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jytan2018 · 6 months ago

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I wasn't aware there were Arcane fans who like Silco so much, they'll flatten the show's complex writing into "Silco Genius, Ekko Dumb, Heimer Dumber" but hey, I've got some time to waste on defending Arcane's writing so let's go.

Arcane politics IS very frustrating to watch, but it is not black/white at all. In fact, it's a fairly realistic portrayal of how people with different political ideologies clash in real life. You have:

- The out-of-touch old person who's been through so many "unprecedented times", he believes change will come naturally with time and therefore sees no need to tamper with its arrival (Heimerdinger during basically every political maneuver)

- The middle-class liberal who does the political version of playing whack-a-mole without focusing on the big picture (Jayce embarking on a different side-ish-quest basically every episode)

- The revolutionary-turned-center-leftie who's traumatised from failed violent clashes with the status quo and has shifted focus to keeping everyone slightly-less-oppressed and alive (Vander working with Enforcers)

- The revolutionary-turned-authoritarian-capitalist who fixates on capital and military might as sources of political leverage to bargain with Piltover (Silco with Shimmer)

- The privileged Topsider who insists healing and violence are mutually exclusive in societal upheaval (Caitlyn fixating on returning the crystal)

- The leftists who are more interested in taking down people in power than building class solidarity and preventing a power vacuum (The Fireflies)

I can't pin Vi or Jinx down just yet because Season 1's focused on fleshing out their sisterly relationship and CaitVi's romance at the expense of establishing their political ideology (and well, neither seem like the type to think about politics beyond "that side hurt my family and friends"), so moving on: While I do agree the Piltovans' complicity/active role in Zaunite oppression got glossed over like a figure skater on freshly Zamboni-ed ice, I think Season 1 wasn't trying to send a "Ideological Purity Good, Pragmatism Bad" message because if it did, the season finale wouldn't have ended on Jinx obliterating Zaun's biggest shot at independence so far.

As for whether Silco truly was Zaun's best chance at achieving independence, let's start from the end of all those fallen dominos and work our way back:

1) Jayce only proposed to grant Zaun independence because it was part of a peace deal he struck with Silco (a deal that Silco refused to fulfill because he loved Jinx too much to sacrifice her).

3) Jayce only struck the deal because he realized he could not tolerate the human cost of a potential all-out-war after accidentally killing a child during a Shimmer factory raid (which he initiated to retaliate against Silco).

4) Jayce only killed the child because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time (a.k.a. producing Shimmer in a factory that should not be hiring child labourers to begin with).

5) Both the child and the factory were there because Silco believed exploiting Zaun was justified if the Shimmer he got from it would grant him enough money and firepower to liberate Zaun.

Yeah, Silco's not the one who oppressed Zaun for centuries, but he's not a pragmatic visionary playing 4D political chess either. At best, he's a deeply misguided whose bestie tried to kill him ONCE and he's been obsessed with domming people via corruption and shiny steroids ever since; at worst, he's just another oppressor who happened to grow up in Zaun. As much as I love to see him fight for Zaun's independence, every piece of shit that hit the fan in Arcane has Silco's prints all over it, and Arcane has made it very clear that he'd achieved what little he'd achieved in spite of his methods and ideology not because of it. This is especially true when we factor in Jinx, the wild card Silco willingly sabotaged his independence deal for because she was the price he had to pay for it.

Moving onto the Fireflies, it's important to note that Ekko wasn't dubbed The Boy Saviour because the show was trying to shoehorn in some good guys to root for. Canonically, Jinx is the first person to call him that, and she does it not to praise his activism, but to call out his hypocrisy for cherry-picking which Zaunites he protected at all costs and which he turned on as soon as they were arbitrarily deemed irredeemable or worse, targets.

Besides, the show's also established that the average Zaunite's ire is mainly directed at Enforcers and they don't know much about Councillors at all (see Vi not even knowing who the Kirammans are), so it makes sense that Ekko would be friendly to Heimerdinger since he has no way of knowing that this mustached centenarian hamster's responsible for Zaunite oppression (which is called not being ride to strangers and not, as you so crudely and saltily put it, "sucking his furry cock for The Joy of Science).

I hate to break it to you, buddy, but for a person that claims to prefer seeing both Silco and Ekko portrayed as morally complex, you sure are eager to overlook a literal addiction epidemic because Silco sounds more badass when he's the hero and not as morally complex as the show intended. This isn't to say my analysis is inherently more objective but I'm just saying, there's only one person I see here insisting Silco was Assigned Villain At Beginning™, and it certainly isn't any of the Arcane showrunners.

What do you think about Arcane's politics in general? Do you feel like it pulled its punches in depicting the council's cruelty against the undercity? Or that there was an imbalance in how topsiders' cruelty vs zaunites' cruelty were portrayed? Like, on one hand, they do explicitly show enforcers massacring rebels and abusing undercity citizens on orders from the council. Silco also mentions that topside had zaunites working in toxic mines with unbreathable air that literally clogged their throats, and apparently they were explicitly restricted from using the hexgates (as Silco had to demand it in a deal with Jayce) which is another way to keep them down.

But then we also get these moments where it feels like they pulled back a bit, such as dialogue that portrays topside's crimes as just "neglect" and "ignorance" instead of like. Active and malicious steps taken to brutally oppress people and carefully maintain that oppression. Understandably more screentime was given to characters like Heimerdinger and Jayce compared to other councillors, as they are game champions. But then we have this imbalance where most major topside characters are those who just "didn't know" and "weren't aware about how bad the oppression was", they simply needed to go down there and open their eyes and now they're graciously trying to do good.

Which is all well and good, but... what of the councillors who KNEW of the horrible conditions of zaun as they themselves worked to create them? All the oppressive legislation had to come from somewhere and someone right? The horrible mines Vander and Silco's generation endured, laws restricting them from the same economic privileges topside gets, and of course the murder of zaunites by enforcers, ordered directly by councillors. The last one in particular is strangely brushed under the rug in pivotal moments, like Vi entering a Councillor's home and just? Laying in bed? No disgust or anger that she's in the home of the same people who ordered her parents to be killed? She IS aware that enforcers' violence is sanctioned by the council right? As well as Ekko inviting Heimerdinger, the ex-ruler of the city, into his secret safe haven, no animosity at all, even though there was plenty aimed at Caitlyn.

I can understand they wanted an approach of every main character having shades of gray, and giving attention to councillors who intentionally took action to oppress zaun would cut into valuable screentime, and those straight up evil people are simply not the type of characters Arcane is interested in exploring. But maybe they still could have had zaunites react a bit more realistically towards these councillors, so it doesn't suddenly feel like they pulled their punches.

What are your thoughts on this?

Thank you Anon! First off I must say this is a fantastic ask, and I think you and I see eye to eye on most of this. Sorry for the delayed response, I didn't often have enough spoons to finish the reply.

I'm going to answer this as someone who has read the wiki broadly and knows almost nothing about the game lore and other game-only characters.

I think everything is Piltover's fault.

You have it correct in your depiction of the Zaun/Piltover divide, but I think you can go even further. Arcane is a story of intergenerational trauma, how it gets passed down like a curse... But this trauma is born from the violence of their situation, and that is entirely created by Piltover's oppression of Zaun.

The furthest back we see for our characters is Vander drowning Silco in the Pilt, full of chemicals that leave him disabled and disfigured. We know from dialogue and the show events that they were oppressed then, that they fought for liberation, and that Vander betrayed Silco and ended up having some (rather vague) power in Zaun.

The city is poluted. The people are struggling to rebel and gain independence... And our desperate characters turn violently on each other, setting the stage for the decades to come, with more death, more violence, more desperation.

That entire set up is due to Zaun being under the boot of Piltover. If Zaun were an independent nation, they could blame themselves for (most) of it. But they are a pretty dire depiction of colonialism instead. If Zaun was doing as well as Piltover, Silco would be a fine businessman, friendly, driven, maybe smitten with the gentle barman Vander, who only punches in his boxing classes.

The entire show depends on Piltover being the worst, and keeping Zaunites' heads under water.

They have deals to keep Zaunites away from Piltover, with Vander enforcing it. They have a complete hold on commerce with the bridges as chokepoints. They export all their polluting industry there. Clearly they control the wages, and the very solid glass ceiling of social advancement. Viktor, after all, is terribly aware that he'll never go further unless he breaks the rules. His Zaunite origins are a shackle.

I personally was very impressed with the show for going that way. But You got it. I think they wanted to have their cake and eat it. They made Piltover's oppression real and awful... I mean that shot of them ordering the city be choked further? Despite the Sheriff's protests?

And sure, Heimerdinger isn't in that picture, but he can't always be absent from Council asshole moments, since he's been on the Council from its inception.

In my humble opinion Heimerdinger is the biggest asshole of Arcane. Sits on the Council while it destroys Zaun for profit, ignores the political situation in favour of being a clueless arts and science enjoyer, out of touch with 99% of his constituents as he fails to perceive they live drastically different lives from him (or fails to understand why that matters, leading to Viktor's radicalization and Jayce's takeover).

But worst of all he crosses the river, realises how bad things are (probably has no idea too, because a trip to the seedy part of town would not reveal the depth of destitution and systematic abuse rampant there), and thinks he's 'not welcome' because his attempt at "fixing things" aren't welcomed. BRO, the only thing you tried to fix was making a girl smile with a TOUPEE MAGIC TRICK.

He's detatched from reality. He IMMEDIATELY gives up. It made me incredibly mad that Ekko was stripped of his identity and class consciousness to suck on his furry cock for The Joy Of Science. Like hell no. Heimerdinger needs to be put in a burlap bag and drowned in the Pilt for centuries of crime against humanity.

So yeah, they wanted to show a place in deep trouble due to oppression, but they also wanted some of the oppressors to be UwU blorbos who don't deserve hate because they try so hard and they actually have a kind heart... Just like with Cait and Vi's relationship, I feel like it's due to rushing things. The show is nearly perfect, but it sure could have used an extra episode, or since it already has a second season greenlit, could have kept councillors as Antagonists for longer. We understand asshole rich people. We could understand Heimer with his head in the sand and disconection to mortals. We could forgive a lot if they went through a proper arc. But making toupees and gushing about science with Ekko isn't character development.

I feel like the Firelights were shoehorned not for complexity or to show a divided Zaun, but to give the viewers 'good Zaunites' to root for, so they could switch Silco into a villain.

Sadly anyone with critical thinking will realise that Silco is the one who obtained freedom for Zaun (no matter if he squanders it as he dies), and the one who has been working hard to make it a richer place. It's not just the chembarons. Like the episode after the timeskip literally shows us a montage of this new Zaun. And sure shimmer is a part of it, but shimmer is also shown to be a GOOD thing in places, a FUN one in others, and it's far from being the only weird/amoral thing Zaunites use or indulge in. Silco isn't a morally good guy, but his goals are good for the whole of Zaun, and he's the one who gets what he wants in the end and could have ended the oppression he dedicated his entire life to fighting.

Meanwhile the Firelights are a haven against shimmer, but they're a ONE tree house worth of people. They have no plan for Zaun. They actively attack and hinder the one guy who'll ultimately win THEIR OWN FREEDOM. Yeah, it's divided, and that's great! I love all of it, except for shimmer's vagueness. But where the show fails, I think, is in trying to tell us that this is Good. That the Firelights are the morally Good Zaunites. Waiting in a treehouse, being an insular group that fights another gang to the death, being differentiated only in that they don't partake in the local drug... Is Good.

While making sacrifices, bad deals, using drug money, is Bad. Even if it came with political unity, and was the group that got the results, it's Bad.

They made a perfectly grey and subtle setup, and then instead of going 'there are many grey, even dark ways to be a hero for your people' — looking at both Silco and Ekko — they went white/black and 'also the freedom fighter is a bad guy, not a complex guy'.

Ekko doesn't have plans to free Zaunites. He thinks killing Silco will kill Shimmer, which is the reasoning of a child. If Silco dies, if all of Silco's gang dies, someone else will step in and pick up shimmer production. It's like toothpaste, you don't get to put it back in the tube.

Even if Silco took shimmer with him to the grave, all that Ekko would have achieved would be to leave Zaun at the mercy of power hungry chembarons, ready to split up again and enter a power struggle that would harm thousands of Zaunites under their rule.

Would Ekko care? Yes, I guess he would, but he won't be able to put all these poor Zaunites into cute tree houses, so fuck them I guess.

More importantly, would Ekko ever come to realise that killing Silco was a mistake? I don't think so, because Ekko got his brains scooped out to love on Heimerdinger. He lets a Councillor's daughter lecture him about violence, a day after 5 of his people were killed by Jinx.

Ekko is one of those characters that looks cool if you don't scratch the surface, but didn't have a real arc or a real character consistency. Unless we're truly to believe he's politically dumb enough to think Silco is a bigger evil than Heimerdinger and that life in Zaun is miserable because of Silco and not because of hundreds of years of oppression overseen by Heimer.

And that's indeed what we see, so oopsies I guess.

If Zaunites reacted more realistically to Councillors, Heimer would get a dressing down at best, and Cait would have an incredibly better arc with Vi, but the show would need one more episode at best, and more uncertain Season 1 endings for the Pilties.

I've rambled a lot and not sure I've really made a coherent answer... But this is what you get x'D sorry

#arcane netflix #arcane meta #arcane vi #ekko arcane #arcane silco #no beef with OP though its always nice to see someone care so much about arcane

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cakeinthevoid · 1 year ago

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Prompt/Part 1 — Part 2 —

Part 3 — Memory Meal (Under My Skin — Jukebox The Ghost)

Longer chapter that may deserve some content warnings! Flashback to whumpee in cage (not explicit/POV), implied/mentioned captivity, mistreatment of individuals (mentioned), injuries (listed, mentioned)

Truthfully, Carrie didn’t know why it took so long for them to make this discovery. They should have just treated this case as they did every other: business as usual.

Carrie suspected that their success with most of the institutes patients is a result of the tried and true method of treating people normally. Yes, Carrie was also professionally trained in all the practical aspects of the job, but it was the softer skills that had greater effect. Their last resident needed to heal from severe leg injuries, but Carrie was almost more proud the day she had spoken kindly than the day she could walk again.

They smiled as they remembered her, Rosia—a young woman who came to their home so full of rage and righteous fury and left with a little more hope in her heart. Not a completely new person—she was just as biting with compliments as she was with curses—but Carrie liked to think she would find the good things with a little more ease than she had before. The stars knew she needed it.

Reflecting on all the most recent patients, Carrie found the idiosyncrasies of their most recent case…not disturbing, but it made them more uneasy than their typical case.

Carrie loved music—everything from punk to classical—and would play it often throughout the day. Most of their patients had their own favourites too, making it easier to bond with them over the shared interest. Willow was the first time Carrie had decided to hold back.

Susceptible to audio/visual cues. Prone to overreact. Easily stimulated. Danger to the public.

Those were only a few of the least worrying lines on the first page of the patient report they received those few weeks ago. They were expecting someone like a firecracker, like Rosia, or someone ‘violent’ like Lex—who at most could be called defensive—but instead an entourage from the institute arrived just to deliver a stoic Willow.

In a cage. A cage barely tall enough to stand in and uncomfortable to sit in.

Before they even brought Willow inside, four of the institute officers came in to do an audit of their home. When Carrie had said that the institute did their annual audit just four months ago, the lead officer had simply said this was a “special case.”

Getting information out of those officers was like pulling teeth.

The officers scattered across their home, even inspecting the field beyond the porch. Then they asked where the cell was. At that point Carrie pulled their own rank and announced they’d take it from here. The officers were skeptical but acquiesced. They looked eager to leave despite pitying looks at Carrie.

The lead left last with words of warning.

“Keep ‘em in the cage. I know you’re gonna wanna take ‘em out as soon as I leave—I read your files, don’t deny it—but at least this once, follow the institutes instructions to the letter. At the very least, keep ‘em locked up for a day or two.”

Carrie had wanted to respond, but he continued: “I like you. Heard good things, and you do good work. So I’d really hate to be called in to clean up your body. Whatever would be left of it, anyway.”

Either oblivious to or ignoring Carrie’s growing horror, he finished with a quick, “Just tie ‘em up when you feed ‘em and don’t hesitate to call for backup.” Then he pat them on the shoulder and took his leave.

Carrie had stood there in dumb shock for a good minute after the door shut.

Their kitchen timer went off and pulled them out of the memory, but they couldn’t shake their initial impression—especially when it was so far from what Willow was actually like around them alone.

Willow was their highest rated patient to date, and yet there had not been any serious incidents at all.

Granted, there was the time with the spoon…

Spoon. They needed a spoon for the salad bowl.

Carrie refocused their efforts on preparing the dinner according to the diet requirements outlined in Willow’s patient folder. They doubted this diet would sustain a healthy human, let alone someone recovering from broken ribs, malnutrition, and a painful amount of bruises and lacerations.

Carrie had long begun taking the institutes words as guidelines rather than law. No one had reprimanded them for it (not severely, anyway) so they assumed some reading between the lines was expected. All the food groups were covered and allergies were respected, but Carrie did enjoy taking liberties with how they did so. Cooking was not only useful, but an enjoyable way to de-stress.

Taking the chicken out of the oven, Carrie chanced a look around the corner and caught a glimpse of—nothing. They frowned slightly as they plated two servings. They were really hoping Willow would sleep some more.

As expected, once the cutlery clattered onto the table, it only took a few moments for Willow to meander into the kitchen. Carrie gave them a warm smile. They haven’t exchanged any words, but they adapted rather smoothly to a quiet system and schedule.

Willow slipped into a seat at the island table and rested their hands in their lap as they waited for Carrie to seat themself. Once they had taken their spot at the head of the island, Willow gave a polite nod and took up their fork.

Their hand still shook a little, but they were able to cut the chicken into bite sized pieces using the edge of the fork.

Dinner was a quiet thing. Willow would only nod or shake their head slightly every now and then. Carrie decided not to bring up the music. Attempts at conversation died soon after, but the silence was comfortable.

Tomorrow, Carrie would begin Operation Music Festival.

Tag list (comment/ask to be added!): @whumpkinpie <33

#Carrie #Willow #my cake #recovery #recovery whump #captivity whump #captivity #rehabilitation #vibrating because I am starting to really like these characters #not what I usually write but lovin it #hope you liked the longer chapter :))#again: feel free to comment/send an ask about what you'd like to see! maybe i'll fit it in #better yet give me title ideas lmao #non verbal whumpee #if u couldnt tell this chap is me trying to shove exposition down your throats in a smooth and subtle way B) (not subtle at all)#i already have THOUUUGHHHTSSS about Carrie and the institute guys i'm ready

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years ago

Text

Just Make it Better｡*.✧

Pairing | Eddie Munson x bartender!reader

Warnings | 18+ only, porn with a fair bit of plot, swearing, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, AU where the pull out method is infallible, he comes on reader but like in a romantic way.

Word Count | ~4,830

A/N | Eddie: that's what's killing the kids!!! Me, twirling my hair: haha, wow, so true, Eddie.

It was super fun to watch stranger things 4 late and say to myself, wow Eddie is so cute, I wonder if there’s any fics of him, then hop on tumblr and find out he's the internet's latest boyfriend. Happy to be here with you all.

“Hi, sweet boy,” you coo, squatting down to let the little black and white cat rub his face against your hand. When you place the plate down for him, he lets you keep petting him for a while before he goes for it, as if he knows that’s the price of the food you bring him each night.

You’ve been affectionately calling him Banjo, after the instrument that was playing in the bar the first time you saw him, when he was all skin and bones. His fur is softer and fuller since you first encountered him mewling by the dumpster behind the Hideout. Steady meals and a little love have brought back his willingness to groom himself. “You’re looking real cute these days, mister.”

“You really know how to make a guy jealous.” You jump at the sudden voice from behind, falling on your ass on the ground beside your stray friend. Banjo, who has become less jumpy the longer you’ve known him, doesn’t even look up from his dinner.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie!” You yell, pushing yourself up to stand, rubbing your hands on the front of your denim shorts.

You should have known he’d appear. He never let a Tuesday go by without talking to you, but you’d thought you could avoid him today. Banjo was probably here twenty minutes ago, waiting for you, but you kept yourself behind the bar until Eddie and his band were almost finished on the makeshift stage in the corner of the Hideout. You’d thought, foolishly, that he might take the hint and leave before you came back inside.

If he had, it would have guaranteed you another week of not going home with him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in earnest, having the humility to look a little guilty. “Just wondering why the little guy gets all the compliments.”

You don’t answer, embarrassed that Eddie saw you acting like that. All soft for a dumb cat. He might get ideas about the kind of person you are.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Was looking for you. Wanted to tell you the big news,” he grins, widening his arms. “You are looking at a member of the Hawkins High graduating class of 1986. Got the diploma and everything.”

Your look is impassive. “Amazing to think what somebody can achieve in just ten years.”

“Only six, actually,” he corrects, joy unwavering. He watches you pick up Banjo’s plate and give him a couple long strokes down his back, standing to the side to keep the back door open and allow you through.

“So, what’s next, Eddie? Let me guess. MIT, right?”

It’s mean, you know it is. But you can’t help yourself when it comes to him.

When you first started working at the Hideout, the Summer after you yourself graduated, you tried keeping him at arm’s length gently. You were all one word answers for a while. But he could deal with that, easily. Half the kids in his club started like that. He’d coaxed every one of them out of their shell, building them up from shy, quiet boys to almost-men willing to stand on a shitty little stage and play their own music in front of a whole room of people who’d maybe rather they weren’t there.

So you’d changed tack. Instead, for the last year, you’ve been trying to beat him away. Trying to make it as clear as possible.

I’m not worth it. I’m not good for you. I won’t ever make you happy.

The success of this tactic had been hampered, you knew, by the way you let him take you back to his uncle’s trailer every once in a while.

“I’ve got plans,” Eddie’s eyes sparkle, more sure of himself than a new graduate has any right to be.

“And these plans involve continuing to play here every Tuesday,”

“Well, I know you’d miss our little chats,” he says. “Besides, we are technically supposed to get paid for playing here, and I haven’t actually seen Tommy in like two months?”

You hum. That sounds about right. Tommy had started to make a habit of letting you close up on Tuesdays, especially. “Try letting him smack your ass next time you see him,” you answer. “That usually puts him in a good enough mood to pay properly.”

Eddie makes a face like he’s considering it. “We’ll maybe make that Plan B.”

That almost earns him a smile, but you push it down. “Great, now, get out from behind the bar.”

Eddie bows his head a little like he’s apologising. He jogs round the bar, hair flying behind him before he settles himself on the stool across from you.

“Honey?” You glance down the bar at one of the regulars. “Can I get two beers for me and my buddy?”

“Uh-huh, which buddy’s that, Murphy?” He makes a non committal noise, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Yeah, nice try, but we agreed, three tops. This is the last one, then it’s Pepsi for the rest of the night, okay?”

He grunts, but doesn’t complain, just grabbing the open beer you hand him and returning to his place at the edge of the room.

You glance at Eddie, finding him smiling at you warmly. “So, what did you think of the show?”

You purse you lips, trying to look like you’re really thinking about it. “You certainly make me appreciate the talents of real musicians, Eddie.”

In truth, you admire Eddie and his friends, playing their music every Tuesday for an audience that barely realises they’re there. And it’s good; loud and real and alive. Stuff you’d listen to in the car, if you had one, and if they ever made a real record.

And you like watching him play, especially. Eddie has always had confidence you couldn’t believe, but when he’s got a guitar in his hands it’s like it has somewhere to go. The way he looks with his head thrown back, hair wild about his face. It’s half the reason you tried to avoid him tonight, knowing you were too worked up to say no if he asked to take you back to his.

“Your children are waiting on you,” you tell him, looking pointedly behind him at his bandmates who you know for a fact are too young to be in here. They’re watching both of you with the dumb grins boys get when their friends talk to a girl. God, you can believe he just graduated. This feels exactly like being in high school.

“I can, uh, give them a ride and come back for you, if you want,” he says, gently, scratching the side of his neck.

You swallow, knowing exactly what will happen if you let Eddie bring you back to his trailer. You mentally count how long it’s been since you let him touch you. At least a month. Longer, if the warmth between your thighs is any indicator.

This is the worst part. However you say it, accepting his invitation is telling him that you’re thinking about him, that you want him.

“Okay,” you say lightly. Looking away from his eyes, so intent on you.

“Yeah?” He grins, throwing his shoulders back and nodding. “Okay, I will see you at one then.”

You hum, still trying to make it seem like you don’t care either way. When he’s gone, you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and regret. Fuck, why couldn’t you just tell him, once and for all, that you aren’t interested. He’d listen, you know he would. He wouldn’t like it, but if you really told him that you didn’t want to keep doing this, that he should stop talking to you, stop inviting you home, then he would.

You’re resigned to it, the rest of the night. Even as you’re flipping chairs on top of tables, you’re rehearsing what to say. Listen, I’m just gonna go home, you plan out every word in your head. I don’t think this is going where you want it to, Eddie, and we’ll both be better off if you leave me be from now on.

Only, there he is at the window, smiling and waving at you like an excited boy about to take you to prom.

He even opens the passenger door of his van for you.

The whole way, he talks at you easily, letting you wallow in silence. He tells you about his final month at high school, the way he’d clawed his way towards a D in English, which surprises you, given how much he reads.

It’s strange, listening to him talk about something that feels so long ago, now, for you. But you were there, together at one point, even if you never spoke to Eddie at all while you were. Different circles, different friends. Not that any of yours lasted past senior year. Eddie was the only person you talked to from school, these days.

It has you thinking, what it would have been like if you’d spoken to Eddie, properly, when you were in high school still. What would he have thought of you, if he knew you before life decided things were a little too good and kicked you in the teeth? Would he like you better without the jagged edges? Would you let him be sweet with you, outside of his bed, like he wants to be?

Eddie lets you into his trailer first, directing you straight to his bedroom, as always, after the one time Wayne had come home early. He hadn’t caught you on your knees for Eddie, the way you had been when you heard his car pull up in the middle of the night. But he had caught sight of you disappearing into the bathroom. He had seen Eddie standing there with your bra held behind his back, trying to casually untuck his shirt from his newly pulled up pants to cover the wet patch where you had pressed your mouth over the denim just to see him throw his head back.

It had taken him two months to get you here again.

“So, they both have girlfriends?” You ask, incredulous, breathing out smoke that already has you a little more relaxed, a little giggly with him. He’s telling you about the youngest in his group, and the weird way they try to one up each other when they talk about the girls that conveniently both live in different states.

“So they claim,” he nods, taking the offered joint from your fingers and resting it in the ashtray beside his bed. “Amazing how times change. Girls were certainly not impressed by guys that play fantasy games, when I was fifteen.”

You hum, not sure that’s true. You remember Eddie at fifteen. He was just starting to grow his hair out, and it looked crazy, sure. But his eyes were as they are now, big and expressive.

“Maybe not when you were fifteen, but don’t tell me you haven’t had a couple cheerleaders going through a rebellious phase in this bed over the years.” There’s a pause, and you catch Eddie glancing up at the ceiling. You howl a laugh. “I fucking knew it. Some metalhead you are. You liked the same girls all those basketball players were into.”

“No need to be jealous, sweetheart,”

That has you rolling your eyes, whether he’s right or not. “As if I’d be jealous of Hayley Matthews.” You watch his eyes for a twitch, any hint of being caught out, but he’s just watching you, unamused. “Olivia? Zoe Miller!” His expression is unflinching, increasingly frustrating you. You grab his wrist and squeeze. “C’mon, tell me!”

He tries to shake your hand off his wrist but you just hold on to it with the other, opening your mouth to try and irritate him more when he grabs your hands in his and presses them together, pinning them against your stomach. Arousal zings up your back, the wetness between your legs that has been there since he first strummed a chord at the bar suddenly much more noticeable.

None of this gets past Eddie, who shakes his head at you in disapproval, voice harsh. “You know, you’re getting kind of predictable, sweetheart.”

You rub your thighs together, anticipation making your head a little fuzzy already. You’re so close to getting what you want from him. In a second, he’ll flip you over and tug off your shorts, pull your hips up and bend himself over your back. Then he’ll give you his cock, and his groans in the air above your head. He’ll let you bite his sheets and smell him on them. Soon you’ll feel good and owned until your head is empty, like you want it.

Only, Eddie just lets your hands go, and backs away from you. You watch, fighting a pout as he stands by the bed and removes his t-shirt, grinning at the way your eyes dart between his tattoos, his necklace, then back to his face. He reaches for you, grasps your hips and this is it. But he’s not turning you over. He’s pulling you towards him, your ass almost hanging off the side of his mattress, his big hands resting on your hips. He lets you squirm and avoid eye contact for a second before he works the button of your shorts open, pulling them down your legs and off your feet. He throws them over his shoulder in a way that might make you laugh at him if he weren’t staring at you like that.

Eddie hums, hooking his arms under your legs to open them up for him. He leans his body over yours, and for a second you think he’s going to kiss you. But his lips find your neck instead, soft kisses he trails down to the neckline of your shirt. He shoves the fabric of it up, up and over your chest, face still pressed against your collar bone when he tucks his fingers into your bra to pull it down over your tits.

You let him do everything wordlessly, not exactly able to complain even if he’s doing this softer, slower than you normally get him to. His breath goes a little funny when he pulls back to glance at your chest, but he’s back to himself in a second, burying his face against the skin between your tits before he drags his lips up to pull at your nipple. You feel a little bit of teeth on the sensitive skin and whimper, pushing the heel of your hand into his sheets.

You moan outright when he rubs his thumb against your clit over your panties, digging the material between your lips. You feel his grin against the underside of your breast, then on the skin by your belly button and above your panties. “Eddie,” you say, trying to sound put together even as he has you ready to beg. “You don’t have to.”

He pulls your panties to the side with one hand and glides his fingers up your pussy with the other, stopping at your clit to give you a little rub with the rough pads of his guitarist fingers. “I can see that,” he answers, grinning and dropping to his knees by the edge of the bed. He pulls your panties further to the right and out to let him get his head where he wants it.

You cry out his name when he gets his mouth on you, immediately lifting your hips up and off the bed with your feet on the edge. You feel his laugh against your cunt as he presses you gently back down to the mattress. There’s no teasing, just his wet, soft tongue playing with your button, drifting down to give your hole a wide lick before he’s back looking after your clit.

Your hand is gentle, threading through the hair at the top of his head to hold him to you, even though he doesn’t even pull away for a second. You dare yourself to look away from his ceiling, down your own torso to his face between your legs, whining to find him with his eyes already on you.

You feel the tips of his fingers circling your hole, rubbing over your entrance before letting them glide inside, pressing immediately against the spot that has you throwing your other hand down to his hair and grasping him tighter.

Everything is numb but the pleasure building deep in your cunt, his soft hair between your fingers and your thighs. “Eddie,” you gasp, needing something, you don’t know what. You whine, wanting him to know what to do to make it happen for you, like he always does. “Eddie, please.”

He shakes his head between your thighs, his tip of his tongue bullying your clit, and then he’s pulling your hand from his hair. Turning his palm to yours, he curls his ringed fingers between yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You squeeze his big hand as he pushes you over, hips jerking against his face wildly. You cry out at the intensity of him still playing with your twitching button as the pleasure in that spot becomes unbearable. He gives your clit one final kiss, a little suction between his lips that has you slamming both your hands against the mattress repeatedly. When he takes his fingers from your pussy, you can feel the slick that follows them leaking out of you. Without hesitation, Eddie buries his fingers in his mouth, tongue dragging between them as he pulls them back out, already clean of you.

The other hand, still grasped in your own, he brings to his lips as he stands. He presses his swollen, wet lips to the back of it, along your knuckles.

When he untangles your fingers, your chest aches.

“C’mon,” he says, so gentle. “Want you naked.”

You pull your top over your head, relief at the new cool air on your heated skin almost overwhelming. Eddie focuses on getting your underwear off while you remove your bra, then he tugs your socks off your feet.

He smiles at you, tilting his head. His gaze moves over you, up from your swollen cunt to your face, which you’re sure is giving away everything you’re feeling. A little shock, some nerves. All your adoration.

“So pretty, all over,” he says, kissing your knee that’s still tucked up to keep you open for him. “Pretty cunt, pretty tits, pretty face,” he grins against your skin. “Pretty girl.”

You can’t help yourself when you giggle, feeling a little manic from what just happened. Eddie’s eaten you out before, lots. Before and after he’s had his cock in you. But not like that, never so gentle yet frantic, like he was desperate to do it, not to get you wet enough for him, but to make you feel legless and soft on his bed.

You miss his hand in yours.

The metallic jangle of his belt buckle has you shaking your hips in excitement, wanting him now, now, now.

“I know,” Eddie says, unzipping his pants and pushing them down over his narrow hips. His thick cock is flushed pink, his balls heavy and swollen and fuzzy with dark hair. The sight of his cock has you wrapping your hands around the back of your legs and pulling back, not even feeling judged or insecure when he laughs at your movement, but just more desperate.

Eddie takes some deep, slow breaths, wrapping his hand around his swollen cock and pulling the skin back over his wet, sticky head. You don’t know why you’re not telling him to hurry up, you’re feeling desperate enough for it. But it doesn’t feel like your place right now, to tell him what to do with himself, or with you.

Eddie watches your face as he drags the head of his cock up, his wide head catching your hole then pushing at your sensitive clit. Your mouth sits open, ready to moan when he finally gives it to you, but for now you’re just gasping, giving him little girlish whines that have his cock twitching in his hand.

He breathes out through his nose when he catches his cock against your entrance a final time, sliding himself into your wet, clenching cunt and groaning through his closed mouth.

You clasp onto his shoulders as he builds his pace, stroking himself in and out of you steadily, the wet sound of your cunt clasping onto him filling the room. His hair falls round the sides of his head, and you wish that he’d tuck it behind his shoulders so you could see his lovely face better.

He does, throwing his head back like a lion shaking its mane to get it out of his face, making you breathe a quick laugh. Eddie’s eyes are so soft on you, then, his hands gentle on your hips. “You wanted to see me, huh?”

He always knows.

“Mmm-hmm,” you whine, fingers digging into him.

“You like looking at me while I fuck you?” You shift your hips against his, dizzy with the questions when you don’t want to be thinking anymore, not when his cock is finally getting good use of your cunt like you wanted. “C’mon,” he murmurs, leaning over you, his face now close to yours. Oh, that makes you squeeze around him, enough that you see him pull his eyebrows together. “You like looking at me?”

“Yeah,” you whine, hoping that’s the last of it.

“You’re usually so mean to me,” he breathes, hand coming up to stroke the hair back from your forehead. You mewl at the stuttered thrusts he gives you, grasping him pleadingly. “So fucking mean all the time, but that’s okay.” He smiles at you, thumb stroking over the top of your cheek. “It’s what you need, so you can be good for me like this. Isn’t that right?”

You’re staring at his big eyes, your vision steadily blurring. “Yes, Eddie,”

“Yeah, I thought so, baby,” he coos, pressing kisses under your eyes. “And you’re so good for me when I get my cock inside you,” he nods you through your cry, letting you know it’s all okay. “So good for me when I touch you.”

“I wanna be good,” you tell him, feeling overwhelmed, but suddenly desperate for him to know.

“Oh, sweetheart,”

“I wanna be good, Eddie,” you cry, tears finally falling down the sides of your eyes. He hushes you, holding your face in his big hands, thumbs wiping the wetness away from your burning cheeks. You squeeze his shoulders, wanting him to kiss you.

It’s like he knows. He always fucking knows. Eddie presses his soft lips to yours, breathing in your cries from the constant movement of him over you, inside you. He draws his hips back, then up as he pushes in and oh God.

“Eddie,” you gasp.

“That’s it, yeah?” You nod desperately, reaching out almost blind through the tears in your eyes to find his hand and drag it to the top of your cunt, his laugh above you breathy. “I’ve got you,” Eddie says, letting you press his fingers to your clit. He flattens three of them against your sensitive button, rubbing in wide circles that have your thighs shaking.

You realise suddenly that you’ve been holding your breath, feeling it fall out of you in a wail. You stare at his face as the feeling builds, spreading from the spot the head of Eddie’s cock is dragging against with each thrust to your clit and up your spine. His cheeks are spotted pink, the hair covering his forehead frizzy but for where it’s sticking to his skin. His wide eyes are intent on yours as he nods. “C’mon,” he says, his cock twitching and you realise he needs you to get yours first. “Let me feel it, then I’ll give you my cum all over your little pussy, just how you like.”

Your whole body spasms when you come, your toes curling, your legs pushing up and out enough that Eddie has to put some effort into keeping you in place. He’s murmuring praise all the way through, telling you how good you are for him, how nice your little pussy feels clenching and pulling at his cock.

“You, now,” you say, encouraging him along, wanting to see him and feel the evidence of his pleasure on you.

Eddie gives a long groan, and you feel his cock twitch and flex inside before he drags himself from your hole. It sounds like it hurts to leave your warmth, and a little, insane, part of you thinks about telling him to put it back in and cum inside, if that’s what he wants.

But he’s already at the edge. You watch through hooded eyes as he plays with his cock over your sex, curling his body over yours and slapping his hand on the mattress by your head. You place your palm on the side of his neck and he kisses your wrist quickly, groaning against your skin when he comes, ropes of him landing on your wet, clenching pussy.

His hips twitch in the air as he coaxes out the final drops, letting himself rub his head against your sensitive clit, leaving his cum there even as your body twitches and jumps in protest.

Your hand keeps rubbing the side of his neck without you even thinking about it, drifting up to scratch at the back of his head when he falls into you, his face pressed into the skin between your tits. You feel a little numb all over, apart from the space when his warm breath is leaving your skin hot and wet.

Eddie kisses the inside of your breasts quickly, making to pull away but you’re grabbing him, wrapping your arms under his and around his torso.

“No, don’t go!” You cry, the thought of the cold air he’s about to let touch your skin making you shiver. The fear that he’ll laugh at you hits with intensity, but you only hear his harsh breaths mingling with yours.

“’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, kissing your chest again. “Just gonna get something to clean you up, then I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, guiding you to nod too, loosening your arms a little. “Okay,” he breathes, pulling himself slowly from you.

You stare at the ceiling when he’s gone, legs left open like you’re keeping the space for him.

Your thighs shake when you feel a wet cloth, gentle and just cold enough to soothe your hot cunt. Eddie cleans around your thighs, which have been wet with you own slick the whole evening. His touch leaves you for a minute, then he’s back with a cool glass, hand on the back of your head, tipping water into your pliant mouth. Then, he’s pulling your boneless body up to sit and dragging a new t-shirt over your torso. The smell of him, smoke and masculine aftershave, embraces you, letting your already fuzzy brain float a little further away from any impending anxiety.

You feel the bed shift and creak, then he pulls you up the bed away from the wet patch you’ve left on the sheets, settling you against his chest as he leans upright against his pillows.

You drift a little at the feeling of his hand on your upper arm, gently stroking. Your eyes close, you don’t know for how long, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, but Eddie’s still there with a gentle caress.

You stare at the dark hair on his chest, trying to enjoy the afterglow even as shame starts to build in your chest. Your brain is already mocking you, for all the things you just said, all the things you let him coax from you.

And he knows.

"If you want, the fur ball can come live here."

You blink, not following at all, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed from earlier or Eddie himself that’s caused it. "What?"

"Yeah, Wayne wouldn't mind as long as he doesn't have to be the one to feed him," he says, looking like he’s thinking it through even as he speaks, and you remember he saw you with the cat.

“You mean you’d look after Banjo?” You ask without thinking, still staring at his chest, not even realising you just told him you went as far as giving the street cat you feed every day its very own silly pet name.

He keeps stroking the top of your arm. “Yeah, he could terrorise the birds in the woods to his fluffy little heart’s content.” Eddie’s fingers move, up and down, up and down. "And you could come visit him, I don't know, every day maybe."

Your breath is unsteady. Slowly, you let yourself rest your arm over his torso, almost hugging him.

"I think he would like that."

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #service top eddie munson #aka the real eddie munson #there is a cat that just lies on a dumped mattress on my street every day #and for weeks i'd walk past him at like 6am on my way to work and just like wave #then one day they gave me a proper meeow and ran right up to me and rubbed against my leg and and i felt hashtag blessed #and i was like hey that feels like a cool start to a fic #cause that's how i think #and then the cat became a real proper metaphor #like a metaphor that real writers use in this stranger things smut fic lmao #anyway #lov eddie he soft #(✿ ♡‿♡)💖#my stuff

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laundrybiscuits · 2 years ago

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(come alive in the neon light tag | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6)

“It’s called folie à deux,” says Robin. “Madness shared by two. That’s your genius plan to make Eddie your boyfriend: inducing a psychiatric condition.”

“I’m playing it safe.” Steve frowns. “I still don’t even know if he’s gay or whatever.”

“Oh, what the shit, obviously Eddie is gay, dingus.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but—” she hesitates. “Well, everyone knows. It’s obvious. Everyone talked about it at school.”

Steve starts flipping through a pile of magazines by Robin's nightstand, just to have something to do with his hands. “Everyone talked about Jonathan Byers, too. I talked about Jonathan, and then he stole my girlfriend.”

“Right, but, as far as I know, you did not have sex with Jonathan Byers. I think the fact that you’ve been hooking up with Eddie is a pretty strong indication of homosexual tendencies. Wait, why have you been hooking up with Eddie if you thought he was straight?”

“Well, I figured it was worth a shot. Straight guys mess around sometimes, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Robin stares at him. “That’s the single most unhinged thing I’ve ever heard. God, I hate men.”

“I’m just saying, we can’t rule anything out!”

“Okay, but you’re hoping it means something, right? That’s the goal here? How’d dinner go?”

It had gone pretty good, Steve thought. He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like any date he’d ever been on before.

Normally, he’d take a girl out to dinner and just try to get her talking. Get her laughing, try to charm her. They both know that if she’s smiling enough by dessert, she’s going to be slipping him a little tongue in the car at the end of the night; depending on the girl, they might be doing a lot more than kissing.

It’s a tried-and-true method. It’s how he does things, and he’s pretty damn good at it. But taking Eddie to dinner had felt like having to learn a whole new language. For one thing, Eddie hadn’t known it was a date. For another, it hadn’t been any kind of warm-up to something, because they’d already left Eddie’s sheets in ruins.

The part that got to Steve the most, though, was how he didn’t know what the right way to act was. The place they’d gone to wasn’t even that fancy or anything, just a burger joint, because Steve might be new to this but he knows how it looks when two guys go to a restaurant with tablecloths and silverware. Between the formica tabletops and the flimsy plastic basket of fries, the atmosphere hadn’t exactly been date-like. And during the dinner, Steve hadn’t gone to any of his usual patterns of do-you-have-siblings and what-kind-of-music-do-you-like because he already knows that stuff.

He knows a hell of a lot more than that. He knows what Eddie looks like when he’s scared out of his mind; he knows what Eddie’s willing to do to protect the people he cares about. He knows Eddie, so he doesn’t have to ask.

It’s not like they hadn’t had stuff to talk about. It’s always just easy to talk to Eddie. He’s funny and clever, way smarter than Steve, but he never makes Steve feel stupid. Or, well, not in a bad way. Just the way where sometimes he smiles and scrunches up his nose a little, and Steve stops being able to talk for a second.

So sure, they have stuff to talk about. Movies, the kids, any dumb thing that goes through their heads. At one point, Steve had had to grab Eddie to stop him from standing on the booth and delivering a little speech about dueling, which for some reason he has very strong feelings about.

Steve’s worried that he hadn’t been showcasing his boyfriend skills enough, though. He’s been trying to be a little flirtier, but it’s like he’s fighting with one hand tied behind his back. Every time he’d almost reached out to touch Eddie’s hair, maybe play with his fingers, he’d remembered: right, we’re in public.

It’s not like any dating he’s ever done in the past. It’s difficult and complicated, and he can’t even complain about it to Robin without being an ass, because it's not like she's got other options.

What he’d say to her, if he could, is that maybe it would just be easier to stop trying. Find a girlfriend. Do things the way he knows how, the way there’s rules for.

He could even just stop trying for more with Eddie, and go along with what they’ve got now. He could have Eddie as a friend, his best friend other than Robin, and still have Eddie cursing and beautiful in his bed. It’s possible.

But Steve thinks about the way Eddie slipped off the booth and collapsed into Steve’s side for a moment, cackling like a maniac, with a little bit of ketchup on his cheek.

Yeah, there’s no way Steve’s giving up yet.

#I wrote like half of the actual sex scene preceding this and then got writer's block and skipped ahead #so here's the plan: we're moving ahead BUT god willing and the creek don't rise it'll be in the AO3 version #(whenever I put up the next chunk)#steddie #fic: come alive in the neon light

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spiderlilyserendipity · 3 years ago

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Practical Skills

Summary: In the world of the wealthy, Kim Namjoon is like a gentleman among piranhas. You’re an heiress desperate to make your marriage date unsuccessful. What happens when you say something the gentleman is not supposed to hear? Part 4 of the No TIme for Love oneshot series.

Genres: smut, fluff

Tags: CEO! Namjoon, rich girl! OC, brat!OC, Dom!Namjoon, sub!OC, consent!!!!!, colour system, small argument, hand kink (OC’s), sir kink, Namjoon’s duality ruining my life, aftercare

Warnings: small age gap, OC is 23, joon is 26, unprotected sex (be safe IRL), light breath play

WC: 3689 (3.7k)

When your parents tell you the newest man they have found for you, you have a good laugh about it. His name is Kim Namjoon, the renowned author and CEO of a famous publishing company. You have heard great things about the man, his reputation even filtering into your college’s rich-kid circle. He’s from a family of professors, a successful gentleman known for his soft spoken nature in the piranha pool that is the chaebol world.

It’s funny to you not because you have anything against the guy, it’s just a funny pair. Ever since you reached “marriageable age” to your parents last year, they have been on your case to try to find a suitable bachelor for you. Of course, marriage in the chaebol world is the equivalent of a business deal. You’re not interested in marriage to start with, but that kind of marriage is one you would never agree to. So here you are, a piranha in training, about to go on a date with a best selling writer known for his romantic philosophies on life.

You already know this date is going to be fun. (Fun for you, of course — your parents will be pulling their hair out later when nothing comes out of it).

In true romantic fashion, Kim Namjoon messages you before the date asking if you would like to stop by a bookstore. You think it’s sweet of him to put in effort for a date both of you know is only for long-term monetary gain.

So to respect Kim Namjoon’s romantic personality (and also because you’ve heard the man is a real treat for the eyes), you decide to play the sweet girl role today. You dress yourself up pretty, in a pink dress with a modest skirt and cutesy accessories, and put your hair in an elegant half-up half-down look.

And from the blush on Kim Namjoon’s face when you meet him, it works like a charm.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for making time today.” Namjoon says kindly, shaking your hand. The rumours are all true when they say Kim Namjoon is a real work of art. His hair is pitch black, styled back. He’s tall, he’s polite, and he has a beautiful set of dimples that show when he smiles at you.

But for you, a red flag goes up in your head at the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s taking this whole situation seriously.

You know it will be work getting him off your back, since he’s probably a romantic and all that. But as much of a playgirl as you are, you don’t like to hurt people’s feelings. So instead of trying to annoy him away, you decide to try a new method: emphasizing how much you two wouldn’t work. That should clear any romanticism lingering in his head about this arrangement nicely. You think, praying on this plan to work.

You follow Namjoon inside the bookstore you agreed to meet up at. This place is popular for college age couples, a two-level shop where students can study with a cafe, too. Somehow you think Namjoon did it intentionally due to the 3-year age gap between the two of you.

Namjoon guides you upstairs to a table near a window, giving a nice view of the street below.

“Should we try the food here?” You ask Namjoon sweetly, mostly to buy yourself some time. Namjoon nods, picking up a copy of the menu.

“So I hear you’re attending a very prestigious college, Miss Y/L/N.” Namjoon nervously tries to break the ice.

You smile tightly. As expected, Kim Namjoon has done his research on you. He won’t buy the dumb act like other men do. “Ah, yes. Actually… I must be honest with you. I’m a little unsure about getting married right now since I’m graduating this year.”

Namjoon puts his menu down, his full attention on you. “We don’t need to rush anything at all, Miss Y/L/N. We can take as long as you like to get to know each other. Same thing for if we choose to go forward with marriage, too. Both of my parents are professors, so I totally agree about focusing on education first.”

You fake a laugh. Oh, he’s persistent. “Don’t you think I’m a bit young for you? I mean, it is a three year age gap.” You lie.

Namjoon considers what you’re saying. “Is it uncomfortable for you? Personally I’m okay with it. Like I said, we can always take things slowly and have open discussions about what we like, there’s no rush to figure it all out on the first date.”

You smile and nod, hating how everything he says makes so much sense. You can’t find a single thing to poke a hole in, much less weasel your way out of this situation. But you’ll surely try.

You raise your hand to catch the attention of a waitress. You order a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of tea, and Namjoon orders a cup of coffee and a pastry. You ask Namjoon about his job at the publishing company, buying yourself time to think of a way to make him hate you.

Your eyes slide down to Namjoon’s lips, appreciating how pretty they are. You wish this date was like all the others you have been on, where you could go home with this handsome stranger and call it a night. You watch Namjoon’s hands move through the air as he explains his job, his long and slender fingers decorated with rings and a gold watch on one wrist. He’s steady and mature, and so your mind unintentionally slips away to the things you could do with him if he was just a little… rougher.

Your eyes trail back to his lips, and then up to his eyes. You startle at the sight. Namjoon’s eyes are now narrowed, darker than before. He noticed you looking at his hands. You swallow dryly at the way his tongue creates a small bulge on the inside of his check. “S-Sorry, did you ask me something?” You fluster, accidentally knocking the fork out of your plate. You hiss as chocolate icing smears the front of your new dress.

You grab napkins from the dispenser on the table, trying to dab at them.

“Here, you can borrow mine.” Namjoon stands up, reaching over to pass you the handkerchief from his suit pocket. But the effect is the opposite, since Namjoon accidentally knocks over your cup of tea, too. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Namjoon exclaims, getting out of his seat.

You sigh, standing up from the table. “It’s okay, I’ll just fix it in the bathroom.” You tell him, grabbing your phone and walking off before Namjoon can say anything.

You frown as you try to clean the stains with a mere paper towel, not achieving anything. As you’re frustratedly cleaning, your phone rings. It’s a call from your best friend, who knows the renowned Kim Namjoon’s reputation as well as you do.

“Hey,” You answer the phone on speaker since no one else is in the bathroom but you.

“How’s the date going?” Your best friend asks immediately. You sigh as the tea stain and chocolate icing now smear together to make a bigger stain.

You quit cleaning, and decide to wash your hands instead. “He’s actually really nice, but you know how I feel about marriages for wealth. Not to mention, he’s kind of clumsy. He seems like the type to not have any practical skills, you know? Like, he needs a wife to do everything for him. Maybe that’s why he wants to get married so badly, you never know with men and their intentions.”

“Ouch, that’s mean.” Your best friend laughs on the other end.

You laugh with her, grabbing paper towels to wipe your hands. “Yeah, well that’s the truth. But he is hot though, so depending on how the rest of the date goes—”

You bump into someone just outside the door. bumping into someone as you go to put your mirror away. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” You say instantly, looking up.

It’s Namjoon. From the unimpressed look on his face, he heard everything. You feel yourself go pale. “Y/N? What happened?” Your best friend asks.

“I-I’ll call you back.” You say, and hang up quickly. Namjoon looks down at you.

“I’m going to assume our date is over then?” Namjoon asks curtly.

You flush, feeling guilty. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to say—”

“You didn’t mean for me to hear it.” Namjoon corrects you, his patience clearly maxed.

You bite your lip, about to apologize again when a small group of friends come around the corner. Namjoon turns away from you, leaving the small hall. You follow him quietly to the table. You notice the waitress is already waiting there, likely having been called over by Namjoon.

“It’s fine, I can pay.” You say quietly, feeling awful for hurting a nice man’s feelings with your cynicalness. Namjoon ignores you, pulling out his wallet and paying. He looks straight at the waitress and smiles, saying thank you, but doesn’t spare you a second glance.

You’ve never been one to chase a man, but you know when to set your pride aside. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore and down the flight of steps in front of the building. “Namjoon, please wait--” Your voice is cut off by a cry of pain when you roll your ankle.

An arm wraps around your waist, catching you from falling down the last five or so steps. You look up at Namjoon, grateful but he is still angry, his jaw clenched when he looks at you. “You know,” He whispers. “I was trying to be a gentleman today, but you’re really pushing me.”

You bite your lip and his eyes follow the movement. “Please let me make it up to you.”

Namjoon inhales sharply. “Careful what you ask for, Y/N. I don’t think a girl like you can handle me.”

You chuckle, truly amused at that. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Wanna bet?”

Namjoon’s dark eyes leave you for a split second, pulling you aside when people come out the doors behind you. He takes your hand in his large one, pulling you along like this is something he has always done. You realize where he’s leading you, to the parking lot. “Do you know the colour system?”

You’re shocked. You thought for sure Namjoon was the romantic, wait-till-marriage vanilla sex type. Namjoon chuckles. “Do you?” He asks again.

“Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop.” You say in awe. Then, you glance around. “Did you bring a car?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I had my driver drop me off. But I assume you did, so you can drive.” He smirks, no longer entertaining your bratty act. You can’t lie, the change in attitude is exactly what you’re looking for. If Kim Namjoon was a daydream as a gentleman, he’s a wet dream when he talks like this.

You unlock your car, and Namjoon walks around to the passenger side. When you start the car, Namjoon pulls up the navigation on his phone and puts his address in. You’re utterly shocked at his demands when he holds his phone up to you with a grin. “Let’s go, babe.” He says, a hint of the sweet gentleman returning. But there’s nothing sweet at all about the way his hand comes to hold your exposed thigh as you drive.

You’re really in for it this time.

🖤🖤🖤

Namjoon is a better liar than you expected. He’s all polite when you get out of the car, maintaining a nice distance between the two of you on the walk to the elevator. He bows hello to passing by neighbours and effortlessly dodges the questioning looks about who you are. But once it’s just the two of you in the elevator, he pulls you close again, one hand on your waist. “My title is sir, and yours is baby. How do you feel about punishments?” He asks you, fingers tracing circles on the small of your back.

You shiver. “I-I like punishments.”

Namjoon chuckles. “I had a feeling, but I thought I should check.”

Namjoon brings you inside the luxury apartment with surprisingly less haste than you imagined. He guides you to the living room, full of windows overlooking the city. His apartment is up high, but it’s not the view that takes your breath away. You watch with bated breath as Namjoon takes his suit jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “Colour.” Namjoon checks again, eyes sultry.

“Green, sir.”

Namjoon pulls you in faster than you expected, the two of you crashing down onto the sofa. He kisses with no hesitation, all tongue and passion that takes your breath away. You can’t even think about trying to dominate this kiss, he’s got you right where he wants you — beneath him. You dig your hands into his hair to make up for not being able to control the kiss, still feeling bratty. Namjoon gets back at you for it by bunching your dress up to your hips and firmly pinning your hips down.

You moan into his mouth, irritated that you can’t grind into him.

Namjoon breaks away from the kiss, sitting up to take his tie off. Namjoon laughs when he catches you eyeing it. “What? Want to get tied up?” Namjoon mocks you, making you blush. He cups your face, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I’ve got different plans for you, brat.”

You gasp as he picks you up into his arms with ease, and you scramble to hold onto him. Your legs wrap around his middle and you wrap your arms around his neck, getting wetter by the second.

Namjoon brings you down the hall into his bedroom, setting you down in the middle of a king-sized bed. He pulls up a chair in front of the bed, making you confused. He sits with his legs spread, looking indifferent. “Touch yourself. If you do a good job, maybe you’ll get my hands on you.”

You whimper at his hot gaze on your spread legs, and the wet patch on your panties. As much as you want to beg him, apologize and ask for a chance to be his good girl, you’re still feeling bratty. You know this is a game you’re bound to lose, but you try anyway.

You sit up on the bed, slowly taking your dress off. You set it aside, and then take your bra off. Namjoon looks amused to see your nipples are already hard, but you take it in stride. You start playing with your breasts, rolling your nipples between your fingers. You stare unashamedly at Namjoon’s hands in his lap, wishing they were his instead.

But when Namjoon’s expression doesn’t change, you start to get desperate.

You whimper. “Sir.”

“What’s that? You need me to do everything for you?” Namjoon mocks.

You pout, making Namjoon come closer. You move your panties to the side, revealing your wet clit. Namjoon looks down at it, his hand hovering close to your hole. You want him to fuck you so badly, but instead, Namjoon just smacks your pussy instead. You whine, making Namjoon smirk. “You didn’t think I was gonna help, did you? You said it yourself, Y/N, I don’t have any ‘practical skills.’”

You bite your lip, silently begging for him to let it go. Namjoon puts his thumb on your bottom lip, making you release it. He runs his thumb over your lip a few times, assessing you. “But if you beg really nicely, I might reconsider.” When you don’t say anything, Namjoon sits back again. “Finger yourself. Stop when I tell you.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, lifting your hand to your mouth to suck on the digits. Namjoon’s jaw tightens again. You lower your fingers to your hole, inserting two fingers at once. You’re wet enough that they slide in and out with ease.

You pick up speed, already close to coming. “Slow down.” Namjoon orders sharply. You listen, but only with a pout. “Play with your nipples.” He says, and you do. The slow movements drive you insane, making your legs feel weak. You close your eyes, imagining the fingers inside you are Namjoon’s, his big hands touching you everywhere.

You gasp when you feel Namjoon’s real hands come to rest on your waist. They hold you, not tightly but as a firm reminder. His thumbs stroke at your ribcage, sending goosebumps down your abdomen. “Good girl, so obedient.” Namjoon praises in your ear, making you shudder. “Doesn’t that feel good? You like being put in your place, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“N-No, sir.” You retort, but both of you know it’s a lie.

Namjoon withdraws his hands. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, annoyed. “Go faster.” He orders.

You obey, spreading your legs and pumping in and out of yourself. You grind down on the bed, wishing it was Namjoon instead.

Your breathing becomes uneven as your orgasm approaches. Namjoon smacks your ass, forcing you to stop. “Take your fingers out. I want to see how wet you are.” You pout at the order, but do as you’re told. You spread your folds, showing him the glistening interior of your pussy. Your hole is dripping with pre-come, spilling down onto the bed with need.

“S-Sir, I want your fingers. Please, please.” You beg.

Namjoon laughs. “Cute.” He comes closer, planting his hands on your knees. “But I can’t help you, baby. I don’t have any ‘practical skills’, remember?”

“I’m sorry.” You say, so worked up that tears well up in your eyes.

Namjoon stops when he notices the tears in your eyes. “Colour, baby.” He whispers, cupping your face.

You lean into his touch. “Y-Yellow.” You whimper.

Namjoon pulls you into his arms instantly. “What do you need, baby? How do you want me to look after you?” He asks, rubbing your back reassuringly. You sniffle, burying your head in his neck.

“I need your touch, please. Wanna be good.” You cry, emotional from how deep you have sunken into sub space. Sure, like any brat you like being put in your place. But you don’t want your dom to ignore you, you want to be taken care of, too.

Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, baby. I’m not upset. Want me to make you feel good?” He asks, massaging your sides. You nod, holding him tight.

You allow him to lay you down against the pillows, giving you a firm but less dominating kiss. You cup his face, grinding up against him. You moan when you feel his clothed member against your pussy, the material rough against your clit.

Namjoon makes quick work of taking off his clothes, soon as naked as you. You rub your hands up and down his wide back greedily, loving the way his muscles tighten under your touch. You let out small moans as Namjoon kisses along your neck, sliding two fingers inside you at the same time. Namjoon’s fingers stretch you in a way your own could never, making you feel full. “Hh, so big.” You moan, making Namjoon laugh against your skin.

“So greedy, baby.” He comments, fucking his fingers into you harder. When he thinks you’re ready, Namjoon pulls out. You sigh in peace when he aligns his large cock to your entrance. You are grateful for the preparation, but even with how wet you are, it takes a moment for Namjoon to bottom out.

“P-Please move, sir.” You beg, and Namjoon listens. You cry out, tipping your head back in pleasure. Namjoon’s hands find your hips, digging in hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You want that, you want it all so badly.

Namjoon wraps one arm around your waist, lifting you slightly off the bed as he fucks into you. You moan as his other hand comes to your neck, fingers pressing in just enough to make you lightheaded. You bring both of your hands on top of his, holding them against your neck.

“Who do you belong to?” Namjoon asks, his hips starting to stutter after a few minutes.

“You, you! Ahh, please, sir!”

Namjoon pushes the whole way into you, rubbing your clit expertly to make you come. You come so hard your thighs tremble, but Namjoon is right there to catch you. “Namjoon…” You whisper, breathless from coming.

“I know, baby. You did so good for me.” He praises, kissing you everywhere. You sink into his touch, feeling like you’re floating. “Good girl.”

🖤🖤🖤

You bite your lip. “About the stuff I said earlier, are we cool about that?” You ask Namjoon.

He stops towelling his hair, looking over at you. You blush at his eyes on your body, focusing on wiping the water off so you can get dressed. “Of course.” Namjoon says, giving you an honest smile. Namjoon had helped you shower and peppered you with many kisses after the scene was over. Happy from the care but wanting to do something on your own, you try to dress yourself. Namjoon notices you fumbling with your panties, thighs still shaky as you try to put them on. He gently takes them from you and helps you put them on. Then, he turns you around, helping clasp your bra.

You lean in against his back, savouring his strong arms around you. “I admit I was harsh on you when you were being really sweet, that’s why I had to ask. I go on a lot of these marriage dates, you know.” You tell him.

Namjoon nods, kissing your temple. “Me too.”

You’re surprised at that. You thought Namjoon was the romantic type that would absolutely reject marriage dates. “Really? Why?” You ask, craning your head to look at him.

Namjoon smiles slyly. “To sharpen my ‘practical skills.’”

You scoff, making Namjoon laugh hard and kiss you again.

#bts fics #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon smut #bts smut

341 notes · View notes

miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex.

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team.

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.”

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #armin smut #armin fluff #eren x reader

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sugarbooger513 · 3 years ago

Text

JJK Men x Insecure chubby Fem!reader

Today has been hard to think of myself positively, and I have friends who struggle with the same thing, so I thought I could indulge some people with some very loved characters reminding us that, no matter our size, we're perfect.

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Choso Kamo, Kento Nanami

Warnings: Insecurities, body dysphoria, Toji's gets spicy (sue me), suggestive at the end of Nanami's, tooth rotting fluff.

Satoru Gojo

- Let's be completely honest here, this man rarely feels insecure, if he ever does.

- He wouldn't be able to sympathize, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. In fact, it makes him care a lot more.

- His comfort methods aren't for everyone either, so be prepared. He's trying, give him that.

- Humor. That's what this man knows. Iykyk, this man deflects any form of trauma with his humor.

- If he notices it isn't working, then he'll come up with something else because he loves you. That love tells him that he has to try.

"Oh sweetie pie, I'm home!" Satoru's voice carries easily through the house, but you can't seem to care at the moment. Your cheeks still feel somewhat sticky from the tears that have fallen the past thirty minutes.

"Honey bun? I said I-" His voice cuts off, and you know you're caught. The bed shifts where your boyfriend lowers himself beside you. "Y/N, why are you crying?"

"I-I don't want to talk about it, Satoru." He removes his blindfold with a small chuckle. "Did your favorite anime character die?" "No." "You sure? You tend to sob when-" "I said I don't want to talk about it."

He freezes at the way you lash out at him. Yeah, something is actually wrong.

"Love," his voice softens in a way that shows how worried he is, "is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?" You're quiet for a minute, but you eventually scoot closer to him.

"You want me to hold you?" All you manage is a nod before more tears slide down your cheeks. His long arms encase you securely against him. "I can do that as long as you need. I'm here for you, Y/N."

The two of you stay like that, you crying softly into his uniform while he runs his hand up and down your back.

Eventually, your sobs turn into small sniffles, and you finally speak. "I.. I'm sorry for snapping at your earlier, Sato." He smiles at the loving nickname. "No, baby, I'm sorry for joking around. You wanna talk about it now?"

"I just... I was thinking about.. how many girls looks so much better than I do." He scoffs. "You're kidding, right?" "Sato.." "No, I mean that. It isn't a joke. Baby, we've been through this since day one. I. Want. You."

You hide your now blushing face against his chest. "But.. I just don't understand.." "Look at me, baby." When you do, his bright blue eyes seem to shimmer. "You're the love of my life. You're gorgeous, stunning, beautiful, and every other synonym to those that I'll have to get Nanami to teach me because I will remind you everyday until it gets through your thick ass skull."

His hand comes up to rest on your chubby cheek, where he starts to wipe away the drying tears. "I. Love. You. So. Freaking. Much. Y/N." Each word is punctuated with a kiss on a different part of your face, until he eventually meets your lips.

The small giggles you let out makes him smile. "There's that beautiful laugh! Come on, why don't I pop some popcorn and we go watch whatever you want on the TV?" Your shit eating grin makes him snort a bit of laughter. "Even if it ends in a favorite character dying?"

"I don't mind having to hold you a bit longer."

Toji Fushiguro

- This is also someone I don't think can really empathize with you and your insecurities.

- However, when this man falls he falls HARD

- He will do anything in his power to make you feel better.

- Well

- Anything he can do while still seeming nonchalant about it

- Lets talk about how this man would take matters into his own hands, with his own hands, to make sure you know how loved you are. (You couldn't have expected just fluff with him, give me a break y'all.)

"Y/N," Toji kicks his shoes off carelessly at the door, "I'm home." He raises a confused eyebrow when he looks around the house. Plates from your movie night yesterday lay strewn about the coffee table, still.

'She never leaves dishes out. That's weird.'

He starts to walk around the house, worry filling his chest. It just isn't like you to leave a mess, or to not greet him at the door. There's no way someone came and did something to you, right? No one is THAT dumb, surely.

When he hears the small sniffles coming from your shared bedroom, he breathes a small sigh of relief. "Y/N? I'm coming in." He pushes the bedroom door open to see you cuddling his pillow while laying on your side.

His eyes widen at the sight of your body trembling from the small sobs. "Y/N?" He walks around the bed to kneel in front of you. "What happened?"

"N-Nothing Toji. Sorry, I-I know the house is a w-wreck." "Shut up about the damn house. I don't care. Why are you crying?"

You finally sit up, which lets him sit beside you on the bed. "I just.. Bad day." "Who do I need to stab?" "T-Toji?! You can't solve everything by stabbing!" He shrugs a bit. "You can try."

He smiles sweetly when you slap his arm. "That isn't funny." "Hmmm, but it made your cheeks flush." "Toji Fushiguro!" "Alright, alright. You wanna tell me what's wrong now?"

"I just.. looked in a mirror for too long, babe. Don't worry about-" "I'm lost. What do you mean you looked in one for too long?" You sigh, knowing he hates vague answers.

"My body is disgusting me today, Toji." He scrunches his eyebrows and leans in a bit closer to you. Your face heats up from the slight glare in his eyes.

"Looks the same to me." "Toji, I-" "Correct yourself." His already deep voice seems to drop even lower. Your entire body trembles. "S-Sir."

"Good girl. Now, let me get this straight. You don't think you're attractive." You shake your head, suddenly feeling the tears come back to your eyes. "Why not?" "J-Just.. my body.. it isn't.." "Skinny?" The word hurts your heart, but you nod, knowing he expects some sort of answer.

"So? You're exactly what I need, Y/N." You glance up to meet his loving gaze. "N-need?" "Don't play dumb. You know I need you. Now, we have to fix those insecurities."

He stands, offering his hand out to you. When you take it, he pulls you to your feet.

"Now," he groans as he lays back down on the bed, "I've had a tiring day at work. I want you to strip and come take a seat." "A-a seat?" His smirk tells you what you need to know before he elaborates. "I AM rather starved. Come on, I'm pretty impatient."

"To-Sir, I'm too.." "Heavy? Try again. You aren't getting out of this." He snaps his fingers, and the sound runs deep into your core. His eyes watch you hungrily as you start to get out of your pants.

"Now, for every one of your orgasms, I want to hear 'I'm Toji's pretty princess.' Understand?" "Y-yes sir."

You have no idea what posses you, but you finally let out you own witty comment. "You could at least take me to dinner first."

"You cheeky brat, don't worry. I have plans for your meal."

Hope you don't mind being hoarse for a while. You had to repeat just how pretty you were a number of times.

Choso Kamo

- SWEETEST MOTHER FUCKER I SWEAR

- He doesn't see a single flaw in you, honestly.

- Plus, he doesn't really understand beauty standards. All he knows is he loves every inch of you.

- Nothing goes unloved by this big ass baby.

- You crying would probably bring him to tears because he feeds off your emotion.

- But there is no doubt this man will do anything and everything to see your smile again.

- A true king who just wants his queen as happy as she makes him.

He left you for maybe an hour. Maybe. Choso just had to run and pick up a movie from Yuji.

"Angel, Yuji said that we have to-" He drops the movie the instant he sees tears in your eyes. "L-love? What happened?"

He rushes to your side and wastes no time wrapping you in his strong embrace. Your hands grip his shirt in a feeble attempt to pull him closer.

"What happened? Do you need something? A doctor?" His eyes are scanning your body for any signs of pain. His hands running gently over your back, arm, sides, but everything seems normal.

"I-I'm okay, Cho." "No, you aren't. Please, angel, don't lie to me." His own eyes start to fill with tears, but he tries to will them away. He knows he shouldn't be crying, but seeing you in any pain hurts him just as much.

"Cho, I just.. It's stupid." His large hands cup your face so you're forced to meet his eyes. "Nothing that makes you cry is stupid. Absolutely nothing, my love."

"I.. I tried to put on a hoodie of yours because I was cold." He blinks in confusion. "Was.. was it dirty?" "No I.. I stretched it out.." he tilts his head.

"Is that all?" You nod, but even more tears come to your eyes. "I just hate how big I am.. I thought you would find it cute to come home and see me in your clothes but.. I just messed them up.." He stands, suddenly walking into the kitchen. "C-Cho?"

"I bought some of your favorite ice cream. You know, the kind you always crave on your period. I figure we can cuddle and you can enjoy it while we watch a movie."

"I- I don't really want anything to eat." He smiles, still grabbing it and a spoon. "I know, but just in case. Listen," he places the carton on the table next to you, "you're gorgeous. Every part of you just screams beauty. Nothing could ever change that. Not your size, not you stretching out a stupid hoodie, not you crying, nothing."

He opens the carton, only to get a spoonful out and kneel in front of you. "Open up, angel." You do as he says and allow him to feed you the ice cream. You can't help but smile as you eat it.

His index finger wipes a few old tears from your cheeks. "There's that smile I love. Now, I think we need a movie and some cuddles. How does that sound?" You can only nod, absolutely floored by how much Choso truly loves you.

No more negative thoughts came to your mind while you laid against his chest. He even took a few times to feed you more ice cream throughout the movie.

Oh yeah, he totally bought new hoodies in a bigger size so you could wear them around the house without fear of stretching them.

Kento Nanami

- KING ENERGY

- You can't tell me this man doesn't want someone who acts as his pillow. Come on.

- That being said, Nanami knows how it is to be insecure.

- Whether it's over body insecurity or not, that can be argued either way. Still, insecurities aren't something he's ignorant about.

- On days where you can't seem to like your body, he'll do whatever you need.

- Need to be alone? No problem. Need someone to talk to you? Covered. Just need to be told you're loved? He'll tell you as many times as it takes.

- However, he can't help but be blunt. That's just who he is.

- He does it out of love for you, though. He never wants you to believe something that isn't true.

It's really hard for you and Nanami to get the same day off of work, and today was no different. Since you were the one working today, Nanami decided to take up cleaning the house and preparing dinner. He would also insist on doing the dishes, but he knew better. You never allow him to do all of the work.

He watched the clock hit five thirty and smiled. No doubt, that was your car he heard pull into the driveway. Now that you were home, he could surprise you by telling you that he managed to get the next five days off, which matched your schedule.

The front door opens, and he's quick to call out a "Welcome home, dear. Dinner will be done soon." He turns his body, preparing to catch you in his embrace as usual. However, all that happens is you call back, "Thanks, Ken."

His eyebrows furrow, and he quickly takes dinner off the stove so he can go check on you. He's not one to forget anniversaries or anything like that, so his mind is going through any possible reason you just called him Ken.

"Bad day at work, dear?" He wipes his hand on his apron as he comes around the corner. You were already sitting on the couch, eyes on your phone. "Yeah, I guess." "Okay," he sighs and sits beside you, "would you like to talk about it?" When you finally look at him, his eyes widen. Your eyes are puffy, as if you had been crying.

"Y/N.." "It's just coworker drama, Ken, don't worry too much about it." He scrunches his face. Those women you work with always pissed him off. He's noticed them staring at him whenever he brings you lunch. "Well, humor me a bit. What happened today?"

He just knows you can't resist gossiping with him after a work day. "I-I don't want to repeat it, Ken." The worried look in his eyes makes you whimper. "What?"

"I'm not used to you calling me 'Ken' at home." "Sorry, honey. It's nothing you did." He smiles softly and reaches to cup one of your cheeks in his hand. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me?" You do. God, you do because you know you'll cry again and he'll be here to hold you through it.

"They started talking about you." "Me?" "Yeah," you look at your hands, already feeling your chest tighten, "and started laughing at how you're.. settling for someone who is as big as I am.."

Nanami's soft looks suddenly turns harsh. How dare they say stuff like that? What's worse is he's sure they knew you could hear them!

"Really?" When you nod, a tear falls onto your lap. "It just.. really hurt knowing that I'm not the only one who thinks that." "Y/N.." He pulls you into a hug with a soft sigh.

"Don't think like that. Dear, if I wanted anything different than what I have now, you would know it." You sigh and cuddle into his warm embrace. "I know, but-" "But nothing, my love. I love you, only you, forever you. Do you understand?" You glance up and he places a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Yeah.. I love you too, Kento." "I have an idea." "Uh huh?" His smirk has you worried. "Well, we both have the next five days off.." "We do?!"

The excitement in your voice has him chuckling. "There's my pretty laugh. Yes, we do. I'm thinking on your first day back.. you go in with a ring on your finger."

You blink in confusion. "K-Kento, you don't-" "Oh I do. Am I the person to joke about wanting to marry you?" Your eyes start to fill, yet again, with tears. However, these tears make Nanami also tear up a bit.

"Are you... asking..?" "I have a ring just for you in my suit jacket, Y/N. Just say you'll marry me." He isn't really expecting you to jump on him, so when you do, he falls from the couch to the floor. "You know I'll marry you, Ken!"

The two of you share a long kiss, complete with tears and laughter. "Well, now that that's decided. I think we should get a head start on something." "What would that be?"

He stands before securing you in his arms bridal style. "The Prehoneymoon." "That isn't a thing, honey." He smirks before playfully smacking your ass. "For you, Mrs. Nanami, anything is possible."

@katgalle @savonline

#jjk headcanons #nanami kento x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #choso x reader #satoru gojo x reader #nanami fluff #toji fluff #choso fluff #gojo fluff

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mutigold · 4 years ago

Text

∞ teacher’s pet — i.n.

summary: in which the top student fails a test and gets extra help from his favorite professor.

pairing: student!jeongin x teacher!reader

genre: college!au

warning: sub!jeongin, dom!reader, pet play, noona kink, exhibitionism, handjob, ear licking, humiliation, quirofilia, seduction, he still has his braces.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: i really don’t know where this idea came from, but all i know is subby jeongin = 🤤. thank you for supporting me! watching people like my little writings really make my day.. hope y’all enjoy this <3. stream “Going Dumb”!

“would anyone like to explain what it means to be dependent on an organism?”

jeongin’s eyes concentrated on you, as he listened to your voice encompassing the leveled platform. today’s lecture was based on the living organisms in the world and you seemed to be determined for everyone to learn the curriculum.

however, jeongin could not focus on anything except your figure. you were wearing a white skin-tight turtleneck and black formal pants that emphasize your ass. all topped off with a large suit jacket and black louis vuitton heels.

it overall made his heart jump for joy just enjoying the view.

he thought about how those heels would look wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you; screaming his name. or maybe how your tiny hand would slip around his throat as he begs for your come.

“mr. yang?”

jeongin quickly snaps out of his trance to hear you calling his name. and not in the way he wanted.

you looked up at him with sad eyes, upset at him for not paying attention to your favorite lesson. “what’s going through that head yours? is it more important than organisms?”

he quickly fixed his posture, shaking his head rapidly, and responded with, “n—no, i’m sorry noona. i just was thinking too hard about something. i’ll promise to listen from now on.”

you hummed with caution, continuing the biological lecture. the student sighs gratefully for you letting him go off easily and tries to at least take some notes.

“yo, i.n. you okay?” a familiar voice whispered.

jeongin turns to see his two close friends, seungmin and felix, staring down at him in question. “yeah, you seem a little off today.”

confirming he says, “uh. y—yeah; i’m okay.”

“mhmm. okay with staring professor y/n down huh?” felix smirks.

the heat on i.n. 's cheeks becomes noticeable when hearing about his staring. he then tries to ignore the statement by writing his name and the current date in his notebook.

“leave him alone felix. he’s just probably having some problems with the lesson; you should perhaps ask noona for help.” seungmin tries to intervene.

“yeah; i mean, maybe noona can also help you with other problems. if you know what i mean.” felix grins bumping jeongin’s arm.

“f—felix!”

“boys?! care to tell us what is so interesting other than my lesson?” your voice suddenly booms throughout the room. jeongin jumps at your tone and begins to apologize again once making you soften.

“that’s alright, but please pay attention. oh, and jeongin, stay after class for a few minutes to speak with me.”

he didn’t know what to think at that moment; with felix oohing in one of his ears and seungmin trying to shush him in his other or the fact that you wanted to talk to privately.

alone, with no one around, made his mind officially shut down.

“you wanted to speak with me noona?”

you shifted around to see jeongin’s stiff form; then took note of how nervous he looked and gave him a light smile. “hey, kiddo. i just wanted to see how you were doing lately.” you wished to see some type of relief release through him.

but unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

he still looked kind of anxious to speak with you, letting you know how intimidating you seemed. “hey it’s all good, you're not in trouble or anything, i promise. i’ve noticed how you’ve been acting recently in my class and how your scores dropped a little,” you reassured.

“ai! i’m so sorry noona!”

you giggle at the student’s consistent apologies. in your mind, you thought how cute he was; like a puppy aching to gain approval from its owner.

maybe you could make him as your puppy and work hard for that admiration.

immediately, you shake your head from the naughty images. ever since the semester started a few months ago, your thoughts almost ran around yang jeongin.

how his pretty smile, concealed by clear braces, shined at your speaking, how his crescent-shaped eyes followed your every move; making you feel sexy, how large and veiny his arms grew over time within the season, etc.

“that’s alright, jeongin. i just want you to feel comfortable in my lectures. how about this, you and i have a session later this evening to cover the material for the next exam. what do you think pup’?” you offering, accidentally calling him by the pet name you gave him.

after catching the tiny nickname, jeongin clumsy drops his possessions while feeling something swell in his pants. he begins to overthink the word. pup’? why did that sound so nice coming out of your mouth? and how was he gonna hide the fact that his dick got hard in the middle of their conversation?

“i–i’m sorry!”

“oh! no worries hun! here; let noona help you out.”

you instantly proceeded over, bent down, and gathered i.n.’s school objects. starting with some of his blue pens, his macbook, and then his green two-subject notebook. “n–noona! i got the notebook, it’s okay.” jeongin stuttered.

it was almost like he was trying hard to hide something in the notebook, and suddenly it all made sense as it opened to the front page.

yang y/n. it was his surname combined with your first name.

it seemed as if time swiftly froze with silence when discovering the secret. however, it didn’t bother you essentially much as jeongin thought it would have had. “aw, pup’, this is cute. yang y/n has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

the air that was in jeongin’s lungs properly stopped working when distinguishing how seductive your tone became. “i–i..”

“relax a lil’ pup’. listen, will you promise to meet me later this eveningfor some tutoring. i think you could really use it. plus if you’re good–”

you shifted closer to the student’s ear lobe and whispered, “–noona could give you a reward.”

jeongin swore he felt some pre-cum drip down from his pants. “y–yes, noona.” he swallowed trying to moist his dry throat, then jumped moaning in pleasure when your small hand gripped around his erection.

“good. see you then, pup’.”

a few hours later, jeongin ends up at the university’s public library, not knowing what to expect. though, he did make sure to be ready for any possible situation. what did you mean by rewarding him? did you feel the same way he did?

you must have since you did touch his swollen cock during your conversation. or maybe it was just his imagination?

jeongin sighs restlessly thinking of the concept while waiting for your arrival. that soon ends as he hears your alluring voice greet out, “hiya pup’! ready for our lesson?”

he peers up from the library’s table to see you wearing informal clothing. a tight crew neck that reveals your smooth arms extending down to red-painted nails and large breasts bouncing with every step you take.

“ah! i hope you weren’t waiting too long, i got held up in traffic.”

“t–that’s okay noona! i just got here.”

you smile at his nervousness, now acknowledging where it came from, and sat down in the hard chair right next to him. “good, we can get started. i hope you’re ready,” you whispered, feeling an urge to dominate.

jeongin gulps recognizing a certain excitement coming from his pants within hearing your tone and replies with, “r–ready?”

“so, what does adaptation consist of?”

jeongin couldn’t comprehend what you were saying being he focused on the way your glossed-up lips looked. the way he could imagine it wrapped around cock or it traveling up and down the side of his neck molding kisses; it worked him to the point where he was solid hard.

“pup’, what is going through that mind of yours?”

“s–sorry. it’s just, i guess this lesson isn’t grasping in my head yet.” he tries to explain not wanting to upset you.

however, instead of upsetting you, your colored eyes just darken. “oh! i have any idea; remember when i said i would reward you if do good–”

jeongin nods excitedly, making you giggle.

“–well, i know you understand the concept of this chapter. so to push you a little more, i’ll ask you a question and if you get it right, that little cock of yours will get to come.”

the student freezes up at your approach, thinking it was a dream too good to be true. “w-wait what?”

“what is the definition of homeostasis?”

“i, uh, i think it's an organism's constant adjustment to maintain stable conditions in itself?”

you reached under the table discreetly and unbuttoned the pants on jeongin grasping his swollen cock. “o-oh my god, noona!”

“shh, pup’. you gotta be quiet for me; now onto the next question. who created the biogenesis theory?”

jeongin’s breath became too much for him to handle feeling the pre-cum drip from his blood-filled tip. “n–noona, please.”

“come on puppy, tell me the answer or i stop.”

his mind starts to rush trying to find the answer before you let him go. it took him a couple of seconds, but once he got it, he hurried to speak. “henry charlton bastain!”

“good puppy.” your tiny hand moves faster, satisfied with the statement. you felt his cock throbbing with every stroke you took. like jeongin, you dreamt of this same exact moment. you wanted to control the poor student every time he walked through your room, when he made eye contact with you, or even when his plump bottom lip was bitten from his teeth.

and finally, it was happening.

“oh, who’s a good puppy for noona?”

“m-me! i am noona.”

“that’s right pup’. next question, what are the five steps to the scientific method?”

i.n.’s vein from his cock popped out sensing the rubbing moving faster than before. “i only know four noona!”

“too bad, i wanted five or i slow down.” you coldly demand.

jeongin began to try to think hard on the five steps letting the sensation run through his body. “o-okay. it’s defining the problem, making a hypothesis, testing it, analyzing the results… then..”

your hand slows at his hesitation. “give me the last one puppy.”

“oh! noona, don’t stop! i–i. is it d–drawing the conclusions?”

“good puppy!”

his cock grows bigger when your finger grips at the base. then, you painted nails lightly scratch at his tight balls. “oh! noonaaa. that feels sooo goood. pleaseee.”

“continue to answer like a good pup’ then i’ll keep going.”

soon after the next few questions, jeongin sits near his breaking point. “nooonnnaaa! please!”

“grab your textbook and hold it up.”

i.n. clutches the hard-covered biology book to cover both you and him from public eyes. suddenly, you lower yourself to his lips, deeply kissing him with tongue, and wander towards his earlobe. “one more question, pup’. what does stimulus mean?”

“uh! noona! please let me come! make your puppy come!” he moans a little too loud.

“shh. answer the question, then i’ll let you come.”

“s-stimulus? it m-means anything an organism responds to.”

you then move your head to spit down to moist his penis. “good puppy! getting your small cock rubbed in front of everyone like a little slut.” you cup the back of his neck feeling the shivers release through him.

“you can come pup’, come for noona.”

jeongin then lets go, coming hard in your hand. “o-oh! thank you, thank you noona!”

after guiding him to his high, you let go of him and licked the white, sticky substance from your hand.

“good puppy. i’m sure you’ll be ready for that next exam.”

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