#can’t get sloshed tonight

[sloppysequinz]

Had ONE drink and my pussy immediately reminded me why I like to have seven

[eomayas]

crawling back to you • ljh

pairing: producer!woozi x f!reader, exes2l

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! angst & fluff

synopsis: reader sees her ex boyfriend for the first time after avoiding him for months, and they realize just how much they miss each other

warnings: p in v, fingering, unprotected s*x (reader takes BC), praise, dirty talk, groveling, drinking, they’re at a club

a/n: eeeek sorry i’ve been MIA! i hope u like this. unedited. excuse any plot inconsistencies i started this weeks ago. will be finishing up reqs soon!!

music blares through the club speakers and bodies fill up what feels like every square inch of space available. your drink sloshes in your cup when a club-goer collides with your shoulder, a drunken “sorry” thrown your way as they stagger off. luckily, nothing spills on you and you got an apology.

walking up the stairs to the section your friends got, doubt and anxiety creep around the corners of your brain, the cage of butterflies in your stomach ready to be released. here’s the thing: your ex is up in this section, here because this night is partially about him and partially because your friends guilt tripped him into coming. otherwise, you know he wouldn’t be here. you also wouldn’t be here, if not for being tired of skipping out of fun activities just to avoid him. it’s tiring making up excuses as to why you can’t go to something whenever you catch wind of him being invited as well.

that’s really the problem with your breakup; you shared a group of friends. they all vowed to not get involved, staying true to their word on being impartial, though sometimes you wish they’d show favoritism and not invite him to things, just for your sake.

tonight, you’re here because you’re tired of being tired, tired of being afraid of running into him. you even stopped frequenting the places you used to go together because of the mere threat of possibly running into him. you’re tired of it.

also, you came because you knew he’d be here. not that that matters, or anything.

stepping into the section, you take a sip of your drink to calm yourself, before you’re spotted by soonyoung who waves at you enthusiastically. “y/n! you came!” he cries, jumping up from the couch and nearly tackling you in a hug. he hugs you around the shoulders and squeezes you tightly, and you can smell the alcohol wafting from his breath. “i’m so happy you’re here!” he slurs, and you wonder how many drinks he’s had.

when he releases you, you can’t help but return the toothy smile he gives you. “me too,” you say, though you’re not really sure yet. placing a hand on his cheek, you gently pat him. “youre drunk.” you declare, giggling when he smiles proudly.

out of all of the friends you shared with jihoon, you got the closest to soonyoung. probably because he was always around, but his personality is infectious and he’s just overall a good time. it sucked when you and jihoon broke up because you saw less of him until he reached out a few weeks after to reassure you that he wasn’t ‘picking sides’, but was trying to be there for his friend. you understood, but you needed a friend too.

you and soonyoung release each other, and he grabs your hand and begins to drag you over to where he’s sitting. knowing how close him and jihoon are, you relent and try to pull yourself back. “no, hosh, i don’t think it’s a good idea,” you start to panic, eyes frantically scanning the section for any sign of him.

“nooo, he’s not even sitting with me!” he pouts, rolling his eyes. you furrow your eyebrows at him, and he sighs, gnawing on his lip like you’re goin to hate what he’s about to say. clearing his throat, he says, “he’s made a friend.”

you ignore the pang in your chest and swallow down the lump in your throat. everything in you stops you from whipping your head around in search of him and this new found friend of his. shrugging your shoulders, you attempt to act nonchalant and like you don’t care, but soonyoung sees right through your facade. “good for him,” you say, but it comes out like fuck you.

“let’s drink.”

tipsy, not drunk. that’s your goal for tonight, and you’re dangerously on the verge of approaching drunk, the shot glass in front of you tempting. jeonghan raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, his shot glass hovering in the air. you eye the cup full of liquor, stomach roiling at the thought of taking even a sip. with resignation, you shake your head at last and lean back against the couch, a collective groan and pleading coming from your friends.

“cmonnnnnnn!” they say in unison, making you cover your face and shrink against the cushion.

“this is peer pressure, you know,” you say, pulling your hands from your face and looking at the shot glass. it’s practically calling your name (or maybe it’s seungcheol complaining at you), waiting for you to drink it. “nah, guys, i’m tapping out.” you declare.

“i’ll drink it,” wonwoo says, reaching across the table and grabbing your shot. he clinks both of the drinks in his hands against everybody else’s before downing one after the other. you watch in astonishment, feeling slightly nauseous for him, and a drink is placed in front of you on the table.

“water,” soonyoung says before you can question him, and sets a few more glasses down. somehow, despite his drunken state earlier, he’s managed to sober up as you drank more and more, despite it being his idea to keep on drinking.

you thank him and immediately grab the glass and begin chugging, not realizing how dehydrated you are.

“can i cut in?” you freeze, nearly choking on your water, and pray to the heavens that that voice doesn’t belong to who you are 101% sure it belongs to. you’ll never not know that voice, never not hear it ringing through your head when you watch a tv show you both liked or walk by your favorite restaurants. all the blood in your body rushes to your face, cheeks and neck burning red.

sliding your eyes from the table in front of you and up to the voice, it’s like your brain is wiped of every thought in your head and your senses are working over time. suddenly the music feels too loud, and the lights too bright, and your dress too tight. jihoon is looking down at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously—a habit he’d never been able to shake.

you realize much too late that he’s waiting for an answer from you, being under his gaze after so long of even seeing him making your brain work extra hard to process anything. jihoon stands above you, looking sexier than ever in all black with hair pulled back, a few loose strands framing his face. you nod choppily, hands clutching your water glass so hard that it might break from the pressure.

everyone at the table magically disappears after that, soonyoung vanishing from your side the moment you tipped your chin up. the only sign of anyone else having been sat around you are the empty glasses littered across the table.

jihoon takes a seat next to you on the couch, not so subtly wiping his palms on his pants. “are you gonna throw that at me?” he says as a greeting, nodding down at the glass in your hands.

at that, your grip loosens and you set the drink on the table, wiping the condensation from the glass on your dress. “no,” you reply, meeting his eyes. jihoons face softens when you look at him, and you wish you didn’t notice it because you feel your heart break in your chest.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.”

there’s a gap of space between the two of you, wide enough for another person to sit. you want to scoot closer and simultaneously scoot away from him, but stay planted where you’re at. “how’ve you been? it’s good to see you, y/n,” his voice is sincere, and it makes you feel confused, and like you miss him. because you do—it’s why you’re here.

you nod, nervously sliding your hands underneath your legs. “good. it’s nice to see you too,” you reply, and you wonder if this is how the night is going to go; you agreeing with and repeating whatever he says. “how are you?”

jihoon mirrors your anxious over-nodding. “good! just been working.”

“sounds like you,” you offer, earning a smile from him that shoots straight to your chest, followed by a ripple of sadness. work. the one thing you couldn’t compete with, so you never tried. and because you never tried, you were always second. second to the music, second to the studio, second to everything you let him put above you.

sensing your discomfort at the mention of the thing that drove a wedge between the two of you, jihoon scrambles to change the subject. work is his fault, but music is something he could never give up. music is his passion, it’s his calling and his purpose in this life. he blames the hours, not the thing. “i’ve been meaning to call you, but i was trying to give you space,” he says.

you nearly scoff in his face because if anything, space was the last thing you needed or wanted from him. you wanted time, but certainly not space. he gave you enough of that while you were together. space is what you got when you allowed yourself to be second. you can only hum at his words, a proper response lost on you.

“i miss you.”

those three words echo through your skull and bounce around the corners before they land squarely in the front. i miss you. somebody had to say it first.

“you don’t show it,” you murmur, looking down at the floor. you’re acutely aware of how much space is between you when the gap lessens, his thighs centimeters from your own in an instant.

“hm? i couldn’t hear you,” his mouth is very near your ear, leaving you no space if you were to turn your head to look at him. you go to lean back against the couch to put some distance between the two of you, but collide with his arm that is strewn over the back of it.

a surge of nerves runs through your body. finding a new sense of boldness, you scoot away from him and turn towards him, looking him square in the eye. “i said, you don’t show it,” jihoon blinks at you, mulling over your words.

“i don’t show it?” he asks, leaning in. you shake your head, your eyes never leaving his. jihoon brings a hand up to rub his bottom lip. those lips. your eyes drag down to rest upon the soft, pink lips that adorn his face. you fight the urge to trace his bottom lip with your thumb, grateful for the darkness of the club because your face is on fire. “well, it’s true though. i miss you.”

in place of a response, you pick up your water glass and chug the rest. you can feel him watching you, his eyes burning right through you. it’s bad enough that you’ve been craving his presence ever since you called things off with him, but having him this close so soon wasn’t exactly as easy as you dreamed it to be. you’re hot under his gaze, and the water is doing nothing to cool you down.

“you don’t act like it. you didn’t even call,” and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or you’re simply feeling extra bold but you can’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

jihoon works his jaw and pushes a few strands of hair out of his face. “i didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

“i’ll always want to hear from you.”

at your admission, jihoon leans back against the couch cushion, teeth running over his bottom lip. your gaze lingers on his lips for a brief moment, long enough for jihoon to catch. he shifts against the couch, and you let your thoughts get the best of you and rake your eyes over his figure, shamelessly eyeing his lap. his legs are outstretched in front of him, slightly bent at the knee and fallen open wide.

it’s been months since you’ve had sex, jihoon being your last. you’ve managed to take care of yourself, though you miss feeling full. jihoon watches you drink him in, hand curling around the back of the couch. “are you seeing anyone?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. you shake your head, looking at him pointedly. you don’t have the strength to ask him back, brain taking you back to what soonyoung said earlier. a friend. clearly, there’s something there.

he’s watching you again, and this time you don’t have anything to preoccupy yourself with under his gaze. “congratulations, by the way,” you blurt embarrassingly, trying to find something else to talk about. jihoon blinks a few times, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re congratulating him for anything. “on your music. tonight is for you, isn’t it?”

“oh. thanks. and no, it’s not for me. they just needed an excuse to go out,” he says, brushing the stray strand of hair out of his eyes. you follow the movement and let out a small sigh, hands holding onto your knees.

jihoon leans forward and rests his elbows atop his knees. his face is close to yours, mere inches away. if you leaned in towards him, your lips would brush, and you hate how aware of it you are. you should hate him, shouldn’t want to see him, and certainly shouldn’t be imagining kissing him right now. you left him. but he marked the end of your relationship.

a zing of heat spreads through your chest as you look him in the eye. the club feels too dark, too hot, too loud, and jihoon too close to you. “i need some air,” you rush, standing up on wobbly knees. you pull the hem of your dress down, making the mistake of looking down at jihoon. he stares up at you, his eyes wide as they drag up your legs. when his gaze settles on your face, his lips part and his to the darts out to lick the corner of his mouth.

you swallow the newly formed lump in your mouth and make your way towards the stairs and hobble down, hand gripping tightly to the railing. you manage to make it down the flight of stairs without embarrassing yourself and push past people to get to the exit, outside calling your name like a siren. “y/n!” or maybe it’s literally your ex calling out to you.

jihoon is right on your heels, looking a little stressed as you round the corner around the side of the club. you suck in some air and look over at him, a breeze blowing his hair out of place again. “what?”

he holds his arms out to the side for a brief moment before dropping them at his sides. “i don’t know. i don’t know what to say, i just…” he trails off with a light shake of his head, wiping around his mouth. you just stare at him, bottom lip tucked under your top lip. “i just want to talk to you, i guess. i don’t know. i miss you.” he says for the third time tonight.

you only hum, looking up at the inky black sky. you hear his shoes scuff against the pavement, and then he’s right at your side, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking onto his heels. “i’d do it differently, if i could, you know? i fucked it all up.”

“what would you have done differently, jihoon? quit your job? stopped making music? i wasn’t going to have you resent me, jihoon,” tonight doesn’t feel like the night for this conversation, but maybe it is. maybe that’s why you came here knowingly, hoping that you’d run into him to make sense of the end of your relationship. “there’s nothing to really change, jihoon. you came home. you checked in. you did it all.” you don’t know why you’re trying to spare his feelings still, but something in you won’t let you dunk on him to his face like you did behind his back.

jihoon is listening, he hears you. but the only thing he can focus on is the way you keep saying his name, and just how much he really misses hearing you say it. blowing out a breath, he shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and drops them, eyes flicking up to you at you. your bottom lip is tucked underneath the top, your eyes already on him. your arms are crossed over your midsection, and a breeze blows a few strands of hair out of their place and jihoon has the urge to put them back, but he stops himself.

“so now what?” you ask, peering down at him. jihoon stares back at you with parted lips, eyes dropping to the ground before flicking back up to you.

“i don’t know. i just miss you, y/n,” he flicks his bangs out of his face and you purse your lips. it’s not like you don’t miss—you do, way too much, in your opinion—you just don’t necessarily know what to do with what he’s saying to you. is he expecting you to magically forget everything and take him back? should you take him back? should you even be talking to him? “you look really nice tonight.”

and he looks too good right now, too approachable, too take-back-able. he looks good enough to do something you might regret in the morning.

jihoon takes a half a step closer to you, the toe of his shoe touching your heel. you turn, interweaving your legs and pressing your abdomen against his and putting a hand on his shoulder. he swallows and ignores the thump thump thump of his heart, nerves skyrocketing the longer you look at him with your hand on him.

in an instant, you’re ducking down and pressing your lips to his. jihoon kisses you back urgently, one hand resting on your hip and the other cradling the side of your face. it’s rushed, messy, and feverish in seconds, jihoon trying his damndest to pull you impossibly closer.

he grows hard below you and the slightest brush of his erection on your leg makes you shiver and part your lips against his, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. jihoon drops his hand from your cheek and places it over your ass, pulling your crotch against his own. “i drove here,” he pants against your lips when he gets a moment to pull away.

that’s all you need to hear to let him lead you to his car, your heels echoing off the pavement. jihoon helps you into the back and climbs in immediately after, pulling the door closed and caging you against the backseat and the side of the door.

jihoon settles one knee on the floor of the car and the other on the seat, hands bunching your dress up around your hips as he kisses you fervently. your hands work the buttons of his shirt open, mouths pulling apart for a brief moment when you get to the end of his shirt and fumble with the last button for too long. his shirt falls open and you push it off his shoulders, and wet your lips at the sight of his bare torso.

the air in the car is thick as he sits above you, chest heaving as you drink him in. you rake your nails over the toned body that you once used to get to touch just like this. jihoon nudges your nose with his own, gently pressing his lips to yours once you angle towards him. he holds onto the headrest to brace himself, quietly groaning when you start to work his belt open.

“i need you,” you whine when his belt is pulled free, already rushing to unbutton his pants.

“lemme stretch you out first. you can’t take me yet,” and he’s not trying to be cocky (he definitely is), but he doesn’t need to know if you’ve been fucking other people to know that you definitely aren’t ready for him.

you whine at the thought of having him inside of you, your core aching with need. he’s 100% right, but you want him so bad and feel like you can’t wait.

jihoon is already working his fingers inside of you, pulling your panties down to your knees and dragging his fingers up your folds to collect your slick. he doesn’t tease you like he otherwise would if you were still together, rather he dips two fingers into your sopping, warm hole and curls them upwards. you gasp and he bites his bottom lip, pumping his fingers in and out of you.

arching against the seat, you whimper when he presses against your clit with his thumb as he works his fingers inside of you, reaching that spongy part that makes your vision spot and harsh pants leave your lips. jihoon leans down and kisses on your neck, lips dragging under your jawbone and nearing your collarbones. “i missed this,” he groans into your neck, teeth lightly nipping at the soft skin there. you only buck your hips in response and bury a hand in his hair. “missed you and this perfect pussy.”

a soft grunt escapes you when he slips in a third finger. “you take my fingers so well, baby,” he adds, pulling back from your neck to look down at where you mold around his three fingers. you suck him in greedily, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“hoon, i want you,” you whimper, tugging on his hair. his eyes fall closed as he lets you pull on his hair, head falling back as you do it. “i can take it.” you add, pussy clenching around his fingers. you bring your other hand over to pull down his zipper, eagerly pushing at the waistband.

“you sure?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, fingers still moving inside of you. you nod and lean up from the seat and press your chest into his, turning your head to connect your lips in a sloppy kiss.

jihoon pulls his fingers out of you and pull away from you to shove his pants down to his ankles, haphazardly wiping his hand on the fabric of his boxers. jihoon throws himself onto the seat next to you and tugs you onto his lap, one hand making use of unzipping the back of your dress and helping you out of it, followed by your bra and panties.

you’re left in just your heels and him in just his open shirt, his hard cock flat against his stomach. jihoon palms your breasts, letting out a breath when you rock against his lap. “fuck, i need you so bad,” you say, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck. reaching between the two of you, you take his thick shaft in your hand and slowly start pumping him, reveling in how he pants into your ear and grips onto your ass tightly.

“i wanna feel you, baby. ride me,” he rasps, biting his lip to hold in a whimper when you swipe your thumb over his tip. you raise your hips and position him at your entrance before slowly sinking down on him, gasping when the head of his cock presses into your hole and stretches you out. “fuckkkk.” he drawls, leaning his head back against the seat.

you hold onto his shoulders for support as you move lower and lower onto him, breathing quickening with each inch you take. his cock fills you up in a way that is so familiar yet so foreign after months of going without. it would be overwhelming if not for the way he rubs your lower back and kisses across your chest, mumbling at you to take your time. “you feel that?” jihoon groans, hands squeezing your hips.

you only whine pathetically and draw your bottom lip in between your teeth. you sink lower, finally bottoming out and shuddering at being stuffed. jihoon lets you sit on his lap and adjust, his ego swelling knowing that you even need the time. “shit,” you whisper, running a hand through your hair and tilting your head back. the stretch is bordering on painful, but you’re not about to quit now, not when your cunt has its own pulse that’s in sync with your heart.

a heavy hand falls on your neck and jihoon pulls you down to his lips, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan against him and rock your hips back and forth, sucking in a breath each time you move forwards. you falter in the kiss, simply pressing against his mouth as you grind against him. “you’re so tight,” jihoon grunts, dropping his hand from your neck to toy with your clit. you clench around him and his breath hitches. “i missed this pussy, fuck. i’ve been thinking about you every night.” he admits, earning a whimper in response.

moving up onto your knees, you work up the strength to fuck yourself onto him and place a hand on the roof of the car to steady yourself. “f-fuck, jihoon,” you hiccup, mouth falling open.

“do you miss me too?” he rasps, pinching your clit , hips bucking when you let out a whimper that goes straight to his cock. “you think of me fucking you like this?”

“yes!” you cry out, a response to both of his questions. your thighs burn but you keep bouncing up and down, a familiar tightness forming at the base of your stomach. “missed this so much.” you squeak, dropping onto his lap and rolling your hips.

“yeah?” he pants out, lips ghosting over your neck. “cum for me and show me.” and you look down at him and swear you see a demon for a second, jaw falling to your chest when he rubs his thumb across your bundle of nerves.

putting both of his hands on your ass, he surprises you when he hoists you up before slamming you back down on his cock, careful to avoid knocking your head against the top of the car. you moan and encircle your arms around his neck and hunch down into him, crying out his name as he manually moves you up and down. “j-jihoon!” the air gets pushed from your lungs each time he pulls you down onto his cock, vision blurring.

your cunt clenches around him in a vice grip, making him stutter as he lets out a string of curses mixed with praise. “s-shit, feels so f-fucking g-good,” jihoon manages. he can feel his release creeping up on him, but he’s determined to have you cum first. he still knows all of your tells: heavy breathing, lack of talking back, the tight grip you have on him. “are you gonna cum for me?”

it only takes him fucking you onto his cock a few more times before youre sputtering out his name and your cunt is spasming around his cock. you gush onto his lap and shake against him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. feeling you against him spurs his own orgasm, and ropes of his cum shoot up into you. you want to blame the alcohol for your lack of concern for a condom, but you’re too far gone (and take birth control pills) to take up an issue with letting him fuck you raw.

you settle in his lap and tuck your face into his neck. jihoon rubs your back soothingly and makes no move to get you off of him, or to move. for a few minutes of you sitting on top of him, he lets himself pretend like you’re still together, and softly peppers kisses into your neck, all while his finger tips gently stroke up your spine. you love and hate the intimacy, wishing it were real and yours to hold onto. wishing that it meant something.

“jihoon,” you’re the first to break away after what feels like forever. you sit up and peel yourself off of him, involuntarily moaning when he slips out of you. you roll onto the seat next to him and shyly try your best to cover yourself. “did you really mean it?” you ask.

“mean what?”

“mean it when you said you’d do it all over again?”

he places a hand on your bare leg and looks over at you. “i did. i’d do anything, really, to get you back,” he admits. he doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic, he just wants you back.

you only hum. his bluntness puts butterflies in your stomach, and has you wondering if a second chance would really be that bad? or maybe it’s the fact that you can feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the seats.

“it’s not going to be this easy, jihoon,” you say, playing with the ends of your hair. his hand slides higher as he scoots closer to you, seemingly pulling you back into his lap. you wrap an arm around his neck and toy with his hair. “you’ve really got to try. show me that you care.” you add softly.

jihoon peers up at you with big, pleading eyes, and you feel yourself soften against him. he kisses the center of your chest and you let out a sigh, curling into his body. “i can do that. i just want you back, baby.”

and if he keeps calling you baby, it really might just be that easy.

[strawberrystepmom]

sanemi x f!reader. suggestive fluff, feelings exploration, established relationship (sort of?) | divider thanks to @cafekitsune, wc 1k

“Hold still.”

The statement isn’t an outright command but Sanemi can tell he is not being asked, he is being told to keep from shifting beneath your touch. You drag a bar of clean scented soap over the back of his neck, reaching over his shoulder to rub the bar across his chest. He captures your hand and takes it from you, finishing the job down the front of his body independently.

“Here.”

He holds the bar over his shoulder when finished and you grab it, placing it on the lip of the tub. The washcloth wrapped around your hand is next to get lathered up. You rub circles between his shoulder blades with the same soft cloth you’ve used on your own skin. The soap leaves translucent bubbles across his skin, popping light as air when you blow on them gently. The temperature difference between the steam rising from the bathwater and your breath causes goosebumps to erupt across his scarred flesh.

“Hey, quit that.” He tilts his head backwards, hair flopping, wisteria eyes locked on your little smile. You know exactly what you’re doing. “You’re supposed to be scrubbin’ not playin’.” Giggling, you nod and dip the cloth back into the water. You dare lean forward until your lips nearly brush against his exposed forehead, breathlessly wondering when he’ll get skittish.

It may not happen tonight considering he was the one brave enough to join you to begin with yet you wait for one breath…two breaths…and his distance never comes. It’s a relief and you proceed with what your heart is crying out for you to do; to simply lavish him with the love you feel he deserves.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

Your lips brush against him with every word you speak, breath fanning against his sweat dotted forehead. This is far from the first time he has been this close to you or seen you nude, breasts swaying with every move you make, it’s merely the first time he's come to the realization that he wants to end his evenings like this every single day - terrifying for a man who resigned as a child to spend his life alone.

Has he ever been handled so tenderly? Perhaps long ago, in days he doesn’t remember outside of tattered pieces he can’t make sense of during nightmares. A time when he was loved and adored; a time he let go of before he could develop any attachment to it. He fears it’s too late for him to do the same with you.

“I need to wash your hair too,” you remind him with raised brows, dropping the cloth to cup your hands and scoop water to dump over his shoulders.

You kiss his forehead and he grumbles in response though you spend little more than a moment doing it. Shifting, you quickly lean backward to let him tilt his head forward, the muscles in his neck taut in this position. Admiring them and humming to yourself, you lift your cupped hands to dump water down the back of his neck and head, droplets sluicing down his back and returning from where they once came. You drag your fingers through his thick strands, gently massaging his scalp and he lets out an involuntary satisfied moan, shoulders hunching forward.

Giggling, you lean forward and rest your chin on his shoulder, hands still working. “Feel good?” Your lips touch his neck, just beneath his ear, eliciting a shiver in response. He allows you a few more moments of indulgence, scrubbing his scalp and gently yanking on the strands before abruptly sitting up and turning to face you, water sloshing gently near the edges of the tub as he does so.

Eyes following his every move, you sit back to accommodate him and rest between his legs that are stretched on either side of you, your knees pulled to your chest. You scoot forward and situate yourself fully between his legs, your thighs and calves thrown on either side of his hips, straddling him. He sighs, shaking his head, one hand falling to the small of your back to keep you upright and steady.

Despite himself, he’s grateful for your attentiveness and eagerness to care for him. Sanemi will always be slightly more subtle in the way he shows his affection but he can tell you feel it judging solely by the way you glance up at him, eyes practically twinkling with adoration.

What did he do to deserve this and how can he get you to stop?

He runs a hand through his slightly sudsy hair. “Why are you doing all this for me? I can scrub my own back and wash my own hair.” Shrugging, you half smile and swipe the cloth over his chest, tracing the pattern of the scars that cross it in either direction. “Because I love you and know that you deserve it.”

You love him. You’ve told him the same thing though in far more compromising positions, babbling it senselessly while he has been between your legs with his lips and tongue, learning how to love a woman without words. You’ve shown him you mean it beyond just this evening spent in cooling water. He opens his mouth to respond but shuts it just as quickly. You continue, scrubbing up his neck and down his biceps, spending extra time on his underarms and the crook of his elbow.

“Are you gonna let me finish washing your hair or did you want to do it yourself?” You interrupt the silence, knowing he’s thinking rather than giving you the cold shoulder. This is new to him and comfort is paramount in dealing with matters of the heart, something you’ve learned during your time spent with him.

Thinking for a beat longer, he finally nods. “Yeah, you can finish.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as he uses his hand on the small of your back to tilt you forward, your chest pressed against his, giving you the exact angle and position needed to complete your task. Sanemi presses a kiss against your clavicle, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin. His eyes flutter shut while you work.

He could do this forever.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don’t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[luveline]

hello lovely, I was wondering if I could ask for a soft remus request. maybe loser!reader where someone made them feel invisible and remus comforts them? I hope that makes sense ily <3

ily ty for requesting!! <3 fem, 1.3k

“Come on, poppet,” Sirius says in one of his teasing tones as he puts a hefty looking glass of pale ale in front of you, “cheer up and get sloshed.”

“Oh, I really don’t want to drink tonight,” you say, surprised he’d get you something. 

“That’s for me. This,” —he puts a short glass to the pale ale— “is for you. From him.” 

You look up from the dark table to spy said him across the way. Remus stands behind the bar with a relaxed smile, arms holding himself up and biceps just that little bit tight against his sleeves. You send him a shy smile. 

It’s an ice cold mix of your favourite. You send him another smile as you drink it, not sure how to cope with the fact that he’s still looking at you when you do. He raises his eyebrows a touch before a customer steals his attention. 

“He should really quit,” James says happily. “He’s enabling me.”

You push the bowl of roasted peanuts toward him. “Abstinence,” you say. You’re still feeling wobbly, not quite happy, but better to move forward then dwell on things. Plus, Remus’ nice smile reminds you that he’s on your side.

“Remus gives you a Help to Stop card every time you buy a second round,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. 

“But Marlene lets me drink as much as I want.” James waves at her. She blows him a kiss from the table she’s bussing two chairs over. “Bad place. Takes advantage of me. And there’s too much riff raff.”

You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. “Right.”

They chat to each other enough to make up for your silence and Remus’ absence. He’ll be off any minute now, joining you for a quick drink if he’s awake enough to manage it before you head home. You can’t bring yourself to watch him, knowing he’ll be chatting, giving pretty girls polite smiles and prettier boys their refills. He can be charismatic when he wants to be. He’s a natural flirt deep down. You hope he doesn’t flirt with other people. 

He wouldn’t. 

Or maybe he would? You’re not exciting like that. 

“Penny for your thoughts, lovely girl?” 

He says it quietly, pressing his pet name into the side of your head as he slips into the chair next to yours. Suddenly he’s here. He sneaks up on you too often. 

“Not worth the penny,” you murmur back. 

“I don’t think that’s true. Do you want another drink? I’ve closed my line, but I–”

You shake your head, not having finished the first one he sent over. He smells like the too sweet cloy of beer, but his breath is minty on your cheek. “Fine, be that way. You make it hard to spoil you.”

“Yuck.” 

“Ew,” he agrees. Remus gives the top of your shoulder a gentle shake. “Not feeling well?” 

“She was attacked, Moons, I told you this,” Sirius says.

You glare at him as Remus says, “Mm. You okay?” 

“I wasn’t attacked, that’s– you know. It was the opposite of an attack. I was–” Ignored. You attempt to shove it down even as the memory surges up, the heat of knowing you’d been deemed a loser, the shrug off, the giggling. “Sirius.” 

“What? If I didn’t tell him he would’ve been pissed off with me and you know I can’t afford butter right now. I need my toast fix.” 

James and Sirius are nice, good guys, but Remus is the only person who can really make you feel better. He knows it. You all know it. But it’s too embarrassing to divulge the details of what happened. You’d told Sirius and James in a strange flustered panic as you sat down, and you don’t fancy telling the story again. 

In the bathroom, there had been a group of girls taking photographs. You didn’t know them, but they were around your age, beautiful, and giggling at not being able to fit in one photograph. 

I can take it, you’d offered. That way you can all be in the frame? 

One girl smiled at you but the rest didn’t even look up. You know you’d said it loudly. You seem to have this effect on people. Total invisibility. 

“Can’t afford butter, can’t afford his own pints,” Remus says, reaching under the table to touch your thigh. His fingertips dig into the softer part of the inner thigh as he brushes downward to your knee. “Next I’ll be paying his rent.” 

“It’s the least you could do,” James says. “Do you think they’ll put the rugby on if I ask?” 

Remus stands and beckons for you to come with him. “Where are we going?” you ask. 

“Home?” He holds out his hand for you to take. “The shop first.” 

He twines your fingers and waves to the boys. You’ll see them again in an hour or two when they come home, but as soon as you and Remus leave the pub, you might as well be all alone in the world. It’s dark as pitch despite the early evening hour and twice as cold, wind like needles thrown at your hands. Remus puts his open hand out to pull your empty one into his side. It’s a funny way to walk. 

“Are you terribly upset?” 

“Mm… no,” you decide. 

“James said you,” —his voice turns soft and careful— “looked a little bit welled up. Like you might cry. It’s okay if you were upset.” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“Dove, if you were to be believed, everything is embarrassing. But you’ve never done anything to be embarrassed of.” You take your hands back. “Oh, except that.” 

You laugh as he snatches your hands back, your laughter whipped away with the mean winds as you make your way through the alley that leads to the small corner shop on the way home. “No one sees me like you,” you say. 

“People are fucking rude,” he says with a shrug. “They could’ve at least said they were fine.” 

“I don’t know if it’s rude–”

“It is–”

“I’m a stranger and they were probably fine without my help. But it was weird to have nobody say anything. It made me feel so silly.” 

“If it were you,” Remus says, weight in his words as glances at you from the side, his hair dancing away from his ears, “you would’ve looked them in the eyes and said no, thanks. You would’ve acknowledged them. It’s not kind to treat people like they don’t matter.” 

“I don’t matter.” 

Your weak tone slows his pace. 

“I mean, not to them,” you correct. 

Remus slides an arm over your shoulder, humming from his chest. “Yes, you do,” he says, kissing your cheek, “of course you matter. You’re everything to the people who love you. You’re more than that to me. Please don’t think otherwise.” He presses his lips and chin to your temple. “Yeah?” he asks quietly. “You matter, dove, you do.”

“Why does this happen to me so often?” you ask in a similar quiet. 

“You’re not like everyone else.” He grins at you. “We’re not like other people. Thank god.” His lips press again to your cheek. “I hope all their pictures turn out shit.” 

“Sorry if I’m overreacting.” 

“I think you’re underreacting. I think I should go back and have them banned.” Remus gives you one last kiss before he steps back, ushering you down the pavement to the neon lights of the corner shop. “But I’m going to buy you some chocolates instead. Is that alright? Should I go back?” 

He starts walking back the way you came. You catch tight to his hand and force him into the shop before he can get too far away. 

[queenimmadolla]

Eddie Munson. Love. Established relationship

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

“I cannot believe them.” Steve huffed out, hands resting on his hips as his foot tapped against the asphalt outside of the police station.

“You already said that,” Jonathan blanched, leaning back against the hood of his car while Argyle closely examined his own hands for whatever reason.

“Well, I can’t!” He snapped again and Eddie smirked, thoroughly amused with the situation. And worried.

He was also very worried.

Half an hour ago, he’d been in the trailer, eating mac and cheese straight from the pot when the phone rang.

It was Hopper. Specifically, Chief Hopper. As in, on duty, Chief Hopper. Eddie had immediately jumped into a monologue about how he hadn’t done anything and even if he did, Hopper had no proof of it but Hopper wasn’t calling to tell Eddie he had six cop cars in route.

He was calling to tell Eddie to come pick up his girlfriend, who had gotten into a bar brawl.

He’d raced the fuck over and was surprised to see the other guys pull up as well, though he probably shouldn’t have given the fact you’d gone out with Robin, Nancy and Eden.

What the fuck kind of trouble could that roster have gotten into???

Enough to warrant being taken to the police station.

Hopper had informed him you’d all be getting warnings, leeway you all got most definitely just because he was now Jonathan’s stepdad.

“It can’t have been that bad,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve froze in his irritable mom-pose and slowly turned to face him.

“Can’t have been that bad—WE’RE AT THE POLICE STATION!”

“Would you rather it be a courtroom?” Eddie asked, cocking an eyebrow. He pitied Buckley for the scolding she’d no doubt get from Steve on their drive home.

“I’d rather not have to pick her up from anywhere other than her house or work!”

“Calm down, Mother Hen. It was probably nothing,”

It was definitely something. 

The doors to the station opened, Nancy was the first out with Robin trailing her, you following Robin and Eden on your heels.

You all looked like you had definitely been involved in a fight, clothes rumpled and torn, hair a mess and Nancy sported a bloody lower lip. She started crying the moment she was in Jonathan’s arms, but he didn’t think it was because of her lip or even the fight, Nancy was just a very emotional drunk and her staggering was an obvious sign of intoxication.

You skipped right over to him and Eddie knew you were drunk, too.

“Hi, baby! I missed ya!” You sang as you slipped your arms around his waist to press yourself up against him for a hug, side of your face resting against his chest.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders, gently trying to pry you away from him so he could look you over for injuries but you refused to release your hold. The most he could do was get you to crane back a little so you could look at him.

“Neva’ betta’. Why?” You asked, cocking your head and beaming up at him.

Eddie’s face broke out into a grin. 

“Because a little birdy told me you were in a scrap.”

You were about to reply before the sound of Steve and Robin arguing with each other distracted you and you turned your head to watch them.

Eddie had to physically turn it back, and he was laughing as he did.

“C’mon, buttercup, I need you to stay with me, yeah?”

He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, dipping his head to the side to catch your stare and you went back to beaming at him, eyes crinkled.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

Fuck, you were so cute.

“That’s not really what I meant, baby, but I had no plans on letting you go. What happened tonight?”

You scoffed, arms dropping to your sides as you took a couple of steps back and glared at nothing.

“You wouldn’t freakin’ believe it, babe! Me and my girls,” You gestured to Nancy who was being coddled by Jonathan, Robin who was now scolding Steve, and Eden who was high-fiving Argyle, “were out having fun, getting sloshed—I had so many midori sours, baby, so many and my throw up is gonna be green—when alluvasudden Carol fuckin’ Perkins and her group of raggedy bitches comes up to us.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. He knew just how much you despised Carol. You two hadn’t been exactly friendly back in high school.

“And I’m like ‘oh wow, Carol, I was actually hoping to never fucking see you again.’ But she wasn’t there for me, babe. She was there ‘cause of Robin.” You leaned in to whisper the last sentence to him.

“I din’t even fuckin’ know it—but I should’ve ‘cause like the resemblance is there, isn’t it? Like they look kind of like each other, you know?”

“No, baby. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But Eddie was thoroughly invested in the drama, shifting his position to lean up against the van.

“Oh, yeah!” You laughed, amused that you knew and he didn’t. “Carol is Vickie’s cousin.”

Eddie’s eyes widened comically, sending you into a fit of giggles.

Vickie was Robin’s ex….something. Towards the end of senior year, Vickie had broken up with her long time boyfriend. On the rebound, looking for some attention to prove she was still wanted as most do after a breakup, she’d entertained Robin’s infatuation with her. 

They were always together, never affectionate in public, for obvious reasons, though Robin implied they were something. Then, it stopped. Vickie and her boyfriend got back together and she never even gave Robin proper closure, just stopped talking to her, stopped taking her phone calls and obviously avoided her.

It had been an unfortunate situation, the entire group pulled together to cheer Robin up but she got over it, met another girl, and they were an official couple. Girlfriend and girlfriend. She was away for a family thing and Robin couldn’t get the time off, which is why the girls had all gone out for a night to distract her.

“Carol is Vickie’s cousin!?” He whispered back in disbelief, hand flying over his mouth.

“Yeah!”

“So where does the fighting come in—is that blood?!” Eddie nearly had a heart attack as he noticed the red splatter on the front of your shirt. He hadn’t seen it earlier because you’d been glued to him.

You glanced down, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands to flare it out so you could see it better, “Oh, yeah! ‘S not mine, though. ‘S Carol’s. She told Robin people like her weren’t allowed in the bar, so I punched her a couple times and her friends started fighting us but we kicked their asses, baby!”

Eddie stared at you, eyes clouded with adoration and awe. 

You’d been dating for a while now, and every single damn day Eddie thought he found another thing he loved about you. Every. Single. Day.

And right then, in that moment, Eddie was finally able to express what he’d been thinking, feeling for the last couple of months. It wasn’t really the things you did that he loved about you. Eddie just loved you.

He needed you to know.

“I am so in love with you,” He breathed out, hands reaching out to latch onto your waist and draw you back into him. 

He was about to go on his spew about how you didn’t have to say it back and he just wanted you to know but you caught him by surprise, took the breath right out of him.

“I love you, too, Eds. Can we go home now? I’m hungry.”

Eddie blinked, knees weak.

“Baby, I don’t think you know what I’m sayi—“

“You said you love me and I love you, too. I’m drunk, baby, I can still hear you.” You sagged into him, head craned up to give him those eyes of yours.

“You love me?” He whispered, hand moving to tenderly cup the back of your head.

“Mhm.” You nodded, leaning up on your toes as Eddie met you halfway in a passionate kiss. He was about to tease your mouth open with his tongue when Hopper pushed his way out of the station.

“HEY! KNOCK IT OFF! GO HOME!”

Eddie laughed against your mouth as you pouted before he pulled away and ushered you into the van. Once you were buckled, he headed around to the driver’s side and took note of how meek Steve looked as he got into the driver’s seat of his own car. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think it was Steve who got into trouble with the law, and Robin picking him up from the station.

Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle and Eden were long gone.

You were fiddling with the radio when he hopped in.

“It’s not working,” you frowned, continuing to press buttons.

“Sweetheart, the car’s not on.” 

“Oh.”

Eddie loved you so much.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 23

part 1 | part 22 | ao3

cw: alcohol, recreational drinking

Steve fusses with his hair in the side mirror again, tugging awkwardly at his borrowed clothes. He feels stupid, standing here fidgeting in the parking lot like some kind of nervous freshman, but half of Hawkins seems to be here tonight and Robin’s got him dressed like a loser — worn green flannel and a ripped black tee with a faded picture of The Smiths. Jesus. “Did you really have to dress me like this?” 

“What? You look cute!” 

“I look like I raided Jonathan Byers’ closet.”

“No, you look like someone a certain neighbor is going to be drooling over all night.” Steve’s grateful for the dark then; for the blush it hides on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault you don't know how to make a deal; if you wanted to borrow a specific shirt, you should have said so before we shook on it.”

“Besides,” she ignores him when he rolls his eyes at her, “you wouldn’t even let me smudge eyeliner on your lower lash line like I wanted to, so I really don't feel like you’ve earned complaining privileges.” 

“I’ll complain if I fucking want to,” he grumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, then forces himself to look away from the mirror. Rolls his shoulders back and down. “He’s not even here, anyway.”

“Ah-ha! So you did check.” She links their arms together, starts dragging Steve across the uneven gravel, her ankles wobbling in her low-heeled boots. “‘Just looking for a good parking spot,’ my ass. God, I’m always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct. I should really play the lottery next time I visit my grandparents..."

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure what luck and correctness have to do with each other, but sure.

She stumbles over a rock; pushes into his side, grinning, “I’m serious! I’ll play the lottery, and I’ll win big, and then you’ll see. Might even split my winnings with you if you’re nice to me.” 

“I’m literally so nice to you all the time, but okay. Can’t wait to take half your earnings when you get ten bucks off a scratcher.” 

“Hey, five bucks is five bucks! That’s like an hour and a half of our lives.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s just depressing.”

They walk arm and arm down the narrow footpath to the party — ferns brushing their calves, dry dirt beneath their shoes kicking up tiny clouds of dust — and as the path opens up Steve sees the place is packed. More packed than the overstuffed parking lot let on. There are people scattered over the picnic grounds in groups of fours and fives, a full dance floor under the main pavilion; a DJ set up at the front with food and drink stands to the side; a giant bowl of spiked punch; a tower of solo cups; a couple of coolers filled with beer.

In the surrounding grass he sees more tables, more people. A couple of guys he remembers from swim team rally around an arm wrestling match; another group plays beer pong on a brown fold-up table that they definitely stole from someone’s church. There's a circle of burnouts playing hacky sack behind a tree.

The bonfire burns brightly on the hillside in the distance, and beyond that he spots the faint glow of trail lights leading up to a bridge under the falls. 

Part of him wants to follow the trail. Shake Robin off, pretend like he’s going to take a leak. Find a nice rocky overhang to camp under for a while.

Listen to river sounds. Gentle slosh; cricket buzz.

Maybe he gets drunk up there alone. Maybe he just enjoys the solitude; lies on a rock on his belly by the icy river’s edge, swirls his hand in frigid water and doesn't dream of dark brown curls.

“Steve?” Robin nudges him. “You good?”

Another, much less annoying part of him reminds him that he’s Steve Goddamn Harrington. He knows how to have a good time at a party.

Who cares if he feels too old to be here, or if it’s weird to see so many faces that used to call him Captain or King? Who cares that he's one smudge of eyeliner away from looking like a full-blown new wave art freak?

He’s not about to slink off to do depressed weirdo wallflower shit when the DJ’s playing Wham!

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder. “You want a drink?” 

“Yes, please.” 

—

The drinks are strong.

Steve’s pretty sure the punch bowl is a lot more hunch than punch, but there’s still no sign of Vickie, and Robin’s getting that sad little stress wrinkle between her brows about it, so Steve says bottoms up and starts chugging. 

They wince their way through two cups each. Robin plugs her nose on the second one like she’s about to do a high dive, and Steve laughs and takes her hand, leading her into the crowd just as Take on Me comes on. The lights all blur together as they shimmy and shake and twirl, moving like a couple of dorks, but Steve’s having a great time. Bobbing his head to the beat; a big, dumb grin on his face as he moves his hips. Robin shouts “Watch this!” over the music, and the next thing he knows they’re competing to see who can bust the worst dance move. 

He brings out all the big guns, the full-groan dad maneuvers.

The sprinkler, the lawn mower, the fucking disco finger. 

Robin answers with a sloppy attempt at the robot, so he makes up a new move he calls be kind, rewind, and she laughs like a horse and pretends to walk down a flight of stairs.

She’s crouched into a goofy lunge, two steps into the ascent back up, when the song fades out and a ballad takes over. The crowd presses in to slow dance; Robin steps on someone's toes.

“Hey, watch it!” the person hisses.

Robin startles hard; knocks herself off-balance when she tries to stand up straight, babbling, "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Are you- are you okay? I'm such a klutz, oh, my god, I'm—"

Steve snatches her up under the armpits; puts her back on her feet. Then he looks up and realizes who exactly she just stepped on. 

Well, shit.

—

part 24

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

[onetoomanyfandomfixations]

Jealous Ex!Katsuki x Fem!Reader

A/N: this is totally not based off of how i wish my ex acted when i had a creep hitting on me ha.

MDNI - SMUT BELOW CUT.

WARNINGS: ANGST/COMFORT, SLEAZY CREEP, HURT, UNPROTECTED SEX, RECONCILIATION SEX, DRUNK SEX

-

It’s been six months. And I’m one drink down for every month since he left me. So I really shouldn’t feel as sick as I do when a random wraps their arm around my waist.

He tugs me into his scrawny, shirtless figure and my stomach lurches.

Everything smells of stale cigarette smoke. 

This is wrong.

Gently I push the stranger off, wandering back towards the bar. A tired smile from the bartender greets me.

“Hi lovely,” I smile, jumping up on the barstool.

“What can I do for you babes?” The small person hums, mousy hair flopping across their face.

“Can you make me another one of those yummy cocktails? Y’know, the one with the fireball and the-” I start, leaning inwards.

“The one that tastes like autumn?” They finish, a knowing smile.

“Yes!” I can feel my head slosh as I nod. Maybe I’m more tipsy than I thought. 

Unwanted arms twist around my waist yet again.

“Hey pretty,” Unkempt long hair tickles my shoulder. Hot breath on my neck. 

“I’m gonna go back to dancing,” I excuse myself, untangling us. Clutching my drink, I weave in and out of the crowd. The warmth is more uncomfortable than it was before, sticky and clammy.

A pain in my shoulder, my drink wasted on myself and the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” I start, embarrassment heating my cheeks.

“Hey, watch where you’re-” A voice, so familiar it hurts. Low, and consistently gravelly.

“y/n.” Shock changes his tone. Aggression turns soft. My heart squeezes.

Six months.

Six months and I’m still so undeniably in love with Bakugou Katsuki it hurts me.

“Hi,” I mumble, eyes trained on my hands.

He clears his throat and my eyes can’t help but follow the noise. 

Rubies.

I always said his eyes were rubies.

Not the blood of his enemies, like Kaminari so often joked.

Rubies.

Warmth and pain mixes inside of me, and I find myself biting my tongue.

I love you.

It would be so easy to say.

“Aww did you spill ya drink pretty? ‘S okay, I’ll get you another one.” Cigarette overtakes my smell and I do everything not to gag.

“Um, I’m actually gonna head home.” Shaking the man off yet again, I go to turn around.

“Ooh, ready for some fun are we? Lead the way, beautiful.” Hands around my waist, and my throat closes.

“No.” I shake my head, squirming out of his arms yet again.

“Aww, but baby” His arms are tighter this time, face nuzzled into my neck.

“Oi, she told you to fuck off.” Katsuki steps forward, and I go to turn my head.

“Ha, you’re just jealous that I’m gonna get somma this tonight.” Wet warmth trails up my neck and I cringe away.

Stifling hold is suddenly tugged away.

“She’s not interested, dickhead. Now fuck off before I make you.” Katsuki’s voice is grim, fearless. All I can focus on is wiping the saliva off my neck.

“Fuckin fine. She’s not that cute anyway.” I hear a huff becoming more and more distant.  

Another arm. New, but old; drapes across my shoulders.

“Gonna walk you home to make sure no more creeps try’nd attack you.” Katsuki mumbles, gently guiding me through the crowd.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

The outside air is cold, drawing me closer to the man’s core heat. Small sparks on my shoulder act as a radiator.

The walk is quiet, and my head swims too much to understand if its comfortable or uncomfortable. 

Only when we reach my apartment, does his warm arm leave me. 

As if it’s muscle memory, he lifts up the pot plant; grabbing the spare key and letting us in. Kicking off my shoes, I wander towards the next best warmth I can get.

My bed is cushy, a welcome comfort.

Katsuki enters not too long after, water and toast in hand.

“You need to eat before you sleep,” He says, plopping down next to me.

Rubies, full of warmth.

“Why are you being so nice?” I mumble, eyes stinging.

I miss this. I miss him.

“Cause I fucked up,” He whispers.

“What did you do this time, Bakugou?” I sigh, picking up the glass.

“I hurt someone because I didn’t want them to hurt me first.”

My heart hitches.

“But then I realised that all I did was hurt both of us, for no goddamn reason.”  The water splashes against the sides of the glass as I tremble uncontrollably.

“She won’t even say my name anymore.” The grief is heavy in his voice, breaking it gently. And I can’t hold back my tears.

“You said you didn’t love me anymore,” My voice warbles past the lump in my throat.

“I knew you could do better,” He mumbles, picking at the duvet he helped me choose.

“I don’t want better!” I cry, gripping the glass.

“I want you.” Glancing over, I can’t help but stare.

Bakugo Katsuki does not cry.

Yet diamonds fall from rubies.

“Then be mine again. Please.” He whispers, voice catching. 

And all I can do is nod.

Coolness of glass leaves my hands. Warmth cradles my cheeks.

“Thank you baby,” His lips meet mine, and I’m home. 

Home tastes like cheap cola from the bar. 

Home is our teeth clashing as we smile through tears and kisses. 

Home is my fingers twisting through staticy blond.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper against his jaw.

“Missed you more.” Strong arms pull me effortlessly into his lap. His hands stay on my hips, tracing gentle circles.

“Lemme show you how much I missed you.” Katsuki asks, tugging me impossibly closer. Kisses tickle down my neck, and my entire body floods with adoration.

“Please,” I nuzzle into his hair, savouring the closeness. I jerk my neck away as he gently bites exactly where he knows I hate.

“Katsuki,” I whine, shoving his face away. A warm chuckle reverberates through his chest. The sound is contagious, making bubbles in my chest.

“You’re an ass,” I bite back my smile, gentling pushing him further.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass.” He mumbles, pulling me back in. Arms push me down, feeling him grow beneath me.

My body clenches excitedly, as familiar hands start tracing up my stomach.

“Take this stupid thing off,” His voice vibrates against my neck, as he tugs at the hem of my top.

“Hm,” I muse loudly, deciding to have some fun. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You little shit,” He growls fondly, pushing the top up as his hands wander further. A gentle squeeze to my breasts is all I need to continue my attack on his jaw.

“But I’m your little shit,” I mock inbetween kisses. I feel his jaw clench beneath my touch.

“Alright, thats it.” He huffs, wrapping an arm around my waist.

Suddenly, I’m off his lap; the bed bouncing at my sudden shift in weight. The bubbles in my chest build until they burst into a fit of giggles.

“There’s my pretty woman,” Katsuki smiles, eyes soft. Gently, he fully removes my top. And then his own.

The warmth of skin on skin is a comfort I’ve missed oh so much. 

Obviously, Katsuki missed it just as much; face disappearing into the valley between my breasts. 

Soft kisses leave pins and needles, and I reach for his hand. In an instant, our fingers are interlocked.

Like he never left.

I revel in the moment, using my free hand to trace patterns on his shoulders.

Small sparks greet my skin as his other hand massages my thigh. I feel myself dampen at the closeness - leaning into his touch.

“You sure you want this pretty woman? You’re still tipsy,” Its so odd, hearing such soft words from such a hardened, aggressive man. 

“Please, Kats” I breathe, moving my hand to his hair. A hum of agreement, and his loving assault continues.

I keep tracing patterns, unintentionally digging down as his hands get close to where I want them - no - need them to be.

A ghost of a touch, and I’m pushing myself up to meet him.

“Missed me that bad, did we?” He scoffs in amusement, fingers circling my clothed clit.

“Like you’re one to talk,” I mumble, cheeks heating. Softly grinding on me, my breath hitches.

“Sorry baby, but I’m not waiting anymore,” He whispers, pulling my panties off; his boxers following suit.

Rubies bore into me, sparkling with adoration.

And suddenly, pain and pleasure all in one.

“C’mon, you’re okay. You can take it.” Katsuki praises as he thrusts in. I blink through watery eyes, nodding.

The movement is slow at first, just until the pain falls away. 

Then, its relentless. 

The sound of skin on skin echoes through my small apartment, going at an unholy speed. My toes scrunch as I’m sent into ecstasy.

“See how much I missed you?” Hands grasp my hair, moving my head to the side to leave kiss after kiss.

“See how much I love you?” He grunts into my neck, suckling right near my jaw. Words fail, leaving me only able to whimper in response.

“Yeah that’s right,” He whispers to me, fastening his pace. More whines bubble past my lips.

“Love you so much, never gonna leave again, you hear that?” His words a near hiss, nipping my neck gently.

“Kats, kats, please,” I beg, gripping onto him for dear life. My stomach coils, and I don’t know how long I’ll last.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” He encourages, pushing deeper, faster.

I break, legs spasming as I gush.

But Kastuki doesn’t stop.

Instead, he pushes my ankles up near my ears - keeping his relentless pace. Tears spill over my cheeks at the overstimulation.

“Just a little longer, okay?” He promises, hot breath painting my thighs. I nod frantically, practically melting into the bed.

But the coil tightens again, and I can’t help but squirm.

“Come on, together this time. Where do you want me?” Katsuki asks, somehow pumping harder.

“Inside,” I croak through tears. It’s too much.

An eyebrow raises.

“You wan’t me to make you a mama, that it?” He huffs, beads of crystalline sweat coating his brow.

“Mhm,” I whine, clenching at the thought.

“Fuck, y/n.” He grunts, burying himself into me.

Warmth floods me, and my blond lover collapses ontop of me.

“Love you so much, Katsuki,” I whisper, tangling my hands through his hair. I press a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Love you more, dumbass.” He sighs, kissing wherever he can reach. 

-BONUS-

“I guess this means you’re reinvited to Tsu and ‘Chako’s wedding.” I hum, scratching his head.

“The fuck you mean ‘reinvited’?” Katsuki snarls sleepily, nuzzling into my neck.

“Honey, you were my plus one. You never got your own invite,” I gently remind him, amusement tickling my insides.

“What cunts.” He grumbles, pulling me close.

“Katsuki!”

[sweetsbfreex]

drunk and obsessed

Summary: a little something about a drunk steve. in the mafia steve universe

Pairing: drunk!mafia! steve rogers x reader

Warning: none rlly

-

“Baby, baby,” you giggle, a bit tipsy, as you try your hardest to fit the key into the door's lock. “I can’t open the door with you all over me.”

You laugh once more when Steve begins kissing your neck once again. His trimmed beard tickles your neck. 

On the other hand, Steve had a bit too much to drink. And that's all your doing. 

You know he feels he can never have too much to drink at these events, especially with you there. The events are filled with some of the most inimical people worldwide. So he always wants to be on his A-game for you. But that’s what body guards are for, you had argued. Pushing for him to have the time of his life with some of his friends.

Now here he was: drunk and his body cradling yours, as the two of you struggle to get in the house. 

“I just love you, baby,” his words slur as he kisses your cheek. 

“I love you too,” You tell him, so close to getting the fucking key to fit. 

“I can’t wait to get you inside,” his voice rich and husky as he seals his promise. 

“Baby, I don’t even think you could get it up right now.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve removes himself as your shell, both arms up in defense while he takes a few steps back.  

When your senses finally catch up that he’s no longer hovering over you. You quickly turn, just stopping him before he tumbles down the step. 

You hold both his hands, then let one go to grab the side of this face, “Honey, your drunk off your ass right now—“

“I am not! You just called my game weak,”

“That’s not what I said, but I need you to stand silently so I can open the door, okay?”

“Okay, pretty” he answers, landing a soft peck on your lips.

You smile as you finally open the door, reaching behind you to clasp Steve’s hand so you can pull him in. 

You close the door behind him, toeing your shoes off, giggling when he has trouble with his. But five ‘fucks’ later, he finally gets it done. 

“Woooo!!” Steve shoots his hand up in a v, as if his team just won the super bowl. 

You’re quick to drop his arms back down to his sides, “Shhh, baby. You’re screaming.”

“I am?! I’m sorry,” his hands cup your cheeks as he pulls you for yet another kiss. 

“Honey,” you laugh into his sloppy kiss. “Let’s go to bed, hm? And get some water into you.”

“I don’t wanna do bed,” he whines. “I wanna do you,” he smirks, moving one hand to grip your hip.

“Tomorrow, okay? I’m really tired.” You feign a dramatic yawn. 

“You are? Okay, that’s okay, okay?” he kisses your nose this time. 

Drunk sex isn’t something that hasn’t been checked off your and Steve’s list. But Steve is sloshed and can barely walk straight, so sex would not be on the menu for tonight. 

“Let’s head up.” You wrap his arm over your shoulder, walking up the steps carefully. 

-

He’s sitting at the end of the bed, his coat beside him, as you unbutton his dress shirt. You would’ve let him do it himself, but he was struggling with his lack of hand-eye coordination. Playfully slapping your hand every time your hands got close to his shirt. Giggling and joking that there would be no sexy times. That was until he had made you oath you’d keep your hands innocent. 

Ever your affectionate, drunk lover. 

“Are you sure you feel alright? Don't need to throw up or anything?” You ask Steve once again. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tells you then takes another swig of water.

It only takes ten minutes until he’s in his sweatpants, with no boxers (under his request). You’re changed and ready for bed, tired out from an eventful day. Steve’s favorite movie playing in the background. 

Steve cuddles up close, half his brawny body on yours, his leg splayed over yours, and his head nestled on your chest. 

Your fingers run through his hair soothingly. 

“Y/n?”

You hum a response.

“Thank you for taking care of me, I love you too,” 

“I love you too.” you laugh breathily at his mistake. 

A comfortable pause ensues. 

“Y/n?” His hand shimmies under your t-shirt, to caress your soft skin. 

“Yes, honey,” you can’t help but laugh at the way he calls for your attention. You don’t think you’ve heard your actual name from his mouth so consistently. 

“I think I wanna— I know I want to start trying soon. I wanna be a dad, a good dad.”

Your hand stills.

“What?” Your voice is quiet and relayed with shock. Your heart no longer in your chest. 

He wants to try. The two of you tied the knot two months ago. However, talk of whether you guys wanted to start a family or not was shut down by Steve every time. You never wanted to push, but you also wanted to know what to expect. 

Either way, He was adamant that he wasn’t ready. There was no way he could raise a baby to be half a decent human being with his trauma lingering in the shadows, among other things

He sits up abruptly, “I know, I know. I’m not sober, but I’m not lying either. I’m ready, honey… if you are.” He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“Okay,” you smile, “If you remember, we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He kisses your cheek before cuddling into you once again. “I wanna be the perfect dad, y/n. The best.”

“You will be.” 

You tell him sweetly, your eyes stinging as you run your fingers through his hair once more. 

-

a/n: srry it's been so long, college keeps me busy 24/7! here's this as i try and finish binky fairy pt. 2

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[cyborg-franky]

Sitting with them in silence just for company

Law x GN Reader Zoro x GN Reader SFW

You knew where to find him, every night the Tang was above water, settled near an island he would spend his evenings outside, staring across the ocean, trapped in thoughts as deep as the sea and just as turbulent as the storms that rolled in.

Pushing the big metal door, it groaned and alerted the captain of your presence, Law didn't say anything, simply watching you make your way over on unsure feet. The ocean was calm tonight but the gentle rocking still made you unsure of your balance, used to being in the belly of the sub or on dry land.

“Is it okay if I come out here? I can’t sleep and I just wanted to get some air,” you explained and he nodded. “Sure,” it might have sounded noncommittal to people who didn’t know him but that was near enough an enthusiastic ‘that’s fine’ as you’d get from Law.

You joined him, sitting down, legs hanging off the side, arms hugging a rail to make sure you didn’t slip and fall. Honestly, the cold metal against your flushed skin felt like heaven compared to the stuffy heat from inside.

The water gently sloshing against the side of the sub sounded nice. You liked spending time with Law like this, neither of you needed to waste time and effort striking up a conversation, just settled in the same calmness as you processed your thoughts.

You sighed, hands in your pockets as you stared at the sky, watching the stars twinkle in the heavens above as the waves gently rocked the ship. The night was perfect. Calm waves gently guided you across the ocean, watched by the moon and stars. A warm breeze filled the sails, ushering the Thousand Sunny to its next destination, another adventure.

The pleasantness of the evening felt wasted, you were bored and alone, and everyone already retired for the night. Save for the swordsman on watch duty, you looked up at the Crowsnest and frowned in thought, would he be happy to see you? Would he want time to himself?

You tapped your foot, fighting with yourself and weighing up your options. Sleep wasn't your friend tonight and you craved the company of your nakama. You clicked your tongue, annoyed at your hesitation when your lonely heart knew exactly what it wanted.

Climbing up to the crows nest and popping open the hatch you saw Zoro mid drink of a large bottle of beer. He stared at you with his brows raised before he took a swig of his drink. “Can’t sleep?” 

You shook your head and clambered up, shutting the hatch behind you and sitting down next to him, leaning against the side of the nest and taking a breath of the salty sea breeze, tinged now with the booze Zoro was partaking in.

Neither of you said anything else, Zoro knew you had issues with sleeping, he didn’t need to pry, your thoughts were yours unless you wanted to share them. He just moved closer, also leaning back with you.

Wordlessly he offered you a sip of beer and you shook your head, he shrugged and gulped down more. Both of you just relaxed in one another's company in a comforting silence.

Two souls swayed gently on the waves of adventure.

[comatosebunny09]

prey | astarion a.

summary: he makes you feel like small, feeble prey. something to be slowly devoured and savored. warnings: steamy, language now playing: desert rose [ slowed ] - lolo zouaï notes: i blame astarion’s bedroom eyes for this. tagging: @nanaoise08squad

The tavern is lively tonight. Filled to the brim with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs.

You hang back from the festivities, tucked away from the other patrons at a secluded table. Not lonely. Just prefer solitude.

You raise your mug to your companions every so often as they venture past, their mirth infectious.

There’s a smile on your face. Your body buzzes from the ale settling in your belly. You nurse your tankard, the contents of it gently sloshing about.

A laugh occasionally touches your lips. Watching everyone enjoy themselves is a welcomed sight, given the doom constantly looming over your shoulders.

Subconsciously, you find yourself sifting through the crowd in search of someone. A familiar thatch of white. Vermilion eyes. Sharp features. And like a beacon, you’re drawn to him, watching him chat up some pretty brunette on the other side of the bar.

You sit up on the barstool, unconsciously tugging at your collar. Feel your stomach plummet to your feet. Your lips part with shallow breaths, and your throat grows dry.

Who the hell is that? And why are they standing so close to him?

You’ve no time to coddle the envy blooming in your chest, for his gaze finds yours through the throng of people with laser precision. As if he sensed you looking his way, his eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.

Your heart stutters at the sight. You suddenly forget how to breathe. Trapped in a soundless stare-down, only the two of you seem to exist as the noise of the tavern fades into the background. It’s all a muddled mess to you, your senses heightened and all trained on Astarion.

His eyes dip into a mysterious shade of red whilst he studies you from beneath dark lashes. Makes you feel like small, feeble prey. Something to be slowly devoured and savored. Your bones licked clean and left on display on a mantle like a trophy.

And you still can’t quite get the hang of breathing.

He pays no heed to the person in front of him. As if they were a mere distraction—an appetizer to sate him until the main course.

He continues to leisurely undo you with his eyes, stripping you down to the marrow until you’re raw and exposed. You feel heavy. Pulsing. Dizzy. Not sure if it’s the ale filling your head with static or the depth of his stare.

Whatever the cause, you tear yourself from your seat. Wend through the crowd, gulping down air as you propel yourself into one of the dark and secluded back rooms.

The noise of the tavern peters into silence.

You press your back against a cool, textured wall, fighting to get your head back on straight. You clutch your chest. Screw your eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe.

You realize all too late that you’re not alone.

The room’s pressure shifts. And like a prowler, he emerges from the shadows. Slow and meticulous in his steps, ingesting you with those devastating eyes aglow in the darkness, and his brows quirk with intrigue.

You can’t get your limbs to work—to move. So Astarion easily traps you between the hard press of his body and the wall, and he frames either side of your head on bent arms. The hunger in his gaze never leaves, only growing whilst his face slinks in. You swallow thickly, your legs ready to give way.

You’re a sheep cornered in a wolf’s den. Gazing up at him, your lids feeling so very heavy, your head swimming. He smells divine. Feels even better. You unconsciously tangle your fingers in the collar of his coat, drawing him closer.

His lips pan in, his lids shuttering, lashes thick. You stand on the tips of your toes, waiting with bated breath. Ever patient. Obedient. But the kiss never comes.

Instead, he teases you with the promise of one. Grazes your lips with his, sparkles of delight flittering across your face. He releases little pleased, hoarse groans you have to strain your ears to hear. And he revels in this, torturing you so. Coaxing petulant whines from your throat, and you kick your feet like an impatient child.

“Astarion,” you rasp.

“My love?” The rumble of his voice is heady. Makes you throb. His lips brush against yours again, kissing along the outskirts of your mouth, causing the delicate skin to tingle pleasantly.

“Why do you insist on being such a little shit?”

A chuckle. His nose nuzzles along yours, his hands cupping your neck below your jawline, thumbs smoothing over your chin and angling your head further back. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Astarion,” you growl. “Just…gods dammit, just kiss me already.”

You’re desperate. Breathy. Teetering along the edge, and you have to cling to him to keep from careening over it. Your senses are overhauled, filled only with Astarion. Too hot. Too many clothes. Can’t think straight. Can’t—

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, continuing his cruel game of keep-away when you move to close the gap between your mouths. “Where’s the fun in giving you exactly what you want whenever you demand it?” He noses along the torrid flesh of your cheek, and you can hear the cruel smile taking hold of his voice. “I rather like the sound of you begging.”

You scoff. Try to kiss him again, but Astarion won’t have any of that.

“Now.” He zooms in, ghosting his lips over yours, fully intending to make you suffer. You lunge forward as if to bite him, earning another low, guttural laugh that you feel in the depths of your belly. “From the top, my love.”

[just-jordie-things]

truth or dare - fushiguro megumi

word count: 6.2k warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking weed summary: the classic party game gets megumi and (y/n) get flustered when they’re asked just how intimate their friendship is. more info: all characters are aged up! a/n: all those kiss prompts had this idea brewing in my head lol ___

It probably wasn’t a good idea to be drinking and smoking in the common room of the main temple, but it was a special occasion, having all of the first and second years in the same place at once.  That hadn’t even happened for the Exchange Event.  So when Nobara suggested celebrating, everyone agreed rather quickly.

(y/n’s) not sure who was able to get their hands on pot, or the beer and rum, but she mentally praises them as she takes a drag of the blunt currently in rotation before passing it off to Megumi beside her.

He gives her a lazy smile, his eyes hooded from the weed already in his system, but he happily takes another hit before passing it to Yuji.  (y/n) can’t help but watch him as he does, her gaze focused on his long fingers which handle the dwindling blunt with ease.  She’s a bit lost in her thoughts already, but she doesn’t mind the warm haze over her mind.

“Need a refill,” Maki says, standing from her seat between Yuuta and Panda on the sofa, wiggling her empty red solo cup.  “Anyone else?”

Nobara’s quick to leap up and follow, even though some of her drink sloshes out of her cup as she does.  (y/n) and Megumi share a look, giggling quietly between themselves at the total girl crush that Nobara had on Maki.  it had become sort of an inside joke between them, but they’re sure the others have noticed, too.

Toge and Yuji also follow after the girl, eager to refill their cups, too.

“You wanna place money on if they’ll hook up tonight?” (y/n) murmurs from behind her cup, so as not to be heard by Yuuta and Panda.

From where they’re sitting on the floor, it’s a few feet away from the couch, but she didn’t want to make it obvious that they were gossiping about their friends.  But with half their crew leaving the room, their whispering is significantly more noticeable.

Megumi chuckles from next to her, and discreetly slides a little closer to her so he could also speak low under his breath without being noticed.

“Twenty bucks, Maki makes the first move” 

(y/n’s) laughter is less than discreet, although she’s still hiding her lips behind her cup, as if the plastic is doing anything to keep her hidden.  Megumi would tell her that her cup isn’t doing her any favors, but he’s too amused by it, so he keeps it to himself.

The pair were practically attached at the hip, and they had been ever since (y/n) joined Jujutsu Tech.  She’d enrolled shortly after Megumi, so for quite some time, they were the only first years.  Which gave them plenty of time to get to know each other.  It didn’t take long for them to become the perfect team- both on assignments and just in general.  Megumi’s not sure he’s ever had a best friend before, but it was easy to look at (y/n) and know she was the closest person in his life.  After all, she was the only person whom he could indulge gossiping with, of all things.  He thinks perhaps she could convince him of indulging in anything.

He was here drinking and sharing a blunt with her, wasn’t he? 

When Yuji and Nobara also joined them, it was clear to everyone that his bond with (y/n) was different, because he didn’t treat them nearly the same as he treated her.  Even though he’d easily say they were close friends too, they simply weren’t (y/n).  She was his best friend.

“Really? After how Nobara just skipped after her?” (y/n) draws him out of his thoughts with a shake of her head.  “I’ll take your twenty bucks, and I’m putting it all on Nobara”

“Alright, you’re on” Megumi sticks his hand out, and (y/n) shakes it with a confident smirk.

“Prepare to lose twenty dollars, ‘gumi” She declares.

If it was Itadori, he would’ve smacked his head and told him not to call him that.  But it’s (y/n), so he smiles as he tips his cup to his lips.

When the others return, each taking their respective seats in the awkward circle they’d made, Yuji announces the great idea he’d come up with.

“We should play a game!” He says excitedly, practically falling onto the floor beside Megumi.  “Like a real party game!” 

“Spin the bottle!” Nobara announces, slurring her words just a little.

(y/n) doesn’t miss the way Megumi side eyes her before sending a pointed look Maki’s way.  She hides her giggles as she takes a long drink.

“We’re not playing spin the bottle,” Yuuta laughs at the idea, his cheeks pink.  Although it’s hard to tell if the idea makes him bashful, or if he was just crossfaded.  “Is there even anyone here you want to kiss?” 

Nobara rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath that he was boring.

“What about truth or dare?” Yuji suggests instead.  “That doesn’t have to involve kissing” 

“What’s with the obsession with kissing?” Yuuta mumbles to Panda, who shrugs his shoulders.

“But it could involve kissing?” Nobara questions, eyeing Yuji carefully.

“I mean,” Yuji looks around the group, who mostly seem indifferent to the idea.  “Yeah? I guess? No rules truth or dare?” 

“Nothing illegal” Megumi pipes up, because someone had to say it.

“Yeah, like drinking and doing drugs on campus” (y/n) agrees, giggling as she finishes off her drink.  Megumi chuckles at her but rolls his eyes.

Everyone agrees to truth or dare, and Yuji takes it upon himself to go first, since he’d suggested it.  His first victim is Toge, and he dares him to take a shot.  The cursed speech user gets up to bring the bottle of rum from the kitchen, and he takes a massive swig of the bottle.  The group hollers and whistles, surprised he’d so boldly drank more than his share.

“That was way more than a shot,” (y/n) mumbles, and only Megumi is close enough to hear her.  “Do you think he’ll get drunk and start cursing us to do stuff?” She asks, turning to him with a surprising amount of delight in her eyes.

“I don’t like that you look excited by that” Megumi mutters back.

“Could be fun” (y/n) shrugs a shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Toge points to Maki, who also gladly accepts a dare.  Toge texts her, daring her to do a handstand for a full minute.  She laughs at the simple challenge, and gets up from the couch to do her display in the middle of the group circle.  Again, everyone’s amazed at her ability to keep her handstand steady for the full time, even while intoxicated.

When she’s upright again, she takes a dramatic bow.

“Alright, who wants next?” She grins deviously, eyeing her group of friends who all seem equally excited to watch the fun continue, and anxious to be the one she calls on.

However one stands out more anxious than the rest, and she eyes him down like he’s her natural prey.

“Megumi,” She points to him dramatically.

He groans, throwing his head back in a way that looks dramatic but is all too honest of a reaction.  He could tell by the excited twinkle in Maki’s eye that she intended to drag him through some sort of hell.  He had trained with her enough to be familiar with that look.  Being on the receiving end of it was nothing short of… chilling.

“Well what is it? Truth or dare?” Maki raises a brow, and the simple, game inducing question now sounds like a threat.

“I don’t trust you for a second, Maki,” Megumi’s eyes narrow back at her, and the room laughs and oohs.  

Beside him, (y/n) prods her elbow into his side, and when he casts her a quick glance, she beams with eagerness for him to take his turn.  He knows this is genuine excitement, but he can’t help but think of her as cruel for willing his certain embarrassment with this game.

“Truth” He finally answers Maki, who scoffs at his chicken-like behavior.

“Lame,” She grumbles, taking a swig of her drink while she lets her imagination run wild with the most ruthless question to bait him with.  

She mulls over the obvious questions which always come to mind, but brushes them off as typical, and boring.  And then her eyes land on (y/n), who’s giggling behind her drink, and clearly speaking but not loud enough for the group to hear.  Upon further observation, she can see Megumi mumbling back.  Curious, Maki smirks to herself at this interaction.  She’d always wondered about the… expanse… of the pair’s friendship, as had everyone else in the room right now.  Perhaps she could use the means of this silly party game to dig a little further.

“Alright, truth it is then,” She muses.  “Well then I’ll ask this one out of my own, genuine curiosity…” 

She gives him a look he can’t decipher but he knows he doesn’t like it.  Still, Megumi braces himself by putting on a brave face and tilting his cup in her direction for her to go on. 

“How many times have you and (y/n) hooked up?” 

While Megumi’s eyes go wide, it is (y/n) who reacts first.

She finally pulls her cup away from her lips, her jaw dropped open and her brows raised nearly to her hairline in shock.  A scoff escapes her, the odd choice of question hitting her chest and practically knocking the wind out of her.

“Hooked up?” (y/n) repeats, her brows falling into a furrow as she processes the question further.

Had she given some sort of indication that this was a… plausible question? Had she shown a little too much affection? Had she been caught staring when she could have sworn no one was paying her any attention? The thought that she’d given away the confusing feelings she’d harbored makes her heart race, and the hair on the back of her neck stand up.  She felt more fear now than she ever has when facing a curse.

“We’ve never hooked up,” Megumi’s answer feels hours late, but it had only been a minute in real time.  He’s shaking his head and scoffing at such a ridiculous choice of question, and clearly, he had no trouble calling Maki out on it.  “That’s really your truth? What kind of question is that? It’s obvious” 

(y/n) remains silent as she watches the conversation unfold.

Maki shrugs a shoulder as she purses her lips in thought.

“Really? Not ever?” She asks in disbelief.

“No, not ever” Megumi repeats.  

He looks more annoyed than anything.  Maybe even bored by her choice in question.  Of anything he could have prepared himself for, he supposed that was the easiest one to answer.  It was the truth, after all.  Had she asked him a more damning question pertaining to his feelings, well, maybe that would have been a bit tricker to glide over.  Still, something nags at him as to why Maki chose that question over all others.

“Well I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Nobara speaks up, and now the attention of Megumi and (y/n) are on her, waiting for her to say her piece.  “What?” She questions them with a drunken smile.  “You guys are super close.  You seem like the kind of friends that would… you know…” 

Rather than explain what she means, she decides to lewdly clasp her fingers and smack her palms together.  (y/n) chokes out a laugh, more so at her friend’s antics than the accusation, and Megumi’s face sours.

“Why would you think that?” He asks, his bewilderment beginning to shine through his annoyance.

“You’ve never even kissed?” Yuji pipes up now.

“Don’t you only get to ask me one question? Isn’t it my turn?” Megumi asks, trying to change the subject before this one makes his face turn red with embarrassment.

However, his timing is awful, and now the whole group are egging on the pair to answer Yuji’s question.  Even Yuuta is roped into the peer pressuring.

“You didn’t say you haven’t!” Panda whoops at Megumi’s lack of an answer.

“That’s not what I-” 

“So you have kissed then?” Maki asks with a devilish smirk.  Certainly she couldn’t have predicted this reaction, but Megumi thinks she’s enjoying it far too much.

“Tuna tuna!” Toge hollers.

(y/n) think she should probably say something to diffuse the situation, a quick laugh and shake of her head and she’s sure she’d convince her rowdy friends that nothing romantic had ever happened between her and Megumi.  It should be easy to say they were just friends, because that was the truth.

But her thoughts grow cloudy the longer she sits on it, and she finds herself unsure of what to say.  Maybe they’d never kissed, but… if one holds romantic feelings for another, then certainly romantic things had happened… right? 

Maybe she was just a bit cross faded, but she knows she’s found herself on numerous occasions getting lost in his eyes for a little longer than what she’d deem as friendly.  Maybe she wasn’t always sure why, maybe she was still exploring the realm of her feelings for Megumi, whatever they may be… but one thing was for sure.  There were feelings there.  More than friendly feelings.  Confusing feelings.  Feelings that made her heart race just at the idea of their friends thinking they’d been having some sort of casual affair all this time.

“Well how many times have you kissed then?” Yuuta asks, and Megumi sends him the harshest glare of all.  He was the only one left in the room that he’d been sure would mind his business, but clearly the upperclassman was just as nosey as the rest.

In Megumi’s silence, eyes begin to turn to (y/n), who isn’t bothering to hide her amused smile as she watches the drama go on.  However, now that their burning gazes are waiting on her response, she’s also struggling to find her words.

“What’re you looking at me for?” She tilts her cup to her lips again, eager for just a bit more liquid courage.

“Come on (y/n/n), we’re dying here,” Yuji begs, crawling across the carpet to plead with her, his hands clasped together and his face construed into his best puppy dog beg.  “How many times have you and ‘gumi kissed?” 

(y/n) barks out a laugh.  Megumi knocks his hand against the back of Yuji’s head.

“Don’t call me that” He scolds, and his eyes meet (y/n’s) for the briefest of moments, but he’s so sure that if he looks at her for too long that his entire face will go beet red, so he turns away quickly and hides behind a long swig of his drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” (y/n) speaks for him, shrugging her shoulders with the lame answer.  “We’ve never done anything like that” 

“Yeah, we’re just friends,” Megumi confirms, and his tone is so genuine it almost stings (y/n) to hear it.  “You guys are ridiculous.  You’re all friends.  Are you hooking up all the time?” 

Yuji frowns as he hangs his head, bored by the answer.  “No” He mutters.

“Salmon!” Toge cheers, making the group break out into laughter and teasing again.

Their little makeshift party kicks back into gear and it seems the attention shifts away from Megumi and (y/n) quickly as everyone fights to make the funniest comment.  It takes a few minutes of cackling laughter before someone mentions the game, and Megumi is daring Panda to dance to the first song that comes on shuffle to his playlist.  Panda dares Yuuta to wrestle Yuji.  Yuuta makes Nobara tell the group she uses box dye for her hair.

The game continues on without a hitch, as though everyone had forgotten the detour they’d taken with Maki’s turn.  At least, the rest of the group had.  Megumi couldn’t help but tap his finger against the side of his plastic cup with anxiety.  The worry of the subject being brought up again made the tips of his ears go hot.  He knew he needed to forget it like everyone else had, but no matter how hard he tried, as soon as (y/n) was in his peripheral vision, the burning returned in his ears.

(y/n) put most of her focus on her drink.  And when it was starting to empty, no one batted an eye as she swiped the handle of rum from Nobara’s grasp and poured a healthy amount over the half-melted ice.  She too was trying to push past Maki’s question but not due to any sort of embarrassment.  Sure, it was a bit awkward, but she could live with awkward.  It was something about Megumi’s reaction that had gotten under her skin.

He’d seemed so uncomfortable, so annoyed, so repulsed by the line of questioning.  As though the thought of kissing her made him want to stick his tongue out and gag like a child at vegetables.

Am I vegetables? She wondered to herself as she watched the remainder of her ice melted into the alcohol, watering it down to a light brown color.  Am I so repulsive? 

Did drinking ever help anything, or anyone ever? No.  She knew that.  But right now it was the only thing keeping her mind cloudy enough that hopefully her discomfort and hurt wouldn’t shine through on her face.

It worked to some degree.  With half lidded eyes and a lazy smile she laughed along as Yuji admitted Taylor Swift always hypes him up for big missions, and Nobara alluded to having a crush on someone in the room.  While everyone seemed to move on, she just couldn’t get past the rock in her gut that was her pride being swallowed whole.

At some point the game of truth or dare subsided into a game of quarters.  (y/n) vaguely recalled tossing a few and having to drink down a few cups of beer, but the taste grew sour in her mouth, and she found herself bowing out once Yuuta and Maki got deep into the competition.  The others seemed to swarm them, taking sides and chanting loudly at them.  Sometime during that was hyping up, (y/n) found herself slipping out of the room and into the kitchen.

To her surprise, Megumi was there, a bag of chips in his hand.

“Oh, ‘gumi!” (y/n) beamed as she made her way over to him, taking the snack right of her hands to help herself to some as well.  “I didn’t even notice you left” 

He chuckles, stealing the bag back.

“I told you I was stepping out,” He reminded, her mouth making an ‘o’ shape as she made out a hazy memory of that happening when Maki had taken to throwing coins at Yuuta’s head to throw him off.  “You didn’t want to get caught up in the quarters tournament?” 

“It’s a tournament?” (y/n) mumbled to herself, blinking a few times to try and remember what events had transpired while she’d been lost in her thoughts.  “No, no, I don’t think I could keep up,” She answers his question sheepishly.  “Maki was getting a bit aggressive.  When I left I thought she might start straight up punching him” 

Megumi laughs a little louder this time.  His face is pink, and his long eyelashes hang heavy over his eyes.  (y/n) finds herself getting a little cloudy in the head again.  A lazy smile stretches on her face as they continue to share the bag of chips.  It was a family size, but she was pretty certain they’d finish them off before their friends even realized there were chips.

“I only play those games when there’s teams,” Megumi says, the gush of laughter that comes bubbling out of him likely due to the THC slowly flooding his system, but (y/n’s) no better because she’s giggling solely due to the fact he is.  “Being an opponent to Maki hurts too much” 

They’re both reduced to giggles, the snack between them forgotten as they’re taken over completely by them.  This continues for a few minutes, until Megumi’s stomach hurts, and (y/n’s) wiping tears out of her eyes.

“By the way,” He starts to speak as his laughter dies into breathless gasps.  He waits until he’s relaxed enough to continue.  “I’m sorry about earlier” 

A strange, electrical sensation courses through her, buzzing over her skin with a warmth that leaves goosebumps.  She feels as though someone had surged her with a static manifested shock.  Odd.

Was he sorry for the embarrassment? She wondered.  Or could he be sorry for the way he reacted?

“Oh, right,” She mumbles, not knowing what she was supposed to say.  Her face feels warm.  Her stomach feels fizzy.  Must be the beer.  “You don’t have to apologize” She finally settles on what she deems to be a safe answer.

“I should,” Megumi shrugs, ducking his head to peek into the near-empty bag of chips.  He rummages around for the last few salty snacks.  “It was pretty awkward,” 

(y/n) nods her head, finding a sudden interest in the tiled floor.  She thinks if she looks at him while her mind is warped with the thought of kissing him, she might just faint.

“We’re good, right?” He asks, noticing the way she was starting to dodge him.

“Yeah” (y/n) says, giving him a brief smile before putting her attention towards making another drink.  She’s debating on asking him what he’s sorry for, why it is he feels the need to apologize.  Her vision blurs as her focus is interrupted.  She’s staring into the cup of ice she’d gathered for herself.

Megumi raises a brow as she watches her stand at the counter, staring down at the ice.  He can’t tell if she’s lost in thought or if her buzz was getting on top of her a bit.  Either way, it was concerning.

He drops the bag on the counter, before reaching his arm out and setting his hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” He calls, and waits until she looks up at him.  His eyes flicker over her features quickly, trying to determine if she was too out of it, and needed to turn in for the night.  He can’t tell.  “Are you good?” 

(y/n) gives him a small nod, before letting out a slow exhale.  She may as well ask, she figures even if bringing up the subject makes it even weirder, they could both sleep it off, and never bring it up again.

“Weird question,” She turns to him, and Megumi drops his hand.  Her mouth opens and closes a few times while she works up the courage to speak her mind.  “Am I vegetables?” 

With furrowed brows, Megumi huffs out a laugh, finding delight in the bizarre question.

“Vegetables?” He repeats, staring at her in the hopes she’d provide more context.

(y/n) cringes, and tries to backtrack while her face grows hot.

“I- I don’t know… do you think kissing me would be awful?”

The question hangs in the air as Megumi’s eyes widen, properly frozen.

Awful? That word in particular plays in his head on a loop.  When he realizes he’s been silent for too long, he shakes his head as if it could erase the word like an etch-a-sketch.

“Sorry, I guess I just got curious,” (y/n) goes back to mixing her drink.  “You seemed… upset… earlier” 

“Well, yeah,” He breathed out.  “Felt pretty personal, why wouldn’t I be upset?” 

(y/n) didn’t say anything, just grabbed a straw and swirled it around in her cup to properly mix the rum and coke.  He watches her carefully, trying to wrap his mind around her nervous intrigue.  Why was she asking this? What was this about?

“You’ve never thought about it?” She asks, looking up at him now, as much as it made butterflies flutter in her stomach, she wanted to gauge his reaction.

Currently, he looked perplexed, as though her question completely ripped the rug out from under him.

“Thought about it?” He’s repeating her words again, totally lost.

“Yeah,” (y/n) nods her eyes growing wide as she stares up at him.  

Just as he tries to get himself to stop holding his breath, she’s stepping forward, close enough he has to crane his neck to meet her gaze.  His lips are pressed together tightly as his eyes widen completely.  He doesn’t blink as he stares down at her.

“You’ve never thought about us? Kissing?” 

Her words are a little awkward, which he chalks up to her inebriated state, but her question is clearer now.  He can’t doubt what she means by it.

“N-no! Of course not!” 

He laughs off his anxiety, hoping that it helps him to come across as nonchalant as he can.

(y/n) blinks, a furrow forming in her brow as she takes a small step back.  There’s a flicker of emotion in her expression, but Megumi can’t quite place what it is.

In all the time he’s known her, he can’t remember a time she’s looked at him like… this.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Maki’s getting to you,” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to fix, but he knows he’s got to find the right thing to say and quick, because she’s deflating in front of him.

What was this? Annoyance? 

“She probably heard us betting on her and Nobara and wanted to get under your skin” He explains away the tension from earlier, although he doesn’t have any clue how to explain the current tension.

(y/n) doesn’t say anything.  She picks up her cup, eyeing the half-melted ice with a frown.  But it wasn’t due to her watered down drink.

The way she’s starting to shut him out has something nagging in Megumi’s chest.  What had he said? His brows pinched together as he watched her shoulders sink.

“(y/n)-?” 

“You’re right,” She turns to him suddenly, with a smile he can see right through.  “It’s ridiculous” 

His lips part, but he can’t think of something to say before she’s walking out of the kitchen with her drink in hand.  

Megumi could be dense, but he wasn’t an idiot.  He knew he messed up.  (y/n) wouldn’t walk away from him if she wasn’t upset, and he knew he’d really upset her.

But she was upset… because he’d thought the notion of them kissing was ridiculous? 

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he looked down at himself at the peculiar sensation, as if he would be able to see the organ pumping through his shirt.

Had he… royally fucked up?  ___

(y/n) had watched the game of quarters turn everyone into sloppy drunks until their little get together finally began to die.  Panda was passed out on the floor, Yuuta and Toge were fighting for space on the couch, and (y/n) was pretty sure she saw Nobara hastily dragging Maki off down the hall towards her room.

You owe me a twenty, ‘gumi, she thinks with a fond smile as she hears the girls’ giggling die down the further they left.

“Hey,” 

She jumped at the sound of a voice behind her, but relaxed to find it was only Yuji.  He smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry about truth or dare,” He tells her, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck.  “I mean, I figured that was gonna happen, but, sorry if it made things weird between you guys,” 

(y/n) looked away, her eyes landing on the couch, where a fussing Toge as he tried to get comfortable against Yuuta’s shoulder.  Yuuta was dead asleep, neck craned over the back of the couch cushion with his mouth hanging open.  Toge eventually huffed and slumped down, fatigue winning over comfort as his limbs hung awkwardly over the rest of the sofa.

“But to be honest,” Yuji chuckled through his words.  “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal! I thought you guys have been hooking up this whole time”

That had (y/n’s) attention snapping back to him.  Her eyes were round with surprise, assuming at first that Yuji was just messing with her.  But the smile on his face was genuine, and he shrugged at her like he really was sorry for the awkwardness.

“Why?” She mumbled out the question.

“Why what?” Yuji repeated.

“Why did you think we were hooking up?” She clarified, smacking his arm to get him to focus.

“I dunno.  You’re really close, I guess.  You stare at each other a lot, and he doesn’t hit you when you call him ‘gumi,” 

(y/n’s) brows crinkled as Yuji seemed to have a never ending list of good reasons for his assumption.

“When you fall asleep during movie night, he always covers you in a blanket.  And he always sits next to you.  Last time I tried to sit next to him he said he wanted space, and to sit on the side with Nobara.  Then you showed up and he moved right over so you could sit next to him,” 

If her eyes weren’t already popping out of her head, (y/n) was certain they were about to.  Every word Yuji spoke, she committed to memory, even in her hazy mind, she tucked each one away like precious treasures, gifts.  

“Yeah I figured friends that close must’ve toed the line-” 

“Tell me more,” Darting forward, her hands curling around Yuji’s arm, startling him, but he relaxes when he sees the look on her face.

Adoration, excitement, Yuji notes.

“What else?” 

He stammers, not meaning to hesitate, but her sudden curiosity caught him off guard, and it took him a moment to catch up and recall more instances of Megumi’s special treatment for (y/n).

“I- I mean I don’t know what there is to tell that you don’t already know,” He laughs nervously.  “Honest, I thought you already did,” 

Still, she presses forward, her eyes pleading with him silently.

“He pretty much only laughs at your jokes,” He scrambles to think of more examples.  “He requests you as his partner all the time- even when it hurts my feelings- and- hm, I guess he talks about you a lot too.  You always come up in conversation somehow, now that I think about it.  I think that-” 

“Thanks Yuji,” (y/n) cuts him off with a bright smile, and squeezes his arm before she lets go of it.  “I really appreciate it!” 

She’s turning around and taking off before Yuji can say anything, or even understand what service he’d provided that seemed to make her so elated.  Had she really not known how much Megumi cared for her? She treated him the same, so how could she be blind towards it? 

It was true, (y/n) hadn’t known any of these things, and maybe she had been a little dense, and maybe her feelings were a little hurt in the kitchen earlier.  But at least she had the comfort of knowing however complicated her feelings were for him, at least now she knew that Megumi did care about her, deeply so, apparently.

And whether or not that would come to break her heart, he was unshakable, and he would be the one who eases her mind through it all.

As she made her way back to her room, that fact really settled in her mind, and eased her heart.  The question of how Megumi really felt about her could be answered another time.  She was comforted now.

“Wait, (y/n)!”

She’s just about to reach for her door when her name is hollered down the hall.  Despite the sudden noise jolting through her ears in an otherwise silent corridor, she doesn’t jump or flinch as she turns to see Megumi half-jogging towards her.

She gives him a warm, drunken smile as he approaches, turning away from her door.  He approaches her in an instant, practically towering over her, but his closeness doesn’t render her shy, this time.  His piercing gaze doesn’t make her want to look away.  She stands before him happily, proudly, and she looks at him with the same sentiment in her eyes.

Truthfully, Megumi had a speech.  A long string of words that he’d replayed in his head for the last half hour.  All the right words, too.  This time he’d say what he really meant, what was really on his mind, even if his thoughts and feelings weren’t shared, he was going to be honest with her.

But now he’s standing before her and she’s looking up at him expectantly, and all thoughts fly right out the window.  She’s knocked the air out of his lungs and the words out of his head.  This wasn’t a new occurrence.

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Is what he says instead of what he’d prepared.

She blinks, and he can’t tell if she understands that he’s referring to their last conversation, so now he’s stammering as much as his heart is in his chest but he doesn’t care.

“I’ve thought about kissing you everyday for the last- for however long I’ve known you for,” He’s talking faster than she’s ever heard him before, but she catches the important bits.  “Honestly I don’t think I’ve been able to stop thinking about kissing you-”

Before he can continue rambling, she’s talking over him.  She’s quieter than him, having had the wind knocked out of her from his sudden confession, but as soon as she speaks he’s clamping his mouth shut, eager to finally know her response.

“Well do it then” 

It’s so soft even a whisper would have yelled over her, and she thinks she might have to repeat herself, when Megumi’s surging forward.

His movements are fast, like he’s racing against time.  But despite his rush, his hands are gentle as they slide over her jaw, thumb briefly stroking her skin- a feeling he’d wanted to indulge himself in for as long as he could remember, since before he could even understand why, he’s wanted to smooth his hands over her rosy cheeks, always wondering if they felt as warm as they looked.  They were.

She’s just as fast to close the distance between them.  She’s a bit wobbly as she stands on the tips of her toes, but she has her arms around his neck to keep her steady, and even as she’s practically falling into him, he has a hold on her that she knows won’t waver.

And then his lips are slotting over hers.

It’s a hurried kiss, full of long-awaited desperation, and longing.  Megumi kiss is certain, as if he’s always known just how to kiss her.  His kiss is passionate, the taste of rum and grenadine ever so present on her lips is nothing short of addictive, and his desire to kiss them until the flavor takes over his tongue burns hot.

She’s shooting forward, trying to get impossibly closer to him, hoping that tangling her hands into his hair will do the trick.  For a short moment, it’s close enough, but soon she’s too settled and is pushing closer again.  Megumi has to drop his hands to her hips to keep her from knocking both of them off balance.  He grips them firmly, his fingers splayed out as far they can, desperate to touch as much as they can.

Even as they’re pulling away, panting, a few more kisses are stolen as they do.

Swollen lips are the first thing he notices.  And soon after it’s hooded eyes as she stared up at him under heavy lashes.  Her eyes are still a little red, and Megumi thinks it might just be his new favorite time to stare into them.  That might just be because of the weed in his system, too.

And then she’s giggling.  Cheery and sweet, the sound makes his head foggier.  His lips curl into a lazy smile as his hands cradle her face again.

Her face mirrors his, eyes crinkling at their corners so much he blurs before her.  She doesn’t care.  She couldn’t contain her happiness if she tried.  But why would she?

“Every day, huh?” She asks, a fit of giggles erupting from her chest as she watches Megumi fluster, the rush of adrenaline finally beginning to subside.  His face warms and his fingers twitch on her hips, just a little, but his grip tightens enough for her to notice.

“Somethin’ like that” He mumbles, and (y/n) finds it cute that he’s growing bashful now.

“So… you wanna hang out?” She asks, her fond smile turning into a bright grin as she nods her head back towards her door.  Megumi follows the motion, as though forgetting they were still in the hallway.

His eyes light up when he looks back at her again, nodding his head as he uses one hand to slide her door open, before pushing her backwards into the room.

“Somethin’ like that” He repeats in a lower voice, reaching behind himself to slide the door shut again. ___

a/n: aaaand now i wanna write a spin the bottle fic for yuuta :) party games mini series coming right up lmfao

xoxo ~ jordie

[ihave-atummyache]

he’s not my boyfriend

Kim Seungmin Imagine

summary: seungmin isn’t your boyfriend but he could fool everyone in the room into thinking otherwise.

SFW (: a few suggestive comments made but otherwise PG-13

2.2k words

this was actually a dream that i had that i feel like needed to be brought to life. the kim seungmin brainrot is so mf real rn. he’s like all i think abt at the moment. bias wrecker? more like life wrecker rn😔

also i could write a really disgusting nsfw pt 2 to this like just filthy.

i have ideas……

“Okay. I get it. Yes sir. I won’t get that drunk,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

“Y/n. I’m serious. Just listen to me for once,” Seungmin’s tone is full of annoyance and you throw your hands in the air before turning away from him and opening the door to the party.

You make a beeline for the kitchen and grab the first bottle of liquor you see, tossing back what could be considered a shot but was probably more equivalent to three. You slam the bottle down and scrunch your face up as the liquid burns your throat.

“Woah there! No hello? Just straight for the liquor?” you hear the voice beside you and turn your head, a small smile making its way to your face.

“I’m proving a point, Lix,” you mutter out and toss back another huge gulp of the liquor before screwing the top back on and placing it back where you found it. You turn around and lean against the kitchen counter. Felix mirrors you and leans on the counter beside you.

“To who?” He questions, taking a sip from his own drink and you turn your head to face him.

“Take a wild guess,” you grumble and cross your arms over your chest again. You scan the room, looking for your Seungmin but with no luck.

“Your boyfriend… right,” he states matter-a-factly before he brings his cup up to his lips again to hide his smirk and you nudge him with your shoulder, making the drink slosh around in his cup.

“Hey! He isn’t my boyfriend!” You object and Felix looks over at you again with a raised eyebrow.

“Right because we spend every free moment we have with our friends. We always go on dates and bring each other to events as friends. I also bicker like an old married couple with my friends. And let’s not forget I always have sex with my fr-”

“Okay! I get it. Shut up,” you roll your eyes as a drunken giggle makes its way to your throat. The alcohol was definitely starting to make its appearance known.

“I just want to strangle him so bad,” You suddenly confess and put your hands out in front of you, mocking how you would strangle him.

“Like as a sex thing or like-”

“No, Felix! Not as a sex thing!” you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of your throat. Felix mirrors your laugh and looks over at you again.

“So what is this point you are trying to prove to him?” he suddenly seems curious and you groan, turning around to face the counter and grabbing the liquor bottle again.

“He claims that I don’t handle alcohol well. He says I get all flirty with everyone and suddenly everyone is paying attention to me. To which I said I can prove him wrong! To which he said that if I drink tonight he will not be very happy with me. Fucking asshole,” you murmur the last part but a chuckle still leaves Felix’s chest.

“In his defense-”

“Don’t defend him! You’re on my side!” You object and toss the liquor back, swallowing another gulp and he puts a finger out towards you.

“Woah. Hold on. I’m not on anyone’s side! This doesn’t have anything to do with me!” He tries to defend himself and you roll your eyes at him.

“You suck,” you grumble and wrap your hand around the liquor bottle before wrapping your free hand around his wrist and dragging him with you.

“Let’s go play a game!”

You two head to the living room and when you walk in, you finally land your eyes on your Seungmin. He is leaned back in an armchair with a beer in one hand and his legs are spread, making his lap look deliciously inviting.

As if he can sense you just walked into the room his eyes glance over and immediately lock with yours before he notices the liquor bottle in one hand and Felix in your other hand. You can practically hear him scoff from across the room before his tongue starts poking into his cheek and he looks away to continue his conversation.

“Dick,” you mumble out to yourself before you pull Felix to where people are sitting in a circle with a bottle in the middle. You lean down next to Hyunjin.

“Watcha playin’?” You whisper out and he nearly jumps out of his skin at your voice. He turn’s quickly, his hand gripping his chest.

“Jesus, y/n! Give a little warning before you sneak up on a guy!” He takes a dramatic deep breath and you chuckle in response, “Truth or dare. Come join!” He insists and grabs your hips, pulling you to sit next to him. He turns to Felix and grabs his hand, pulling him to sit on the other side of him. The seating leaves you sandwiched between Hyunjin and some guy that you haven’t met before.

“Let me go first!” You burst out, your voice bubbly and very happy from the effect of the alcohol coursing through your veins. You naturally draw the attention of the room but when you’ve been drinking, it’s like your presence demands everyone’s attention. Which is exactly what Seungmin hates.

He doesn’t like the idea of his girl having the attention of anyone besides him.

“Go ahead, love,” Hyunjin smiles at you and you smile back, leaning forward and spinning the bottle. You bite down on your lip as the bottle spins and when it lands on the stranger next to you, you happily turn to face him, a grin on your face.

“Truth or dare?” You are practically bouncing in your seat in anticipation.

“Do you even know my name?” He chuckles out and you wave your hand, dismissively.

“Unimportant! Focus on the matter at hand,” You put your hands on his shoulders to force him to look at you before continuing, “Truth or dare, mister!” you giggle out and he thinks for a second, silence falling upon the circle.

“Mmm, dare,” he finally decides and a devilish smirk crosses your face. You have a few go-to dares and this is one of your favorites.

“I dare you to flirt with the prettiest girl here. It has to be genuine,” you point a finger at him as the circle erupts into giggles and whooping.

“I would, but the way your boyfriend has been looking at me since you sat next to me has me scared to say another word to you,” He confesses and his eyes dart behind you. Your eyebrows drop into a furrow at the statement.

You turn around to see who he is talking about and are met with the pissed off not so happy face of your Seungmin. He is still in the arm chair but his elbows are resting on his knees, his beer is dangling in his hands between his knees and his lips are tucked into his mouth. You turn back around as soon as you realize how crazy he looks, sending chills up your spine.

“Oh him?” You point a thumb over your shoulder, “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my,” you pause, moving your hands in front of you to look for the word, but nothing comes to you. “Seungmin. He’s just my Seungmin,” you try to conclude and you can hear Felix stifle a laugh on the other side of Hyunjin, making you stick a middle finger up at him, over your shoulder.

“So its okay if I flirt with you?” He question, his brows raising at the question.

“If you think I’m the prettiest girl in the room then yeah. That’s how the game works,” you shrug and a smirk covers his face. He scoots slightly closer to you and reaches up to touch your cheek but before his fingertips can touch you, there’s a strong grip on his wrist.

“That’s enough.” Seungmin’s voice comes from above you and you look up at him. He has a death grip on the poor kid’s wrist and in your drunken state you don’t process exactly how pissed he is.

You wrap your hand around the back of Seungmin’s thigh and pull him slightly closer to you, almost instinctively. He locks eyes with you before he tosses the guy’s hand out of his grip. Seungmin leans down and grabs you by the top of your arm, pulling you to your feet. He pulls you closer to him and leans into your ear his breath fanning down your neck.

Hyunjin immediately starts to speak to the circle, distracting everyone from the scene unfolding. Everyone is just drunk enough for the distraction to work.

“Do you want to go home?” Seungmin’s tone is low, obviously angry and you shake your head immediately.

“Then fucking behave.” His voice comes out through clenched teeth and you gulp, nodding quickly. He releases the grip he has on your arm and rubs a thumb over where he was holding you gently.

“Have a seat and be a good girl,” His voice is a little louder and Hyunjin glances up at the two of you for a moment. Seungmin scratches the top of your head and turns away from you. You quickly turn and sit back in your spot next to Hyunjin. You reach for your liquor bottle but just before you can grab it, Seungmin’s hand wraps around the bottle and he takes it with him.

You look up at him with a pout to complain but he holds s finger up at you, making you snap your mouth shut. He raises his eyebrows and mouths ‘behave’ at you one more time before retreating back to his spot at the arm chair.

You clear your throat and smile at the group, clapping your hands together. You turn to face Hyunjin and Felix and they’re both looking at you with smirks on their face.

“‘Not your boyfriend’ my ass,” Felix mumbles and you squint at him. You cross your arms over your chest, a bit unhappy that you had your drink taken away. You glance over at Seungmin and he is already engaged in a conversation with someone beside him.

He’s sitting back in his manspread again and you bite down on your lip. The liquor bottle that you so desperately want is tucked into the chair beside him and you sigh, turning back to the game.

The game is fun, a bunch of people getting dared to post things or kiss but as it went on, you found yourself getting more and more sober. Which means that these drunk games were beginning to get more and more boring.

“Ugh. I’ll be back. I need that bottle,” you lean over and complain to Hyunjin who just nods at you, much to drunk to probably even realize you are talking. You push yourself to your feet and walk over to your Seungmin. As you approach him, he glances over at you before continuing his conversation.

Once you reach him, as if he has been reading your mind all night, he pats his lap twice. He never breaks eye contact with the person he’s having a conversation with. Not even when you’re obeying his command and settling yourself in his lap.

“Minnieeee,” you whine out and dig next to him, freeing the liquor bottle from its confines. He still doesn’t fully face you, just glancing at you as you take a swig.

“Minnie….” you try again as the liquor warms your belly, making you let out a giggle to yourself. You wrap your arm around his neck when he still doesn’t pay you any attention and begin to twirl his chain with your other hand.

“Minnie!” you whisper shout at him and he looks up at the person he’s having a conversation with.

“Hold that thought,” he holds a finger up to them before turning his attention to you, “What, princess? You want my attention now? All the other attention you were getting wasn’t enough?” his voice is low enough that you know only you can hear it. Your face falls into a pout and you nod your head at him.

“Missed you s’much,” you grumble and unwrap your hand from his chain to push his hair away from his face.

“Mm. I’ve been right here all night, bub,” he wraps his arm around your hips, letting his hand settle on top of your thigh.

“Still,” you can admit that you get a little whiny and needy when you’ve been drinking, especially if you’re with your Seungmin. He just brings something out of you.

“Still nothing. You’ve had plenty of attention. I’ve been in this chair all night. Don’t be greedy for my attention, brat,” he’s joking and you can tell but there is also some seriousness behind his tone. You can’t deny that you have been acting like a brat.

“I wish you were in me all night,” you suddenly confess, big puppy dog eyes on display and Seungmin raises his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his face.

“I thought I told you to behave,” he challenges you and your lip drops out into a pout. His eyes dart down to your mouth, he can’t help finding the scene in front of him adorable.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. Let’s get out of here so I can be in you all night. How does that sound?” he asks you and you immediately lighten up, a grin covering your face as you nod, vigorously.

“Okay. Go say your goodbyes. Make sure they know that my girl is going home with me,” he assures you and you nod, hopping out of his lap and rushing off to tell your friends goodbye.

[bitbugbites-cod]

𝙹𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜, 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 | 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

Ghost's car sucks -- always breaking down at the worst times. This time, it broke down on Valentine's Day -- right as you were about to leave the house.

ao3 link

word count: ~1.3k

gender: fem! reader

cw: (light) ANGST, FLUFF // arguing lol

a/n: this was going to be longer and include smut, but I'm tired and going to bed so I might make a part two and post it tmr -- but who knows!

p.s. -- screw valentine's day i HATE being single

You said nothing. He said nothing. The two of you just sat.

You shifted in your seat, the leathery seat of the car sticking to your wet thigh, begging it to stay where it was placed. You didn’t comply. 

The man next to you in the driver’s seat, Simon, tapped the wheel, his chest puffing up, then down, with a repressed sigh. It annoyed you the way he never had anything to say – and it annoyed you even more the way he looked so fucking good while doing it.

It was a loud sigh, though. You were surprised you were even able to hear it – rain was thundering down, making loud thunks as it collided with the tinted glass that shielded you from the weather outside of Simon’s Jeep. Which, to note, is a busted-up, no-good piece of junk. It was originally a 2013 Wrangler model that he bought used, and no matter how many times it broke down, he always refused to buy a new car. You can’t begin to count how many times you’ve watched him grumble about it making a funny noise or not starting up before rolling up his sleeves and putting himself under the hood. 

He never understood why you hated it so much – and to be honest, you didn’t either. Your closest hypothesis was that you were sick of finding oil stains on all of his clothes – or that you were tired of trying to go on dates, only to find that his car had broken down. Once again.

This was the case for tonight, at least.

Finally, he spoke, his voice sounding a dry kind of deep. It was what attracted you to him in the first place, but right now, you swore it was the most aggravating sound on earth.

“Another night, then, ‘love.”

Your heart dropped in your chest, your eyes hardening as your emotions bubbled. You felt so angry, so sad, you couldn’t speak. You could barely even breathe. 

“Another night?” you repeated, a scoff threatening to escape your throat.

He paused for a moment, before speaking again. “What do you want me to–”

“It’s fucking Valentine’s Day, Simon.” 

He let out a frustrated laugh, his calloused hands slapping against the wheel. “Fuckin’ hell, I know that–”

“Great. You know that. So then you should also know that ‘another night’ is–”

“What do you want me to do? ‘Huh? What should I do, ‘love? get out the car, pick you up ‘an carry you to the bloody place m’self?”

Adrenaline shot through your body, your blood racing through your veins as your eyes began to water. All you wanted was to go out for Valentine’s Day. To feel cared about. To know he loves you.

Grabbing the car door handle, you thrust the door open. The rain got louder, and without skipping a beat, you threw yourself out into the cold, wet atmosphere, slamming the door shut. You heard him yell after you, but you didn’t stop. You pulled your jacket closer to your body, trying not to slip as your heels collided with the slippery concrete. You were going back to the house, inside, where you would foreseeably spend the rest of the night in bed, sobbing, with him on the couch.

You fucking hated this. You hated how disappointing this was. How disappointed you were.

As you reached the front door of your shared home, you held the freezing key in hand, shaking as you attempted to unlock the lock. You regretted dressing up for tonight, wishing you spent your time on anything else instead. Anything.

You heard another Jeep door slam shut, small sloshes of puddles being brutally murdered by aggressive stomps, and you knew Simon and his stupid, heavy-ass boots were making their way toward you. 

God, him and his walk. Even that was driving you up the wall now.

“Y/N.” his voice boomed, fighting the thick, infuriating volume of the rain.

Believing in communication, you ignored him again. 

Nothing good would come from your mouth right now, and god forbid you opened it, he would learn so many new things about himself.

You would save it for later – when you didn’t want to verbally rip him limb by limb.

But then you felt his drenched hand on your shoulder, droplets of water flowing down your jacket sleeve.

“Y/N,” he repeated, and suddenly, something inside you snapped. 

You started to speak, anger coating your words, but you weren’t able to finish. “The ‘fuck do you want, Simo–” 

Within a millisecond, you watched him lean over, scoop you up by the legs, and start carrying you bridal style down the street. 

You paused, saying nothing as he carried you. He said nothing, too. The both of you said nothing together.

It was like something had reset in your brain – you went from being angry, to confused, to shocked. You had no idea what he was doing, no idea what he was thinking. Hell, you had no idea what you were even thinking – you were so taken aback, that you weren’t even sure you had any thoughts left in your head. Which, is a miracle, considering how many new adjectives you came up with about two minutes prior, for this situation alone. 

You felt the rain soak your skin and outfit, some of it landing on Simon first, sliding down his broad, suited shoulders before coating you. His walk was rough and rugged, you bouncing slightly in his arms as he moved the two of you down the sidewalk. Despite how angry you were a couple of minutes ago, you were being calmed by the second just feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the pumping of his heartbeat, the sound of his breathing.

“Simon?” you spoke, sounding cautious.

He said nothing, only looking down, his brown eyes meeting yours as his wet, blonde hair messily stuck to his forehead in small strands. He looked as dead on the inside as usual, but there was something about his stare this time, that let you know he was sorry. It was almost sheepish, in an intimidating way. 

He is a confusing man.

Nonetheless, you went on with what you wanted to ask. “What…are you doing?”

“I’m walkin’ us to the date.” he said in a gruff, matter-of-fact way.

…

Silence passed between the two of you once more, before you started to crack a small smile, softly laughing at the man’s resolve to solve the problem. 

“I don’t think we’re ‘gonna make it there in time, ‘Monnie.” you said, playing along.

“I said another night, did’n I? We’re gonna get there – ‘just another night.” he quipped. 

You hid your face in your hands, trying to hold back your amusement. It was safe to say that you weren’t angry anymore, at least.

“We’re ‘gonna get hypothermia by then, I think, love?” you replied.

You watched him grin a little, his head moving back up to watch the area in front of him as he walked. “We’ll make a stop at the clinic after, then.”

You laughed, sighed, then laughed again thinking about the stupidity of the situation you were in right now. Simon laughed a little, too.

You started slapping his soaked dress shirt playfully, listening as it made a squelching noise before speaking. “Alright, alright, can we have the date at home instead so that we can skip the whole hospitalization part?”

“I suppose.” Simon replied lightheartedly before slowing to a stop, glancing down at you, changing directions, and walking back towards the direction of the house.

A grin was stuck on your face as the two of you passed by the glowing streetlamps and houses, all while the rain continued to pour down. Suddenly, you weren’t feeling as cold anymore, either – you were glad to be in Simon’s arms.

“You make things really fucking complicated, you know?”

“I know,” he answered.

[erwinsvow]

DOWN ON ME — RC.

rafe’s been watching you all night. you’ve been dancing with your girls, sipping an iced drink through a straw, laughing when it sloshes and spills, smiling while licking some of the liquid from your fingers.

he doesn’t know how long it’s actually been, since the pretty blue of your dress caught his eye earlier tonight. you’re still dancing, skin probably warm and flushed from the alcohol and the movement. you’re pressed in between two other girls, moving in a way that he really thinks you should stop doing before he loses whatever remains of his self-control. the hem of your dress swishes around your thighs, your hips with a mind of their own and not going unnoticed by any of the other idiots nearby you. 

rafe’s stared a couple of them off already, gaze hyper-focusing on the overexcited boys until they get the message and walk away. you haven’t noticed, neither have your friends, that’s why you’re all still having so much fun, unbothered by anything else. it’s good. rafe wants to keep it that way, just minus a friend or two of yours.

rafe keeps watching, looking at the two girls with you motioning towards the bathroom. you shake your head, taking a drink of theirs into your hand to watch while they walk away and leave you by yourself. he must not be the only one watching, since another guy heads towards you the second your friends are out of sight. it’s some drunken idiot, he can tell already, and your eyes dart around as soon as he approaches you. your buzz is ruined, the guy getting close to you and asking you something that’s clearly making you uncomfortable, from the way your pretty face contorts and your body tries to move away in the crowd.

rafe was going to wait a moment, just hold on and see how you react, but he finds it hard to wait another second when the guy puts an arm on you to keep you from turning away. he pushes his way through the crowd, his beer abandoned on a table, to where you are.

it’s hard to hear anything over the bass and the music vibrating through the room, but you pick up on a few things. the cute guy you think might have been looking at you—or maybe one of your friends, you had sadly determined when he never came over—grabs the boy who won’t leave you alone by the arm. 

“c’mon, get the fuck outta here. she’s not talkin’ to you.” your face overheats—he’s not asking, he’s demanding, and you hadn’t even asked for help. he must have just known, you think in a drunken state, surprisingly pleased.

“who the fuck are you? i can do what i want-” the boy tightens his grip on your wrist, and the stranger yanks him away from you further, your drinks falling and spilling onto the ground when he finally lets go of you. 

you can’t hear the rest of the conversation, with the boy defending you standing in front, covering you completely. whatever he says works, since the other guy stalks away, muttering something under his breath. the boy who helped you, saved you—rafe, as you’d come to learn—spins around to grab him for whatever he’d said, but you place your hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention so he doesn’t follow him. 

you don’t know what rafe might have done to that boy, but you know that you don’t wanna find out. if it came to a fight, rafe would win, and you seemed to understand that as much as the other boy had, who completely disappeared.

your dress is wet from where your vodka lemonade spilled, tinges of pink from your friend’s drink too. you thought your buzz had completely dissipated, but some of the rush comes back at the way rafe is looking at you. you stare up at him with big eyes, frozen in place for a few moments while the club and all the people continue around the two of you.

rafe picks up your wrist, turning your arm to observe a red mark from the other boy’s grip on you.

“he hurt you?” rafe says, leaning in close to speak into your ear, which makes an entire quiver run through your body, butterflies floating around in your stomach. your brain feels fuzzy. he pulls away to look at you and you shake your head. even if that boy had hurt you, you can’t feel anything but a tingly excitement in all your limbs. “good.”

“thank you. for helping me. you didn’t have to-”

“it’s nothin’. he was an asshole.” you nod in agreement. rafe looks down, raking in your tiny dress from up close. he takes the stained hem between his fingers, rubbing the fabric, barely brushing your skin. everything tenses in anticipation and your eyes flutter shut when he leans in again.. “let me get you another drink,” he says into your ear again. you nod again, following him away from the crowd and towards the bar. 

everything’s quieter away from the speakers, and you can feel your heart thudding in your chest despite putting some distance between yourself and the bass.

“what’d you drinkin’?” rafe asks, and you stare up at him, silent. the two of you stay like that for a moment before he laughs. “asked you a question, kid.”

“oh. sorry. what was that?”

he turns to the bartender and while you keep staring, lips parting and having trouble catching your breath. your friends are long forgotten, the drink you were meant to be holding on to a memory of the past. rafe hands you a cup of ice water, and takes a swig of his beer while you take a long drink.

“thank you. sorry about that.” rafe shrugs apathetically.

“not your fault. your friends shouldn’t have left.”

“oh, but i-” he looks down at you and your sentence dies on your tongue. “you’re right.”

“can’t just leave you alone like that. these guys are animals. gotta be careful, right? keep you safe.” you nod. you think you should hesitate, but there still must be a little tipsiness left in you.

“will you? keep me safe?”

“yeah kid. already did.” your face feels warmer still, burning to the touch. 

“thank you, rafe.”

“want me to drop you home?” you shake your head.

“do you want to dance with me?”

you end up following rafe by the hand back to the dance floor, your water and his beer left on the counter. with your hands around his neck, you go back to dancing how you were before, but it’s completely different—your heart racing, the feel of rafe’s hands on your hips making your brain go hay-wire. down on me blares loudly from the speakers, while rafe spins you around so your back is pressed against him. you keep dancing, inhibitions a little more gone, wondering if you’re being far too forward. 

that thought goes away when rafe grips your jaw in his hand and brings himself down into a kiss, lips pressing together while you keep swaying your hips. rafe pulls way finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then your ear, talking softly to you in a way that made your panties feel uncomfortably wet.

“stop. or we’re gonna have a problem.” you giggle against him, feeling him laugh against your skin. you don’t stop, nor do you want to, but you’re forced to, with a pull on your arm from your friend, claiming the uber was here. you get pulled away from rafe without much of a choice, waving goodbye before you can even get him anything—one last kiss, your phone number, another thank you. 

you get in the car upset—trying to explain that you were actually hitting it off with someone for the first time. your mind goes blank trying to explain what rafe was like, so you shut up. the incident seems too intimate to share, like it should just be for the two of you.

you wonder how you’ll find him again while rafe gets in his truck, following your uber home.

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)