” 

Steve hums. “After everything was over and you weren’t dying anymore, I couldn’t stop thinking about- about you doing it again,” he admits and hears the way Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “So you can imagine my disappointment when you shut me out instead.”

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

“I did. I do.” Steve says. Then he gets an idea. “Actually what do you say if I drive us to my house instead? We can hang out. And my place is closer so we can get you out of those wet clothes sooner.” 

Eddie’s lips tug up into a smirk. It reminds Steve of the one he gave him time in the Winnebago. This is Eddie’s face when he’s about to flirt and he knows he has nothing to lose. Steve braces himself. “Already trying to get me naked, big boy? At least buy me dinner first.”

Blood rushes to Steve’s cheeks, the pet name running through him and settling somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. 

But for all that he’s thought about Eddie flirting with him, he’s thought about flirting back just as much. So he leans closer to Eddie, reaching over the console to twirl one of his wet curls around his finger, giving him his most charming smile. “I can make you dinner. Does that count?”

Eddie’s smirk falters a little. “You want to cook me dinner today? Like- like a date?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Even after I was a dick to you?”

Steve bites his lip, hesitating. “If you don’t want to-” he backtracks, leaning away from Eddie, only for him to grab him by the lapel of his vest, keeping him in place. 

“Like fuck if I don’t. I just thought you’d want to know me better before asking me out, s’all.”

“That’s what dates are for, Eds,” Steve says, enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes widen a little when Steve calls him that. “Have you never been on one?”

Eddie snorts. “I’m a gay nerd in Hawkins Indiana, man. I’m lucky to get mediocre handjobs in dark alleys.”

Steve makes sure to move his eyes slowly and noticeably from Eddie’s face to his lap, giving him an easy grin. “I can give you more than just a mediocre handjob.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips before his lips stretch into a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I’m sure you can, sweetheart.” 

The pet name sends a shiver down Steve’s spine and he finds himself licking his lips, wanting to kiss Eddie, but he doesn’t want to move too fast when he just accepted to go on a date with him- 

Except, he hasn’t accepted yet. Steve kinda made the decision for him.

“Hey, if you’d rather have our date some other day I can just take you back to the trailer-”

“Nah,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Why waste any more time? Drive us home, Stevie, show me what I’ve been missing.”

So Steve does just that, pushing away thoughts of kissing Eddie and getting him out of his wet clothes to focus on the road.

At least until he gets them home- where that’s all both of them can think about for some time. 

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [1] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 6.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2

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By the end of the night, you think you might murder someone.

It’s not the party’s fault. Lady Arina Park always hosts the first ball of the season, and in the three years you’ve attended them, not once has it ever been a disappointment. Her taste in decoration always sets the tone for the months to follow, and she is the most wonderful hostess—crotchety, kind, and always brimming with wisdom to impart. 

She might be one of your favorite people in the ton. 

Unfortunately, you cannot only talk to one person the entire night, and given your own reputation, you’re not sure you even have the social right to speak to her this season. See, it was never the party that was the problem. 

It is the fact that you have attended now three times in three different years, each without a husband. 

This is a fact that seems to dog you everywhere you go. Beautiful, sharp-tongued Miss L/N is going yet another season without a man on her arm—or at least a serious man on her arm. Never mind that you have had two proposals, both of which you turned down quietly and did not announce out of sympathy for the man’s reputation. You might be on your third season and desperate, but you rather think you’d prefer to become a spinster than marry either of those who asked for your hand. 

Lord Kierston was nice enough, if absentminded. You genuinely might have said yes to him if not for two things—his rotten breath (you have no idea what he could be eating to have such horrid breath all the time), and the fact that he is over the age of forty. 

You are barely one and twenty. And while there have been married couples with greater age gaps than that, you wonder if it is truly too much to hope to find someone nearer your age.

As for Mr. Thompson…he wasn’t even nice. He was rude, and arrogant, and during his proposal blatantly said that you would have to accept him as with your lack of dowry and snide personality, you had no choices elsewhere. All facts for certain—your dowry is nonexistent, your character is not one that endears many to you, and at the time, no other men were seriously courting you so it was true you had no other options. But you could still be a spinster, you let him know. And you would far rather be old and unmarried than tied to a man such as he. 

He looked almost murderous when you said that, which was why you’d excused yourself quickly after. You may consider yourself cleverer than most, but you are no fool. You thank your few lucky stars that your family left for the country just a few days later at the end of the season and you haven’t seen him since. 

But now you are back in town, with a fresh new crop of debutantes to outshine your wilting, rotten personality, a father trying to drum up business abroad, an evil stepmother breathing down your neck, and possibly a Mr. Thompson to run into. Not to mention Lady Whistledown with her peacock feather pen and watchful monocled eye, carefully waiting to elaborate on your futile prospects with her sharp-tongued words. 

Not that you know if she uses a peacock feather pen or a monocle. As far as your knowledge stretches, no one in the entire ton save the writer herself knows who she is. But you’ve always imagined her with such things. Ridiculous to the max. It makes it much easier not to strangle someone after you read her words about you. 

God, you’d care so much less about her gossip column if she wasn’t so damn good at writing it. 

You wish you were still in the country. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t see you there, and her gossip column would never reach your home. In fact, the only reason you’re certain she isn’t part of your sparse circle is that your spat with the younger Lord Choi at the garden party last year took at least two weeks to be broadcast in London after you came back for the season. Someone had to feed her the information before she could issue it, including your now infamous quote about how you’d like to slit his throat with his own letter opener. 

Your stepmother yelled at you for hours over it. You were sentenced to a week of nonstop chores and none of the few servants still in your family’s employ were allowed to help. Yet at the end of the day, Lord Choi the Younger is a menace to you and to society, and so you privately still stand by your comment. 

Lord Choi the Younger. Mr. Choi, when his brother is in the room. Annoyance. Menace. The devil in disguise. All apt nicknames by which to call Beomgyu Choi, one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Which, unfortunately, brings it all back to here and now, because apparently he is in attendance at tonight’s party. 

And hence why by the end of the evening, you might be locked up in jail for murder. 

Last season after the horrible garden party, you took very, very great care not to end up in the same room as the younger Lord Choi. For the most part, you succeeded. You couldn’t always avoid him—the ton is only so large—but the few times you had to come face to face with him you managed at least one minute of civil conversation before it turned into thinly-veiled verbal sparring that you thankfully had the self-control to bow out of sooner rather than later. But apparently people found your little spats amusing. A source of entertainment. And Lady Whistledown has remarked more than once since then that it would certainly liven up the endless parade of balls and parties to see a showdown between you and Mr. Choi once more. 

You’ve been at this ball for hardly two hours and already almost everyone who’s spoken to you tonight—even Lady Arina Park!—has found some sly way to allude to a possible catfight between you and Mr. Choi to bring down the house. And unfortunately, experience tells you that in the heat of the moment, you care about getting the last word in with Mr. Choi far more than you care about your precarious reputation. 

You do so hate to disappoint the ton, about as much as you love it when your grievances are aired in public via the Whistledown gossip column. And it does so truly break your heart not to be the sole source of entertainment at Lady Park’s annual ball. But this is your third season out and you need to be married soon, so when you see the man himself wearing that annoyingly bright smile and surrounded by an annoying number of young girls and their mothers, you make the first excuse you can to duck out of the ballroom and make a beeline for the gardens, where you find yourself in sudden silence. 

Sudden, but not altogether unwelcome. The night air feels comforting on your face, wind breezing softly against your skin. You hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until you came out here. You settle on one of the benches in the garden and fan yourself with a hand, letting the cool air bring you back to the moment. No one else is out here as far as you can tell. You can relax, if only for a moment.

For a few minutes you just sit in the moonlight, your face tilted to the sky, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. It would be lovely to just stay out here all night, you think. Away from the people, away from the stares, away from the crushing anxiety that no one will ever want to marry you and you’ll have to live at home with your horrible stepmother forever—

A branch snaps. Your eyes fly open. And all of the anxiety returns, with a healthy dose of fear, when you see Mr. Thompson looking at you from the other side of the garden. 

For a long moment you just stand there. Looking at each other. All of the night’s beauty has been forgotten, its comforting silence turned threatening in light of the knowledge that you are a young, unmarried woman alone with a man in a garden. 

Scandals have been made out of less. 

“Mr. Thompson,” you say in as flat a tone as possible. “I apologize. I was just leaving.”

“Now don’t leave on my account, Miss L/N.” His mouth twists in what looks more like a sneer than a smile and he takes a step toward you. You take a step back. “It is lovely to see you after a summer away. Your beauty hasn’t diminished a bit with your age.”

You almost snort. Exactly how much does a person change in one summer? “Apologies if I don’t quite take your compliment, Mr. Thompson. I was not under the impression we were on speaking terms after last season.”

“We never spoke again because you left for the country.” That sneer-smile grows wide and you start calculating how much of a head start you’d need to flee into the ballroom before he caught you. “If it were up to me, I would have proposed again, after you had had the time to consider it.”

This time, you do snort. “With all due respect, sir, after an entire summer to think about it, my answer remains the same.” You still your features into a cold mask and pray, even with the sinking feeling of dread in your chest, that he will go away. “I will never marry you, Mr. Thompson. As I aptly put during your first proposal, I would rather become a spinster than entertain the thought.”

His eyebrows draw in. You’d think the sight was comical if his eyes didn’t glint with menace under the moon. “Do you really think yourself better than me?” he snarls. “You should be thanking me now, for offering you this second chance.”

You laugh incredulously. “Thanking you? For what?”

“I’m your last hope.” He advances so quickly you almost trip on the hem of your dress as you stumble backward. You try to hide the panic rising in your throat as you glance at the house—still full of light, still full of gaiety while you’re trapped outside by the night and this man. “No one wants you, Miss L/N.” He lunges forward and you gasp, his hands uncomfortably tight around your wrists. “Not a single one.”

“Let go of me,” you snarl. “Let go of me—get off me—”

“Not—” He grunts as you stomp on his foot, but doesn’t let go. “Not until I have what I want—”

You manage to free an arm and before you can think, your fist careens through the air straight into his face. 

For a long moment you just stand there, barely able to breathe, the thump of Mr. Thompson’s body falling to the ground playing over and over in your mind. Your heart is pounding and your breath is coming out in short gasps and your fist throbs with pain. A sort of buzzing sound fills your ears. The world starts blurring before you and vaguely you wonder if it’s just the night, or if you’re about to fall. 

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

The sound of your name from a familiar voice breaks through the buzz and you blink, coming back to earth. It takes a moment for you to reassess the situation. 

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground. 

It does not look like he will be getting up soon. 

You are still physically unhurt. 

And there is a new third person in the garden with you. 

Oh, God. You resist the urge to bury your face in your throbbing hands. Not only did Mr. Thompson try to assault you, you also knocked him out with your own fist, and someone caught the two of you in the garden just after it happened. Or maybe even before. Maybe they saw it, saw everything—how much did they see? How badly will your reputation be ruined beyond what is already in tatters?

A hysterical laugh builds in your chest. All that comes out is a strangled whimper. You’ll never be married once Whistledown gets her hands on this. No matter that Mr. Thompson didn’t succeed in whatever he planned to do with you. All that matters is that you were alone with him in a garden at the first damn ball of the season and someone saw you.

Things couldn’t get any worse than this. 

“Miss L/N.” The familiar voice says your name again, this time accompanied by a cautious hand on your shoulder. You flinch viscerally but it doesn’t leave. “Miss L/N,” it repeats, considerably lower than before. 

You shut your eyes hard. Open them. You try to take a breath and only just manage to stifle a strangled half-gasp before it leaves your throat. You’ll have to face your fate at some point when you beg for this person not to immediately spread this juicy piece of gossip to every person in the ballroom. With heaven’s mercy, they’ll take pity on your situation and leave some details out of the story. Or at least not embellish what they already saw. Praying silently to the hopefully-merciful heavens, you slowly turn around. 

And then you curse out loud. 

“What in God’s bloody name—”

You were wrong when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, because the man standing before you is Beomgyu Choi. 

The heavens must be having a good damn laugh at you right now. 

. . . . .

After what just happened, Beomgyu is honestly surprised that the first thing to come out of your mouth upon seeing him is a curse. Maybe he should be thankful, though. This probably means that you’ll come out of this all right. 

“Goodness,” he says as genially as he can, given your outburst. “I would have asked if you were all right, but based on your reaction to seeing me, I suppose you are just fine.”

“Mr. Choi.” You look and sound vaguely sick. Beomgyu gathers that you would rather be anywhere than here. “Apologies. I did not realize it was you.”

“I gathered about as much.” Now that he knows you’re fine, or at least standing upright, he steps forward to check on Mr. Thompson. Thankfully and regrettably, the man still has a pulse. Beomgyu wouldn’t purposely wish death on anyone, but if he had to choose one person in the entire ton he wouldn’t mind not seeing for the rest of his life, Mr. Thompson would certainly be one of the top contenders for the position. He looks back up at you. “Pray tell, Miss L/N, what is your first made of? Pure steel? You’ve knocked the poor man out.”

You look to be grinding your teeth even as you speak. “I had no intention—”

“I am not chastising you, my lady.” He smirks. “In fact, I must say I’m quite impressed.” Then he squints. “You’re not about to swoon, are you?”

A long silence hangs in the air before you mete out a very measured reply. “I am not going to swoon, Mr. Choi. And the next time you decide to say something just as inane, take very good care, or you might find yourself in the grass next to Mr. Thompson as well.”

He lifts his hands in surrender with a laugh. God, he might hate you and you might hate him, but it really is so much fun to spar with you like this. “A jest, my lady. I thought simply to lighten the air.”

You open your mouth to reply, then close it. Beomgyu watches in amusement as you close your eyes for a good few seconds—ten, if he’s counting correctly—before taking a deep breath. Good God, you really are making some strong effort to rein yourself in this season. “With all due respect, my lord, what are you doing out here?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same question.”

“You were the one who walked in on a private disagreement,” you snap. “If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me.”

“It didn’t look like a private disagreement as much as an entire physical altercation,” Beomgyu retorts. 

He expects a rapid-fire reply from you just as he always has, but instead you blanch. Your lips suddenly look too pale, entirely drained of color, and your eyes are fixed on Mr. Thompson’s prone body. He stands up. “Miss L/N?” he says quietly, slowly stepping toward you. “Are you all right?”

“I—” You turn to him but it doesn’t look like you see him. “Don’t tell anybody,” you whisper. Your breaths have grown shorter, more rapid, and he bites back a curse. You look like you’re going into shock again. “Please. I can’t—if Whistledown—if people know what he did—what he tried to do—”

What he tried to do?

Well, clearly now is not the right time to ask, and it isn’t that difficult to put the pieces together anyway from what little he saw—Mr. Thompson grabbing you, you punching him, your current shock. If Mr. Thompson was awake he might yet punch him again but he isn’t, so Beomgyu focuses on you.

“Miss L/N.” He gently puts his hands on your shoulders. Something in your eyes seems to focus and internally, he sighs with relief. “I will not tell anyone what I saw today in the garden. Not a soul.” He takes one hand off your shoulder to place it over his heart. “On my honor, I swear it.”

Something in his words must have rung clear. Your breaths begin to slow, and you manage to nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s somewhat strange, comforting his sworn enemy since childhood, but oddly enough he isn’t too conflicted. Even if you spend most of your time annoying Beomgyu out of his boots, you’re a person too, and clearly Mr. Thompson wasn’t doing anything good in this garden. If anything, Beomgyu is a man, and he knows what the other entitled men of the ton sometimes do. No woman—no person—deserves to be subject to their horrific plans. Not a single one. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can as he leads you to a nearby bench. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He stays quiet as you mumble out a vague summary of the altercation. That Mr. Thompson had proposed last season and acted an absolute arse about it, that you thought you’d seen the last of him but he showed up in the garden when you left the ballroom for some air (Beomgyu saw you leaving just as he entered so he gathers he had something to do with your quest for air, but he bites his tongue just this once). That he had proposed—if it could even be called that—a second time, and when you repeated your original sentiments, he grabbed you by the arms and told you to be grateful. 

And then you punched him. 

Beomgyu nods slowly at the conclusion of your story. “First of all, I must apologize. Being the recipient of a proposal from Mr. Thompson could be nothing short of traumatic.”

For the first time that evening, the ghost of a smile flutters across your lips. It’s a very nice smile. You have always been beautiful—even Beomgyu will admit that—but you’ve never directed a smile at him like this. Likely because you’re always scowling at him instead. Which, given your history, is fair enough, but that doesn’t mean this still isn’t nice. 

“There is a reason I turned him down,” you mutter. “I may need to be married, but I still have my pride.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You need to be married?”

You fix him with a dead stare. “Mr. Choi, I am not exaggerating when I say that if I don’t marry this season, I will go insane.”

Beomgyu blinks. “…Not even a little bit?”

You look away with a loud sigh, muttering something under your breath. Beomgyu doesn’t hear all of it but he does catch something about three seasons and hopeless and men.

He chooses to focus on the first bit, because he gets the feeling that the last two wouldn’t end up being particularly complimentary to him or his kind. “Three seasons?”

You give him possibly the worst stink eye of anyone he’s ever met. “Yes, Mr. Choi. This is my third season out. If I am not married by the end of it I may as well be a spinster, and to be a spinster in my stepmother’s home is not a fate I wish upon anyone.” You look down, fiddling with the dance card around your wrist. “I need to get married,” you say again, though more to yourself than him this time. 

“You need it this badly, then,” he says, half amused, half surprised. “So much so that you would exit the ballroom the moment I entered for fear of confrontation.”

Annoyance flickers back into your eyes. It’s a much more familiar expression than the one you were just wearing, and thus infinitely more comfortable to deal with. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Choi, every time we come into contact in public, the resulting altercation makes its way into Whistledown and, as such, everyone else’s lives. Forgive me if I am only trying to pick up the remnants of my already shattered reputation.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You seem to think it my fault that your societal standing has plummeted so. Have you ever considered it a matter of your personality, instead?”

Low blow. He sees it in your face, in the way your eyes shutter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Immediately he wants to slap himself. He should apologize, but before he can open his mouth to do so, you’re replying through very obviously gritted teeth. “I have, actually.” You fix him with a hard stare that reminds him why half of the ton finds you terrifying. “I would be a poor judge of my own character if I did not realize that I am at least as responsible for our disagreements as you are.” A bitter laugh escapes your lips and curdles in the air. “And it is not as if the ton hasn’t been gossiping about my temperament for years.”

Beomgyu stays quiet. 

You let out a sigh. “I have answered quite enough of your questions, Mr. Choi, so I beg you now to answer mine. Why are you here?”

“Avoiding people.” He eyes the bright lights still coming from the ballroom. Distaste curl his lip. “Mamas, mostly. I suppose they are people.”

You don’t smile, but at least the tension in the air seems to lessen somewhat. 

“They seem to have gotten it into their minds that I intend to marry this season.” He shakes his head. “Just because all of my other friends are married doesn’t mean I intend to so soon as well.”

“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Huening was married.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention to me?” Beomgyu snickers at your outraged expression but continues before you can retort. “He has returned to his home country and won’t be back for the season. Ergo, I get attention I don’t necessarily covet.”

You snort. “I wasn’t aware there was any sort of attention you did not covet.”

Beomgyu sneers. “Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“You—I can’t do this.” You stand up and Beomgyu can practically see the anger shimmering off you in waves. “I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to be here when Mr. Thompson wakes and decides to take a pass at me again. It’s bad enough that the two of us are alone—” Your eyes widen in horror. “The two of us are alone.”

Beomgyu stands too. “I guarantee you,” he says lowly, “not a word of this will pass my lips to anyone in the ton.”

“Thank you, but that hardly matters.” You take a large step away from him. “You walked in on Mr. Thompson. Someone else could just as easily walk in on the two of us.” Your voice turns sardonic. “And I’m sure you have no wish to be married to the likes of me for the sake of propriety. Good night.”

Well, that’s certainly true. Just the thought of it makes Beomgyu shudder. If your current relationship is anything to go by, the two of you would never stop talking, never stop arguing…

Hm. 

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he watches your back disappear from the gardens. He would never want to marry you, it’s true. But if you’re having trouble attracting suitors, and he has too many women on his tail…

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around with a huff. “What is it now?”

Beomgyu grins. He might just be a genius. “I have a proposition for you.”

. . . . .

“This is a very, very bad idea,” you mutter. Then you look around sharply, because it wouldn’t do for anyone to think that you see hallucinations on top of all of your other less-than-choice characteristics. Even though you made sure to stray far from prying ears in this garden, it seems Lady Whistledown’s eyes are everywhere. 

An issue came out just this morning. You were relieved beyond belief that not a word about your and Mr. Choi’s accidental tryst in the garden was mentioned, though she did mention a terrible black eye and a murderous expression on Mr. Thompson when he reentered the ballroom. 

Mr. Choi had assured you a man such as he would never admit that a woman had bested him in a fight. You weren’t sure you believed him until you got the paper and Whistledown could only speculate about what had caused such a spectacular black eye—apparently Mr. Thompson had remained tight-lipped and snarly to anyone who dared ask. And as he hasn’t come banging on the door of your home demanding retribution, you can only conclude that he doesn’t plan to.

All the better for you. 

Fortunately, beyond some other vague mutterings about the other debutantes and who danced with who and who hogged all the lemonade, that was all that was said about Lady Park’s ball. Not a word about you. Not a word about Mr. Choi. 

Not a word about the idiotic deal he proposed as you were trying to leave the garden, and not a word about how you were idiotic enough to agree. 

You never quite believed yourself stupid. If you had anything to your name besides your beauty, you would say it is your wit (quite separate from your sharp tongue, which is not even close to a blessing). But when you woke up the morning after the ball, you really re-thought all of your previous conceptions of yourself, because what on earth possessed you to agree to the insane proposal Mr. Choi presented you that night?

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too. 

Desperation. 

He’d presented his idea so reasonably. “You are searching for a husband. I want the attention of the ton’s mamas off of me,” he’d said, his tone so calm as words of madness left his tongue. “If I pretended to court you, men would take more heed of you, and the mamas would be discouraged from chasing after me.” He spread his arms in a show of his apparent genius. “Thus, the two of us might find some success in each of our respective endeavors.”

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

To your credit, you refused at first. “That is madness,” you had scoffed, turning back around. “Who in this ton would believe that the two of us are courting? Our arguments have become their source of entertainment. No one is going to buy that we now like each other enough to be civil in one another’s presence, let alone court.”

He was still undeterred, for whatever damn reason. So convinced it would work out by his own sheer force of will, like most men. “So we will come up with a believable cover story,” he’d replied easily, still with that unflappable smile on his lips. “Listen, Miss L/N. You are desperate, and I need an out. What do either of us have to lose from at least trying?”

Try as you might, you couldn’t cobble together an answer. Because he was right. You were desperate. You still are. If you have to live another year in your stepmother’s home, cleaning and gardening and playing maid while still maintaining appearances for the ton, you will go mad. Not mad enough to accept Mr. Thompson’s suit, but mad all the same. 

So you had agreed, and in the process lost a healthy chunk of your own self-respect. But you refused to spend another moment in the garden alone with him that night for fear of others seeing, so you two decided to meet at the outdoor musicale at the park a few days later to discuss the…logistics of this plan. There would be plenty of time for refreshment before and after the performance—plenty of time for the two of you to sneak away and find each other. 

So here you are, standing in the sunshine without the cover of night to hide all of your bad decisions. The longer you stand here, the more you’re beginning to believe this is all a major mistake.

But like Beomgyu has said multiple times, you’re desperate. You’ve tried being yourself for one season. You’ve tried reining in your sharp tongue for another. Neither worked. What’s the worst that can happen? You not being married for a third season in a row? Sick as the thought leaves you, it’s not as if you haven’t pondered the possibility many times already. 

Anyway, if your stepmother drives you too far up the wall, you’ll just have to run away. Find work as a governess somewhere, or a maid. Nothing could possibly be worse than her shrill voice ordering you to do this or that while she sits on her arse all day without contribution, your father still gone on some business call hundreds of miles away. Easier said than done, but a bad plan is better than no plan. Or so you hope.

In fairy tales, this is when the handsome prince is supposed to swoop in with a charming smile to come and save you, the poor damsel, from her distress. Unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale, and all you have to save you is Mr. Choi and this ridiculous deal. 

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

You jerk your head around to see Mr. Choi pushing through some bushes a few feet away. A quick glance behind him confirms that no one has followed him here. “Mr. Choi,” you greet, already feeling your stomach roll. This is a terrible idea. “I wonder if it isn’t too much to hope that you have re-thought your ridiculous plan and intend to call it off now?”

He snorts. “Of course not. You should be on the floor, praising my genius.” Before you can reply with something scathing about his big head and nonexistent intellect, he continues. “Besides, no matter how ridiculous you think my idea is, you’re still here.”

How you wish you were here to just call it all off. Unfortunately, you are just as desperate as you were several days ago. “Unfortunately, my desperation is greater than my self-respect at the moment.” You look up at where he’s still standing in the grass. “Do you plan to sit?”

He sits on the green next to you, that stupid unflappable smile still on his face. You want to slap it off. “We need a cover story,” he begins. “You were right on that front. Which means at some point, one of us must have apologized first for the cake and dirt incidents from when we were children.”

“You apologized,” you say immediately. “You knocked my cake over first, ruined my new shoes, and it was my birthday.”

Mr. Choi scowls. “You threw dirt at me—”

You raise your voice over his. “It was my birthday, and you didn’t even apologize then—”

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

The two of you glare at each other for a long, long moment. Then you stand abruptly. “Forget it,” you mutter, ready to head back to the party. “If we can’t even agree on this—”

“Neither of us apologized,” Mr. Choi snaps. “We just agreed to put it behind us.”

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

He gestures impatiently to the grass. You sit down again, resolutely not looking at him. Silence passes over the two of you for a long time before you force yourself to speak. “So how exactly did that happen?” you ask, voice rough. 

Slowly, the two of you hash out the details, though not without your fair share of sniping back and forth. After the last season, the two of you met at a gathering in the country. Having seen how badly Whistledown had written of you two, you agreed to put your old resentments behind you. You began exchanging tentative letters through the off-season and those letters increased in volume as time went on and you became friendlier. It was very surprising when Mr. Choi asked if he might court you at this season’s first ball, but you did not say no, and that brings you up to now. 

None of it is verifiable. That’s the only thing that makes you think this plan has even a shot at working. You two were at some gatherings in the country together, and ironically, because you did your absolute best to avoid him by hiding in different places, there are definitely some moments where the two of you could feasibly have been alone together and talked things out. As for the letters, they don’t actually exist, but no well-bred person would dare ask to see private correspondence. Hopefully. 

You work out a schedule for the next few months. He must call on you at some point, and you both agree you’ll need to be seen in public at least several times. At least one promenade every couple of weeks, and you will dance together at least once at each of the balls you both plan to attend. One call a week and if he cannot make it, he must send flowers. “A large bouquet,” you say, internally smirking at his expression. “You must act serious about it so that the other men will know they must outdo you.”

By the time you’ve argued and compromised and sniped it all out, the sun is almost directly overhead, and you need to return in time for the musicale to start. Mr. Choi stands and you don’t refuse his hand to help you up, a new grudging respect in your chest for him. If anything, he’s a good negotiator, not to mention a gentleman. “Shall we return to the musicale together, then?” he asks, offering his arm. 

You stare at him. “Already?”

He peers at you, eyes twinkling obnoxiously. “There’s no time like the present, hmm?”

While you were talking and snapping and quipping, you were able to ignore the voice in the back of your mind screaming that this is a terrible idea. But now as you look at his proffered arm, it suddenly seems to be all you can hear. 

Everything is going to go wrong. You’re going to make a gaffe because for all you can act nice and pretty around pleasant people, you cannot hold your tongue in front of people you dislike, Mr. Choi obviously included. Which means someone is going to get suspicious because of your mistakes. Which means people are going to start talking and eventually the truth is going to come out and you will be humiliated publicly more than ever before—because what idiot pretends to court their enemy in an effort to gain suitors—and bloody fucking hell, this was a mistake and you might as well run away right now—

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to yet.” Mr. Choi’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, his words gentler than before as he lowers the arm. You hate that he can do that—can be going back and forth with you for hours without pause, then put it all on hold to respect you as a woman and a human being. It makes it really hard to hate him as much as you want to, and ironically makes you hate him even more. “I only thought it would at least explain our combined absence, in case anyone noticed.”

You swallow hard. “No, you’re right,” you mumble. “We should—we should start now. Sorry.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.”

And there it is. You scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs aloud, a sound that would be quite pleasing if you didn’t want to punch him in the face so badly. “I am sure I won’t,” he replies, a bite beneath his genial tone that ironically soothes your anxiety. Yes, even if you two go through with this, nothing will actually change between the two of you. You’ll always be annoyances to one another. “Now, are you ready?”

You take his arm gingerly. “It doesn’t quite seem like I have another choice.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[nxtaliaistyping]

Need Baron Zemo to fuck me with the mask on :(

Authors note: omg i'm not really into the mcu anymore, but nothing can stop me thinking about this man I need him so badddddd (and daniel bruhl in general tbh)

18+ nsfw, villain kink, mask kink, fingering, rough sex, brief mention of killing

Thinking about being his girl, his pretty thing that sits in his lap while he drinks the most expensive wine in his expensive penthouse (just because he's on the run, doesn't mean he can't be in style)

You know who he is, the things he's done, but you just don't care. Not when he caresses you so gently, cooing soft words in your ear of how beautiful and enchanting he finds you, how much you fill the empty void left within him after Sokovia fell and everyone he loved was wiped out.

And if anything, he's too gentle. Not wanting to frighten you, the poor little lamb that you were, cuddling up to such a dangerous man every night. So he attempts to shield things from you, what he's done and what he's capable of.

But that changes one day, you feel the compulsive need to find out more about your lover, or at least see what he's like when he's the ruthless and strategic criminal that you've been told about. This leads you to following him, not an easy task, but you see how readily he is able to get his hands dirty. Tracking down some old HYDRA agent that has information that is useful to him, and you watch in slight horror and slight awe how he interrogates the man.

Although you have to look away at certain parts, hearing presumably the agent's body hitting the cold ground with a soft thud. While you try and leave quietly, you underestimated how much planning had went into his operation, because on your attempted escape you feel a large hand grab your upper arm, yanking you towards him with force and the start of a threat before he stops.

"dragă? what are you doing here?" he asks, his tone still slightly deeper than usual as you stare into his brown eyes; the only facial features visible while he wears the dark purple mask.

As you stumble over your words, telling him that you wanted to see the real him, he can't help but notice the slight flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and your lips part. In that moment he finally understands.

"Oh...I think I understand now. My little girl likes that i'm so dangerous, hm?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk behind his teasing lilt, his head cocked to one side as you nod, embarassed.

Soon enough, he has you pinned to the wall, hand stuffed between your thighs as he fingers your tight cunt from under your skirt. You whimper and whine at his treatment, and he revels in the fact you're so depraved, so naughty, and all for him.

"Do you like this, hm sreco? I was going to take this mask off, but I have a feeling that isn't what you desire." he rasps against your ear, and you nod breathlessly at how right his assumption was. All you can do is look up at him, clenching and making a mess around his fingers as you whine.

When he pulls his fingers away, he doesn't give you time to recover before you find yourself bent over a wooden crate and his cock is forcing its way in your pussy. He's never treated you as roughly as this before, but something about his girl loving how ruthless he is, wanting him to keep his goddamn mask on, flipped a switch in him as he starts a rough pace. The echoes of his hips slamming into your ass make you flush with embarrassment, gripping the edges of the surface for dear life, pretty nails he paid for digging into the wood.

"So filthy for me, my little girl is nothing but a slut." he groans out, squeezing your ass before giving it a harsh spank. The rhythm of his cock railing you has your eyes nearly crossing, as you try not to think about the fact you're fucking an older man after he's literally just killed someone.

When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, feeling the way you tighten around him and squeeze every last drop out. As his breathing returns to normal, so too does his headspace as he rips the mask off quickly, pulling out to shush you gently and hold you in his arms.

"There we are dragă i'm here, i'm right here. I'm sorry for being so rough."

Taking you home, he'd spoil his good girl with a bath and food, but in the back of his mind he's already planning out how he can fuck you like that again.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

[worldseer]

Unpopular JJK opinion.

If I die in flames for this, I may as well die standing. Fanon Toji is just wrong. Like- that's not him.

Walk with me-

First and foremost to remind y'all:

Toji was abused for much of his life growing up, and likely never recovered from that

Mamaguro is the first and only woman he loved, the one who changed him and made him better. His habit afterwards and likely before was to just go from rich woman to rich woman to get money. It's unsaid if he had relationships with them, but it's more likely he just did jobs for them in between assignments.

He has a gambling addiction, likely because it gave him a sense of choice and control over things in his life. He wanted to feel like he could win at something, if not at being loved and revered by the Zenins. He is not addicted to money itself, or frugal about things.

While not THE BEST father, he only wanted to have Megumi given to the Zenin Clan because he believed he would be treated better and thrive there. Living in luxury and adored for your cursed technique is better than living with a non-sorcerer who struggles to keep money. Hell Megumi is NAMED Megumi because he's a blessing.

Now that that is out of the way, here is the unpopular opinion part. TOJI IS NOT THE LOVER YOU ALL WRITE HIM TO BE! HE'S NOT SOME KINKY DADDY WHO WILL DEGRADE AND BULLY YOU OR STEAL YOUR MONEY. And now I will explain why- 1. By example of Mamaguro, Toji notably softened and let go of bad habits. Yes, including his assassin job and gambling (so no worries about him stealing money). If in fanfic we're writing that he loves you, then yeah, he's gonna be a sarcastic sweetheart. Probably teases you a lot, but still cares and makes effort to show it.

2. As a man who worked a job as a literal assassin, I highly doubt he would want to ever be rough in intimate settings. He wants to keep the violent sides of himself as FAR AS POSSIBLE away from those he loves. So no rough kinky stuff, sorry. He's not gonna consistently degrade you or leave rough marks and bruises from grabbing and tossing you around in bed. He wants you safe, and not to see the man he was before.

3. As a man who was abused, he will likely be polarizing at times. Sometimes he avoids touch, and other times he's all over you asking for attention. He will want comfort, care, and gentle touches. Like the biggest lap dog you've ever seen. Please just compliment him, kiss him and hold him, he needs the reassurance. Or give him his space, and let him be but don't forget to offer something to cheer him up (like meat and offal).

4. He can be VERY bitter, but not overly angry. We know he still has a deep grudge against the Zenin clan and jujutsu society as a whole. It wouldn't be uncommon to see him possibly seething and stewing in silence, or hold more grudges. That being said, they likely wouldn't be held against you (if he loves you). He's cool and level-headed, and rarely lets emotion get the better of him (save for combat).

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, I care too much about characters.

[swiftsdelucaa]

Mark Sloan x reader who is best friends with Meredith. They secretly get together a few weeks after he arrives in Seattle. A few months later she starts to feel sick and Meredith asks her if she could be pregnant. She recognizes she might be and takes a test. It comes out positive. She freaks out and Meredith calms her down. Meredith still doesn't know about her and Mark so she keeps begging the reader to tell her who the father is. This goes on for a few days, with a few friends joining in on the questioning. She hasn't told Mark yet though. During one of these conversations, Mark overhears them and drops the files he's holding. He goes to the reader and says “We're having a baby?” with a huge smile on his face. She nods and he hugs and kisses her. Meanwhile, those listening in are completely shocked because nobody saw that coming. Please?

❛ 𝑻𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Mark Sloan x Pregnant!reader ♡

𝘼/𝙣: This was very specific ahah, hope you'll like it anon!

You rushed into the locker room, hoping you weren't late, luckily they were all still there.

"Where were you?" you have been warmly welcomed by your group.

"I was- I've just- well now I'm here" you took off your shirt starting to get ready, without adding details about your horrible morning.

"Oh the girl has a secret lover" Cristina said. You ignored her. "Maybe Jackson knows something more" she continued.

"What the hell are you saying?" he looked at her confused as he finished getting dressed.

"Wait, Jackson?!" April added in a worried tone.

"Kepner calm down" Lexie said to her.

"Okay stop, there isn't any secret lover anywhere" you said shutting up everyone.

A few minutes later everyone had already left, except Meredith, she was waiting for you. You were sitting on one of the benches staring into space.

"Y/n, are you okay?" the blonde sat next to you putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Umh, yeah..." you stood up to get ready to join the others, but just before you went to the door you stopped feeling the urge to throw up.

"Oh hey" Meredith got up quickly to help you. "Oh my God, are you pregnant?"

"What?" you recovered while she accompanied you to the bathroom to rinse your face.

"So?" Meredith's curious voice interrupted your stillness. You looked at her as if to ask where she was getting at, and a smile appeared on her face. "You're pregnant, aren't you?" she asked again.

Actually you didn't know what to answer her, it could be possible.

"I... don't know..." you said confused.

"Okay, stay here, I'm going to get a test" she rushed out to find one, the hospital definitely had one.

Meanwhile you sat down for a moment. How would Mark react? I mean, you'd been dating for a few months now and no one knew about it, but you had no idea what he would think about the idea of having a baby.

"Okay, here's!" Meredith came back suddenly making you scare. You took the test without thinking twice, anxiety was starting to rise. One day you would have thought about having baby and starting a family, but one day... now it would have been challenging, the residency was already giving you enough stress. But that day had come sooner than you thought, what the test said was clear.

You came out of the bathroom where Meredith was waiting for you.

"Positive?" you answered her by nodding and she jumped up to come towards you.

"Are we happy?" she asked you tried to hold back her excitement.

"I-" anxiety began to take over. "I'm just starting out, how do I handle all this? It's a miracle I can remember my keys when I go out, I don't have the responsibility like a good mother would have!" you were about to freak out.

"Ok, you're panicking, calm down" Meredith made you sit back on the bench. "You will have time for your baby, when you see him he'll become the only thing that matters to you, and well then you will become more responsible too… I hope" you let out a small laugh.

"You're right" you managed to come to your senses, while a huge smile was created on your face. "I'm gonna have a baby!" you exclaimed realizing the situation.

"Yeah!" Meredith literally choked you trying to hug you.

"Wait, so you really have a secret lover?" she asked more curious. You weren't ready to tell her, but you couldn't deny it, because the baby was there and he certainly couldn't have created on his own. "Oh my God is really Jackson?!"

"What? No!" she wouldn't even leave you alone for a second until you told her who the father was. For now you used the excuse of going back to work to get out of the way, but you should have thought of something else in the future. Even if she sooner or later she would find out.

During the day you managed to find a moment for yourself, alone to rest in one of the call rooms, when you then heard the sound of the door opening.

"We had the same idea" you got out of bed having recognized the voice.

"Hey" you approached Mark to kiss him. He smiled at you as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You look happy" he told you.

"I am" you kept looking at him smiling. You were so torn between telling him or waiting, but your pager preceded all your thoughts.

"Fuck, I'm sorry I have to..."

"I know" he gave you one last little kiss to greet you, you looked at him one last time before leaving. Yes, you would have waited.

Meanwhile, as these weeks went by, the thing that annoyed you and made difficult to go on the most wasn't the early pregnancy symptoms, but Meredith. God, you didn't think she could get this annoying. She wanted to know at all costs who the father of the baby was, sometimes you just wanted to disappear from the world for this. Yeah well, you would have done the same thing in her side, but it was so frustrating.

"Please Y/n, I won't say to anyone, you can trust me!" at one point you stopped to think about it. She was important to you, your lives depended on each other, telling her wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Okay... I have someone here in this hospital..." you sighed before revealing his name. "It's Mark"

"Mark Sloan?!" she repeated raising her eyebrows almost in shock.

"Yes, Mark and I are having a baby!" you repeated too, still almost incredulous.

"Are we going to have a baby?" you whipped around behind you at hearing her voice as he dropped the file he was holding. This wasn't exactly the moment you wanted him to know, so you looked at him nodding.

"Oh my God Y/n!" he approached you embracing you tightly, even managing to convey to you all the happiness he felt at that moment, then he began to kiss you intensely, not caring about the people who were around there. You wouldn't expected this reaction but you were so happy.

"I love you Y/n" at that moment all those hormones could have made you cry.

"I love you too Mark" you went back to kissing him. Meredith was smiling at you from behind, while everyone was completely paralyzed by the news.

"Y/n's having a baby?"

"Sloan's having a baby??"

"Wait, Mark and Y/n are together?!" Cristina, Lexie, Jackson and April were there wondering and unable to grasp the whole situation.

"Why is no one working in this fucking hospital?" you said confused and annoyed that they found out it too like this.

"Don't care about it, we'll be the best family in the world" he put his hand on your cheek to caress you as your foreheads rested against each other.

[yan-lorkai]

Good Morning/afternoon/evening! Can I request a headcanon with a reader who comes back to Twst (after they have returned to their world) and finds yandere Idia made a robot (like Ortho) that looks like them and have the same personality as them? Thanks! ✨💖

Returning to Twisted Wonderland this time was a choice you made after thinking and rethinking the pros and cons, after remembering everything you would be leaving behind. But the pros were greater than the cons, at least you thought. And when you came back, you knew what you wanted to do, look for Idia.

It wasn't really difficult to imagine where he would be, even though a few months had passed you knew he wouldn't have changed that much. However, you should have known how wrong things were when you saw Ortho and he looked surprised, and fearful, trying to dissuade you from opening the door. Trying to keep you from seeing what his brother had done.

But his attempt was futile. You opened the door, received Idia's permission and entered. But nothing could have prepared you to find your own face staring back at you when you entered Idia's room, the emulated expression of surprise making everything more uncomfortable. You and Idia were paralyzed for different reasons, inert, not knowing how to react. However, you recovered faster while he were still processing the entire situation.

"What the fuck is this?" You curse as you look with a mix of admiration and apprehension at your copy. Every little detail was exactly perfect, the same as the original, the same skin tone, the same hair, even the gestures were the same. It wouldn't matter if Idia had a plausible explanation for this, it was clear that he had created a robot to take your place to fill the void in his chest when you left. And it made you feel a little sorry for him, just a little.

"W-well, you see..." Idia can only mutter and whisper gibberish, his hair turning completely pink at being caught with such a strange creation. All this while said creation continues to maintain an impeccable posture, erect and proud, observing you, analyzing.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Yuu." The robot introduces themselves, without knowing or noticing the tension around them. It's so strange. There is no life behind those eyes like there is in Ortho, it is empty and dull plastic. It's uncomfortable to look at. "I'm Idia's lover and we're planning our wedding for after we graduate. Should we invite them, honey?"

Silence. It's embarrassing, invasive and wrong, this all felt too much, should you feel betrayed? Sad? Happy? Or honored that Idia created yet another robot? You didn't know at that moment. All you knew was that you needed to get out of there and you needed it now. But the door was now closed and locked, and no matter how many times you open it or yell at Idia nothing works. He has you now, he doesn't want to let you leave again. He can take your fear, he can take even your hate but having you leave again, even if only for your old dorm? That he can't handle. He won't.

"Prototype Yuu, shut down." He announces, finally recovering from his shock. He acts nonchalantly but you know he feels really awkward and anxious. "Listen, we can talk about it. It's not what it looks like."

You scoff. "Lover? Marriage? Yeah, it's exactly what it looks like, Idia. You created a robot that looks like me, that sounds like me. Because you still don't know how to deal with loss and you need comfort in the only way you know how to receive it."

Touché. He looks like a wounded dog that you kicked. But you find that you don't care at all. "You didn't have to call me out like that, you know." He mumbles but doesn't deny how right you are. "Plus how I was supposed to live without you? I felt so empty, so cold. But I didn't want to stop you from going home because it would hurt you. I can always destroy this prototype if you want, just please don't leave me again!"

He grabs both of your hands, holding onto them as if they were his lifesavers that keep him above the water so he won't drown while he stare at you without blinking, tiny little tears starting to run down his face. Now, can you forgive him or not?

[suitelif3]

Cabin Lover

rated t | 1.2k | ao3

For @steddiemas, prompts: cabin, cold

**

The dangers of the Upside Down were on rise once more.

Eddie and Steve got separated from Nancy and Robin while trying to investigate in the woods. It was pitch black as Eddie could barely see a thing in front of him. This just had to happen near Christmas, when they should be celebrating together instead of chasing monsters. Eddie clutched Steve’s hand in his so they couldn’t be separated, and stumbled along next to him.

Steve was the more practiced of the two with Upside Down terrors, so Eddie left the navigating to him. But they were still in the middle of the woods, the telltale signs of frost incoming, with no way to see. Eddie was starting to panic.

“Holy shit man! This is not good. We need to find the girls, they’re probably freaking out too, well at least Robin is. And I can’t see shit man, how’re you seeing anything?!”

Steve tugs on his hand. “Eddie, they’re probably fine. Nancy can take care of herself, she’ll make sure nothing happens to Robin. And I just have some practice lurking in the dark.” The nailed bat dangles from Steve’s other hand.

“We need to get out of these woods though. I don’t want anything jumping out at us when we’re not together.” Steve says.

They continue walking, trying to find any direction where the trees aren’t going for miles.

What if they die in these woods? Eddie would’ve never told Steve how he felt, how much all those hangouts with him when recovering meant to him. How much Steve took care of him when he needed it. How Steve is still taking care of him. What if he never gets another chance to tell him because they die in the woods by some creature that surprises them. Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Hey Steve-“

“Look!” Steve points to a dinky old cabin in the distance. The windows are dark, the wood splintering, and it seems pretty abandoned. But it’s shelter and it’ll do.

They walk faster toward the cabin, keeping aware of their surroundings. The wood creaks under their feet, but they continue in and slam the door behind them. Steve puts the bat down near the door.

It finally feels like Eddie can breathe. He can calm down without the vast darkness around him, not knowing what lurks in the shadows. Now they have this little cabin with walls, and is surprisingly furnished.

There’s a couch in the living room. A little coffee table in the center. Another room coming off of it, which seems to be the bedroom with just a mattress on the floor. Eddie really hopes it’s not as dirty as the one he had in his trailer nine months ago. There’s a bathroom attached to the bedroom, with a shower and everything. The kitchen is near the entrance, and only has a few canned items in the cabinets. But they have a stove.

All in all, not a bad place to spend the night hiding from monsters.

“Here.” Steve pulls a lantern from one of the cabinets, lighting it with a match.

The glow cascades softly on Steve’s face, orange from the flame bringing out the warmth of his eyes.

“Should we figure out the sleeping situation?” After trampling through the woods for so long, Eddie was thoroughly exhausted, he wanted to pass out as soon as possible.

“Yeah, good idea. I can take the couch, and you can take the mattress?”

“Sure, do you think they have any blankets in here?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Eddie starts rummaging through the cabinets again, hoping to find anything he could wrap around and call a blanket.

“Aha!” Steve pulls out two thick woven blankets.

Eddie sags in relief.

He remembers to close the curtains so their light doesn’t attract anything waiting to kill them.

Steve hands him a blanket.

“Thanks Stevie.” Eddie smiles at him softly.

“Goodnight Eddie.” Steve stares at him for a beat, then turns toward the couch, pulling the blanket over.

Eddie dips onto the mattress, checking for bugs or stains. He gets comfortable after seeing nothing. He wraps the blanket around him like a burrito, trying to get every inch of his exposed body under the warmth of the wool.

About half an hour in, Eddie is still shivering more than he thought possible. The cracked wood of the cabin not offering much insulation. The darkness making him feel the chill down to his bones. He wonders if Steve is any warmer.

“Steve!” Eddie whisper-shouts. “You still awake in there?”

“Yeah!” Steve whisper-shouts back.

“Are you cold?”

“Freezing.”

Before he loses his nerve, he asks Steve, “Do you want to come sleep in here?” The with me is implied.

“Sure.”

He hears Steve creep into the room, seeing his silhouette near the mattress. Steve falls onto it, and splays the blanket over him. He immediately crowds Eddie, huddling for more warmth. Eddie’s face is red hot now.

Eddie unwraps the blanket from around him, and shuffles closer to Steve. When their skin is touching, Eddie whispers, “Can I put this over you so we can use both?”

Steve nods lazily. “That’s a good idea, we can use our body heat and have both blankets over us. Hopefully it’ll warm us up quicker.”

“Bright as always, Stevie.”

Steve brushes a hand down Eddie’s arm, stopping on his waist. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he brings an arm up to rest on Steve’s shoulder. They have the two blankets stacked on top of them lying together.

“You know, you’re one of the only ones that thinks I’m smart.” They speak quietly to each other, filling the barely left space between them with their words.

“What do you mean? The kids love you and Robin thinks you’re smart for sure.”

“The kids might love me, but that doesn’t mean they think I’m bright. And sure, deep down Robin knows I’m smart but her nickname for me is still dingus. You’re the only one that says I’m smart or bright to my face.”

“Well I’ll keep telling you that then.”

Steve pulls Eddie in by the waist, so they’re flushed together, Eddie burrows into his shoulder.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?”

They slowly tangle their legs together.

“That Robin calls you dingus?”

“No, not at all, I know she means it in a lovable way, and she’s not calling me stupid or anything, it’s just I know I have more stupid moments than smart ones and it’s just a constant reminder.”

“Hmm, I think you’re really smart, Steve. More than anyone gives you credit for, including me. You’re more than just the muscle fighting these monsters. You have good strategy and I-we need you.”

“I need you too.”

Steve squeezes his arms around him briefly.

“Steve…” Eddie looks up at him.

“I do. I need you to help me corral the kids, to be there with me and Robin. Just seeing you brightens my day, I love being around you, talking with you. I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too.” He says breathlessly.

He pulls Steve in by his sweater.

Steve’s lips are soft, moving in sync with Eddie’s. He parts his lips and pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth. It’s warm, Steve’s tongue pushing against his. Eddie brushes a hand over the back of Steve’s neck, tangling his fingers into the nape of hair there.

His sleepy mood makes him more pliable. Steve pulling him in, he barely resists. Steve’s hands travel, dipping into his hips, splaying across his back, tracing down his arm. Eddie has a hard time remembering how cold he was in the first place.

He just feels the warmth from Steve’s body, losing himself in the allure of Steve’s lips.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your    elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

[gleamingyu]

hits different.

part I of the midnights series. inspired by taylor swift’s midnights. part II

pairing: music-producer!seungcheol x lawyer!fem!reader [exes-to-lovers]

genre: romance. slight angst. drama.

warnings: she/her pronouns for reader (but no specific physical characteristics). mentions of a pretty rough breakup. slight angst. some light cursing. mentions of death (jokingly though). terrible knowledge of law stuff (thank my brief interest in htgawm). yearning. loads of miscommunication. slow burn. cheol & reader are both stubborn. mentions of drinking. alternating povs. lower caps intended [if there’s anything i missed, please let me know!]

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is the first part of a new series i thought of! this is also my first time writing (or more like, finishing writing) something, so please be kind! any comments, reblogs or likes are welcome. and thank you to whoever decides to give this a chance :)

summary: still recovering from a not-so-fresh breakup, seungcheol leans on his friends to get back on his feet. it turns out to be much easier said than done, especially when his record label recruits the help of a law firm to deal with a recent scandal, which just so happens to be the same firm his ex works at. just his luck.

if anyone could see the scene in front of mingyu, they’d be severely concerned, much like he is at this very moment.

seungcheol is quite literally buried under a pile of blankets on his bed, the only visible part of his body a tuft of his dark brown hair. the floor of his bedroom is covered in clothes and empty food containers, and the air feels so stale and hot, it’s taking everything in mingyu not to gag. there is no light coming into the room except from the lightbulb shining in the hallway where mingyu is standing, and… is that… phoebe bridgers he can hear playing from somewhere?

mingyu glances down at his feet where kkuma, seungcheol’s devoted dog – and only girl who’s ever truly loved him, according to him – is sitting staring right back at him, a look on her fluffy face that mingyu swears looks just as depressed as her dad.

“this is way worse than i thought,” mingyu sighs, finally stepping into the bedroom. “okay, enough of this!”

mingyu grabs the blankets on the bed and pulls them away, revealing a very aggravated seungcheol. “what the hell are you doing?!”

“i’m not sure yet, because this,” mingyu gestures around the room, “is a lot. but it starts with you getting your ass out of bed and into the shower. immediately. this place smells like there’s a corpse somewhere in here.”

“yeah, it’s me. i’m the corpse. or i wish i was, because that would mean i’ve finally died,” seungcheol groans, turning away from mingyu and effectively shoving his face into the bed.

mingyu sighs, turning around to start collecting some of the dirty clothes on the floor. he finds himself regretting not calling jeonghan or joshua to come with him, because seungcheol might have been more easily persuaded to stop moping with them around. the reality is, they all thought seungcheol was doing better; he was back on his grind at work, finishing several albums he had been producing for, he was making progress in his jiu-jitsu classes, and he even joined the rest of the guys on their trip to australia last month, with minimal persuasion from his friends.

looking at the shell of a man laying on the bed in front of him, mingyu realizes he should’ve asked. he should’ve asked his friend how he was really doing, what he was feeling, what he could actually do to help him move past this.

better late than never.

“listen,” mingyu starts, going to sit on the edge of seungcheol’s bed but reconsidering. who knows when he last changed these. “i’m sorry if we haven’t really been there for you. i know a thing or two about breakups and heartbreak, so i guess i should’ve figured you weren’t alright, not like you said you were. you don’t have to keep all you’re feeling locked up. you can talk to us.”

seungcheol’s head moves slightly to the side, peeking at mingyu from the corner of his eye. he sighs, and turns on his back. mingyu tries not to cringe at seungcheol’s sullen face, his eyes red and still wet, as if he was still crying when mingyu arrived at his apartment.

“don’t beat yourself up, gyu. believe it or not, i was actually doing better. but a few days ago, i … i was cleaning around the closet by the entrance and …” he pauses, and mingyu thinks he might burst into tears. seungcheol breathes in however, closes his eyes, and continues. “i found one of her old hats. you know, the yellow crochet bucket hat she always used to wear in the summer? i bought it for her birthday when we had just started dating and … i don’t know, i just broke down. it hit me again that we’re over. like really.”

you and seungcheol broke up … four, five months ago? seungcheol shakes his head, he feels like time hasn’t passed the same since. days pass him by where he just goes over and over your last conversation – which was more of a fight, really – and he always ends up regretting everything he said that day. regrets resenting you for always working late, for never asking him to accompany you to firm events… regrets accusing you of some unspeakable things.

looking back, he can’t believe how big of an idiot he was. no wonder you left and didn’t even bother to come back to get your things. you left everything behind, all your clothes that still smelled of the lavender detergent you used to buy, your makeup haphazardly thrown into one of the bathroom drawers, the cooking books you always bought “for inspiration” but never, ever actually opened… and the yellow bucket hat you got from seungcheol for the first birthday you spent together. seungcheol had left everything where it was, a tiny part of him hoping you two would work this out somehow. but weeks went by with no word from you, and when he had tried reaching you, he came to the grave conclusion that you had blocked him on all platforms, cut him off from your life like a dead limb. back then he thought he deserved it. he still does.

“i’m sorry, hyung. i really am,” mingyu shakes seungcheol from his reverie, reaching a hand to pet his shoulder. a beat passes between them. “have you tried… calling her again since?”

“no. i don’t know what good it would do,” seungcheol sighs. “even if she answered, i doubt all the apologies i could offer would fix anything. i said some pretty fucked up shit.”

“yeah, i know. if you remember, i was there the next day ripping you a new one,” mingyu teases, desperately trying to cheer up his friend somehow. he swears he can see seungcheol’s lips twitch a bit. “but who knows… now that you both had some time to yourselves, you might actually be able to overcome this calmly. and if… if it doesn’t work out in the end, at least you’ll both have some closure.”

closure. that’s a funny word, because seungcheol wants the furthest thing from closure. he wants you back in his bed and your arms around him, he wants your indie artists he’s never heard of playing around the apartment in the morning, he wants your laugh echoing in the halls. he wants you.

he knows that the only way this ending could even be a possibility would be if he actually took mingyu’s advice and called you up, but another part of him is terrified of the other possibility: the one where you pick up and tell him to go to hell and fuck himself and never call you again or show his face around you. so for now, seungcheol opts for a third option: emotional limbo, with a side of trying-to-move-on.

he gets up from the bed and asks mingyu if he could help him straighten out the place. mingyu, bless his sweet heart, of course says yes and gets to work after sending seungcheol to clean himself up. just as he’s about to close the bathroom door, he hears mingyu’s exasperated voice.

“oh, for the love of god, where is that god-awful music coming from?!”

seungcheol can’t remember the last time he laughed so heartily.

the bar you find yourself in is bustling with people, laughter and cheerful conversations filling the space. you’re only half listening to whatever topic your two best friends, yunjin and chaeyoung, are discussing – something about “that bitch” in yunjin’s department at work that’s been giving her a hard time – instead reveling in the pleasant buzz of the champagne you’re nursing.

it had been a while since you were able to enjoy a nice evening with your girls. the past few months had been filled with endless meetings, client-induced headaches and sleepless nights, but thankfully, today you had managed to finally strike a deal for one of the firm’s most important clients (to be read as filthy rich), which you had been working towards all these months. naturally, upon hearing the news, chaeyoung and yunjin had begged you to join them at a bar in the city, “to celebrate your newfound freedom.”

you splurged on a bottle of champagne for the three of you and decided that tonight, you were going to have fun. you were going to relax, enjoy some drink, and catch up with your friends who you hadn’t seen in weeks.

and you will not, under any circumstances, bring up seungcheol.

you like to believe that in the last two months you had gotten better at shutting out any thought of your ex-boyfriend. in the days – more like weeks, if you were to ask chaeyoung and yunjin – following the ugly breakup, you were quite the literal mess. finding yourself alone and with nowhere to go, considering you had left the apartment you shared with seungcheol with nothing but your work stuff (how on-brand for you), it wasn’t surprising that your mental and emotional health had taken a massive hit. thankfully, at the insistence of yunjin, you agreed to crash at her place while you put yourself back together and took time off from work – something you had never done before.

to the surprise of your friends, it only took you two weeks to go back to work and start looking for your own place. two weeks after that, you were moving into a new apartment and claimed that you were feeling much better since the breakup. or at least starting to. chaeyoung and yunjin didn’t want to argue with you on this – even thought they 100% believed the front you were putting up was a load of crap – but in the end, they didn’t even have to, because the first time you went out with them again since the breakup, you had your first meltdown.

but was it really your fault that the man sitting two seats down the bar from you had ordered whiskey neat, just like seungcheol always used to? and was it really your fault that he was wearing a maroon leather jacket similar to the one seungcheol always used to wear in the fall, which you absolutely adored?

could they really blame you for bursting into tears right then and there and wailing about how much of a jerk seungcheol was for never understanding your dedication to your work? how much of a hypocrite he was for expecting you to just dip from the office when he suddenly had some free time, when he had never done so for you?

that night, chaeyoung and yunjin quite literally dragged you back to chaeyoung’s place and held you while you cried yourself to sleep, and in the morning, when you had embarrassingly admitted that “no, you weren’t really doing fine,” they held you again and offered soft-spoken words of support, opting to keep the classic we told you so in their thoughts.

four months passed since that incident and now, you could confidently say that you were truly feeling better. you weren’t quite over seungcheol per se; there were nights when you still thought about the smell of vanilla that filled the room whenever he was fresh out of a shower, the way he always got so giggly when you brought home a tray of cherries… yeah, you still found yourself missing him terribly sometimes. but the more time passed, you realized that seungcheol hadn’t tried reaching you at all in the months since the breakup, and so you thought he might be moving on as well.

it is true you had blocked him on all social platforms for weeks after you stormed out of your place. but on a particularly bad day, when all you did was cry and cry and cry after him, the thought of calling him up and asking him to go back to how things were crossed your mind, and you unblocked his number. unfortunately, your pride had set itself in your way, convincing you that it was seungcheol that needed to make the first step, considering he was the one who quite literally cornered you into a fight. so you didn’t call and instead prayed to whatever forces exist in the universe, that seungcheol would try your number again.

he never did.

“soooo, cheers to the lady of the hour! finally free from the clutches of corporate law!” yunjin cheered, clinking her glass against yours and knocking you out of your reverie.

damn it, seungcheol, i said i would not think of you tonight!

“yes, cheers!” chaeyoung joined in. “how do you feel? are you going to get a big ass bonus for the amount of time you put into this asshole?”

chaeyoung was probably right, you probably did deserve a huge ass bonus for the deal you pulled for the client you were handling. when you were in law school, you had never imagined yourself working for sleazy, corporate pigs who behaved like none of their actions would bite them in the ass eventually, and expecting others – like yourself – to clean up after them. but, as your boss grimly explained to you the day you had complained about your client, everybody has to start somewhere. “and junior partners don’t get to choose cases, sweetheart.”

life at the firm wasn’t always terrible. you were lucky enough to be part of an amazing team, and the firm worked with plenty of influential and big personalities, so you almost never had to worry about your income. but sometimes, some of the people you were asked to represent brought you to the brink of just quitting your job altogether.

“i just feel relieved,” you say. “if i had to hear the incessant whining and nagging of that idiot for one more day, i might have gone insane!”

“well, thank god you’re a stellar lawyer and managed to get rid of him,” yunjin teases, taking a sip of her drink. “do you already have anything else lined up?”

“god, no! i have a few days off just to take care of paperwork, maybe help out some of my colleagues around the office… but nothing big for now, thankfully.”

“oh, that’s amazing! which reminds me, this means you can actually join us on that weekend spa trip we were talking about last week,” chaeyoung happily suggests, as she’s already pulling up the website of the spa retreat.

“i guess a spa day would be nice,” you say, looking over at chaeyoung’s phone. you feel your body already going lax at the thought of a hot stone massage.

“oh, that would be so nice!” yunjin pouts. “we haven’t gone on a girls trip in so long! i miss going away, just the three of us… do you guys remember that trip we took to croatia two years ago? that was the best one we ever did, i swear!”

while chaeyoung joins yunjin in reminiscing about all the trips the three of you took over the years, you feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your dress paints. pulling it out, you see an email notification…

“oh, no…” your voice trails off, reading over the email you had just received.

“what? what’s the matter?” yunjin asks, her conversation with chaeyoung coming to a halt.

“my boss just emailed me. he wants me in the office tomorrow morning. some big case that just came in,” you explain, already feeling a headache coming in.

“but tomorrow’s saturday,” chaeyoung frowns.

“i know… i know.”

when monday rolls around, seungcheol really wished that he had died before mingyu had found him the week before.

the day started normal enough. he woke up at 5 a.m. and took kkuma for a walk in the park near his apartment building, just like every morning. by 8 a.m., he was already set up in his studio inside the PLEDIS building, ready to work on the tracks he was supposed to finish mixing by the end of the week. seungcheol liked the buzz of the label, people from all different departments running around trying to stay on their schedules; it motivated him to also do his part diligently, and reminded him that he was extremely lucky to be doing one of the things he loves most: music.

seungcheol should’ve guessed something was up today the moment the clock struck 11 and jihoon, the other in-house producer of PLEDIS, and one of his oldest friends, hadn’t come by his studio. he and jihoon had known each other since their college days, having met in an audio engineering class they apparently shared, and had been friends for 8 years now. during their last year of college, they were recruited by a record label that was just starting out (which became the PLEDIS of today), and despite all warnings from their families, they decided to take a leap of faith together and join the company. it all worked out for the better, it turned out, as PLEDIS only grew and soon became a household name in the music industry.

as the only producers that have stuck around PLEDIS since the beginning, they developed several… traditions, or rituals over the years, one of which was jihoon’s 11 a.m. coffee run, which they’d spend sharing ideas and notes over each other’s work, and, if jihoon was in a particularly good mood, engage in some office gossip (not that either of them would ever admit it). today, however, jihoon is a no-show and seungcheol can’t help but wonder what his friend is up to.

when he shoots jihoon a quick text, asking if he’s alright, his friend only replies with a “just busy,” and tells seungcheol not to wait up for him at lunch, as he’ll probably be stuck in the studio all day. this doesn’t surprise him that much, seeing as jihoon might be an even bigger workaholic than he is, but he still can’t shake the feeling that something must be up with his friend. he decides that instead of going out for lunch, he’s gonna pick up some takeout and join jihoon in his studio. he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing his friend will go a day without eating anything.

once lunch hours begin, seungcheol takes a quick walk two blocks down the street to the restaurant mingyu works in, who’s already waiting for him with the food seungcheol had requested for him and jihoon. on his way back to PLEDIS, he texts jihoon again, just to make sure he’s still in the studio, but there’s no answer, and now seungcheol is seriously starting to get worried. he jogs the rest of the way until he’s back inside the building, and takes the elevator to the 6th floor where jihoon’s studio is stationed.

walking up to the door that reads UNIVERSE FACTORY, he stops in his tracks when he hears more than one voice from the other side of the door. he easily recognizes jihoon’s voice, but the other voices – two other men and a woman – are harder to make out. except… except the woman’s voice is eerily familiar, and without a second thought, seungcheol grips the handle and swings the door open, four pairs of eyes whipping in his direction.

his eyes land on jihoon, who looks like he wishes he was anywhere else in that moment, and then scan the rest of room, recognizing mr. han, their CEO, and… you. it’s you.

seungcheol feels like he’s going to faint. mr. han does not look the least bit happy about seungcheol’s intrusion, and he really wishes the man would slap him just so he can know for sure if he’s dreaming. if you’re surprised to see seungcheol, your face shows no sign of it, and seungcheol can’t help but stare at you. you look so beautiful, so put together; your make-up is soft, almost unnoticeable, your hair pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing a dark green suit… oh, how he loved you in green.

you were the picture of grace and professionalism and he was… not. he really wishes he hadn’t come to the studio in sweatpants right now.

“mr. choi, what a… surprise,” mr. han exclaims, standing up from his seat, you and the other man – who seungcheol has no idea who he is, but he knows he doesn’t like the way he’s standing so close to you – following suit. “i didn’t know mr. lee was expecting you,” mr. han continues, glancing towards jihoon, who turned red as a tomato.

“i wasn’t, actually,” jihoon squeaks, avoiding both seungcheol and mr. han’s gazes.

“i apologize, i was… i was just bringing jihoon some lunch. i didn’t know there was… a meeting happening,” seungcheol says, looking towards you, and he’s almost thrown back by the way you’re just… staring directly at him.

mr. han sighs, but remembering the situation, he quickly puts on a polite smile as he turns towards you and the other man. “mr. choi is one of our other in-house producers. mr. choi, this is mr. jeon and miss L/N. they’re helping us with some… legal matters.”

so that’s why you were here. and who the other guy was. but what legal matters? and why was jihoon involved? and why didn’t he tell seungcheol?!

before seungcheol can ask more questions, mr. han gestures towards the door he came through and says “now, if you don’t mind, you can come back in a few minutes, mr. choi. we’ll be done soon.”

soon. soon, his ass!

seungcheol had been pacing the hallway outside jihoon’s studio for the past 20 minutes (he checked, he wasn’t exaggerating!), trying very hard not to eavesdrop through the door, and thinking of every possible reason why jihoon would need legal help and why you would be here.

jihoon was definitely in some kind of trouble. for the CEO to be involved as well, it for sure must be something that could affect the whole label. seungcheol just can’t understand why jihoon wouldn’t tell him if he had any kind of problem. they were colleagues, but most importantly, they were friends. he would’ve dropped everything to come to his aid.

now, when it comes to you… seungcheol knows you’re a lawyer, obviously he does. he met you when you were halfway through law school, and he was there for every failed and aced exam, for your graduation (he was so proud of you that day, it was the first time you’d ever seen him cry), for every measly job you had before finally securing the one you currently held at one of the top firms in the city. he also knows you’re a damn good lawyer, seeing how hard you work and how dedicated you are. he supposes it’s not surprising you were chosen to represent jihoon in whatever mess he got himself in.

he feels bad now that he remembers how he held these things above your head during your last fight. how you were working late so often, how you never asked him to join you at office parties, despite how eager you always were to go out with your coworkers for drinks, how you always asked him to wait for you outside the office building, as if you didn’t want people to know you had a partner...

he knows that both of you were to blame for how things went down between you, but since he started the argument in the first place, he thinks he could’ve brought all this up in a better way, at a better time.

his thoughts are interrupted when the door to jihoon’s studio opens again, and he finds himself regretting waiting in the hallway because now he has to face you again and he’s not ready and he doesn’t know what to say and he still looks like a hobo and –

“mr. choi!”

he looks up to see who he imagines is your colleague – mr. jeon – step towards him, as you and mr. han step out after him, discussing something. you glance once towards seungcheol before turning back to the conversation, and seungcheol feels his heart clench.

“mr. jeon, i’m sorry once again for interrupting your meeting,” seungcheol says, extending his hand to shake mr. jeon’s.

“don’t worry, no harm done at all. i’m actually glad you stuck around, because i had something to ask you. seeing as you and mr. lee are close, would you be available for a short talk with us, sometime in the next days? we’ll have to build a strong case for mr. lee and, well, some insight from his colleagues would be very helpful,” mr. jeon explains, fixing the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

seungcheol is taken aback by the man’s soft tone. his sharp eyes and cold look on his face made him look pretty intimidating, but his voice is the complete opposite, putting seungcheol weirdly at ease.

“o-of course, anything for jihoon,” seungcheol quickly replies. “can i ask, though, what exactly does he need help with?”

“plagiarism.”

“PLAGIARISM?!”

“you’re being sued. for plagiarism.”

“yes.”

“and you just found out last friday.”

“yes.”

“last friday when we all went out for barbeque and you didn’t even think to mention it? not even once?!”

“will you stop pacing and sit down? you’re making me even more nervous than i already am,” jihoon sighs, dropping his head in his hands.

seungcheol sighs as well, muttering a sorry, and sits down on the couch opposite jihoon’s chair.

jihoon continues. “i didn’t mention anything because i didn’t want to piss on everyone’s good mood. it was joshua’s birthday… besides, i didn’t know all the details of the situation at that point. i thought it was another baseless accusation, you know? but they’re serious about it. they wanna take me to court.”

“what? that’s insane,” seungcheol says. “i feel weird even asking, but did you even plagiarize?”

“no! of course not! i don’t even know the people!” jihoon exclaims, flopping down on the couch next to seungcheol. he lets out a long groan. “this is just what i needed.”

seungcheol pats his friend’s back, thinking of some encouraging words. jihoon was the most talented and creative guy he knew. to think that someone would accuse him of using somebody else’s work was a concept seungcheol couldn’t even entertain.

“don’t worry. that jeon guy looks like he’s already got a game plan.”

“and Y/N,” jihoon says.

silence falls around the two of them, until jihoon stirs from the couch, sitting up to look at seungcheol.

“are we just not going to acknowledge her or what?”

“no! that’s not what i…” seungcheol sighs, hanging his head. “i just wasn’t expecting to see her. i don’t know how to feel.”

“that’s understandable. you guys haven’t seen each other in a while, right?”

seungcheol shakes his head. “did she… did she say anything to you?”

“oh, no. she was super professional, went straight to business. but…” jihoon trails off, debating whether he should say what he was thinking.

“but? but what?!” seungcheol grabs jihoon’s shoulders, shaking him a little.

“but i think she was just as rattled to see you as you were. her hand kept shaking while she was writing, after you left. i guess she was just better at hiding her surprise,” jihoon continues. “now let go of me, you animal!”

seungcheol sighs. could it be that you were just as much of a mess inside as he was? the hopeful part of him thinks you might have thought of him all these months, just as he thought of you. the other part of him thinks your hand might as well just have been shaking from anger.

“you know, this might be a good thing,” jihoon says, getting up and sitting back in front of his computer.

“what, you getting sued and her being around?”

“yeah. maybe this way you’ll finally grow some balls, put your pride aside, and actually fix things,” jihoon deadpans, and seungcheol knows the conversation is over.

yeah. easier said than done.

[ne-nene-ne]

isagi in the bedroom

NSFW - MINORS DNI

isagi yoichi × fem!reader

warnings: dacryphilia, sexual intercourse, blowjobs, overstimulation

isagi is depicted as 18+ here

There's no doubt that Isagi would be an attentive lover. Just as he was observant on the playing field, so would he be as he was making love to you.

So when you two were still new to having sex with each other, he'd take it slow. He would take note of each movement and each spot made you mewl in pleasure. He'd try to remember what made you claw and dig your nails further into his back, what made you moan the loudest, what had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, what had your legs shaking, what had them wrapping around his waist the tightest, and most of all, he'd pay special attention to what left tears in your eyes.

The first time he saw you cry as he pleasured you, he immediately stopped and asked if you were okay. He was worried that he was hurting you. Yet, you shook your head and pressed on for him to keep going. You assured him that it was all just too good- that HE was making you feel this good. From then on, he would never forget the excitement and pride he'd felt the moment you said that.

Therefore, you can say he was especially attentive to your expressions. He described that one of his weaknesses was "looking too much at other’s expressions" (in his character file), but it's ironic how often he'd be using that skill to his advantage when it came to you. He wouldn't even realize it.

Because of this, I think he'd enjoy positions where he can face you and clearly see the looks that you were making on your face. Positions like missionary, cowgirl, and especially mating press would probably be his favorite.

After having done the act a couple more times, he'd come to the point where he finally felt that he had your reactions and expressions thoroughly memorized. A sort of, "I see" or "I get it now", moment, just like the ones he would have during a match. (And that's how you know when shit’s about to go down. Isagi is about to get his way and this would be the end for you.)

You appreciated that he took it slow, it was all for your sake, wasn't it? Well, sure. Indeed it was. But honey, you’d be wrong to think that was his only reason for taking his time with you. He needed to know the exact spots that drew out those delicious reactions from you so that you’d feel them a hundred times more when he’d eventually choose to absolutely wreck you, fucking you even harder and burying himself deeper inside you at relentless speeds. He'd do this to the point that you were bawling your eyes out and begging, overwhelmed by the way he was bullying your cunt. All of your pleas and begging would fall onto deaf ears as he continued to have his way with you (though, he would seriously stop if you used your safe word).

If he's in a particularly bad mood and you whine things like, "I can't" or "it's too much", he'll tell you to shut your mouth. After all, you're his good girl. He knows you can take it, so why are you lying to yourself? "shut the fuck up", he'd say. Otherwise, he’d do it for you (either with his thick fingers or his cock). You couldn’t tell whether that was a threat or invitation, the way his words gave you a jolt of excitement and made you become more wet. You wouldn’t mind either way.

The funny thing is– after all these things this guy would have made you go through, he’d immediately apologize to you when you both were finished. While both of you are recovering from the deed, he'd turn to you, rubbing his thumb gently on your flushed cheeks. “Ah, I was too rough on you wasn’t I?”, looking at you with worry in his eyes. “...sorry, love" he'd say softly, and would continue to mutter numerous “I’m sorry’s” while lightly kissing the bruised marks he created on your body. He'd then ask what you needed to feel better or get comfortable.

And whatever you said you needed, he'd get. You need some water? He’s already rushing to the kitchen to bring you a glass. You need a towel to dry off? He’s gonna dry your body off for you. You need a massage? Don’t worry, he’s got you.

But… if you say that you need his cock stuffed inside you again? Well then, good luck. Even if you said that as a joke, you’ve already re-awakened the monster inside him and you’re gonna be in for an even longer night. You really aren’t trying to walk for the rest of the week, huh? Also, be prepared for your eyes to be swollen the next morning after all those tears you’ve cried, cause he would have been fucking you as if there was no tomorrow.

Basically, I see Isagi initially being a soft/service dom, but turning out to be a bit of a mean dom sometimes as well. This doesn't mean that he'd never be gentle with you at all though.

If Isagi’s been through a long day and you offer to help him de-stress, he'll let you take the reins and allow you to have your way with him. Suck him off and he'll hold the side of your face tenderly as you pleasure him, gazing at you with eyes filled with such love and admiration for you. He'd wonder how he got so lucky landing such a pretty thing as you

He'll be mean when you become bratty or have been teasing him the whole day. Or even when you try to get certain reactions from him as well, he'll try to upstage you. He's a competitive guy both in and out of the bedroom.

I also see him being an eager lover too. Like, he'd look through porn vids to see what other positions and things he can try out with you. Whatever could increase the pleasure for the both of you, he'd want to do it.

a/n: Yeah, I know Isagi is a rather nice guy in general, but you've gotta admit, there's another side of him that can be a bit more brutal. Like, have you seen him the moment he saw Niko crying? This dude was fucking ecstatic. All, "kimochi ii" and shit, goodness gracious 💀 n e wayz, hope y'all enjoyed cuz I sure did (LOL)

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