#doesn’t mean I don’t have brain rot for other pairings as well. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrderondncefloor · 4 months ago

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“anything? that right?”

old!logan howlett x f!reader

summary: you end up in logan’s shop with an oil leak and can’t afford to pay him

wc: 2.3k (i’m in hell the brain rot is BAAAAD)

authors note: plot is very cliche like ik eat me. while writing this i took a break and got an edit of logan to tulsa jesus freak. yes i’ve lost my sanity. also i don’t know shit about shit with cars so yea

warnings/tags: MDNI. dubcon. unspecified age gap. logan is a little mean?? reader has no description besides hair long enough for logan to grab, wearing short skirt. logan grabs readers face. hair pulling. big dick logan (canon). pussy pronouns. spanking. throat fucking. degrading. tears. dirty talk. pet names. daddy kink. fingering. aggressive sex. unprotected sex (wrap it up). cream pie. orgasm denial.

your type doesn’t frequent this place, the auto shop on the edge of a town that’s seen better days. most of logan’s customers he’s had for years, he’d grown used to the faces that come through the shop, greeting people on a first name basis at this point in his career. like hell did he ever expect you. you, who stood behind him when he’s hunched down, working beneath the hood of a truck. he didn’t hear you coming, the radio on his workbench drowning out the sound of your footsteps. “shit,” he hissed, peeling back from the piece of shit he’d spent his afternoon working away at, white beater stained with oil and god knows what else. he paused abruptly when he finally noticed you, drawing in a slow breath. if he didn’t have enough on his plate, here you are. a pretty, young thing. in the thick of the summer you’re hardly dressed in much at all, a little top and a short skirt. “ain’t hear you come in,” the clear of his throat echoes off the walls as he walked towards his bench, wiping his hands with a greased up towel. “can i do for you?” his teeth clamp down on the toothpick stuck out his mouth, an oral fixation to try and keep his mind off smoking while on the job. it hardly worked for shit, nicotine always in the back of his mind. the radio gradually softens, pair of glasses pulled onto the bridge of his nose. “think i have an oil leak?” you sound unsure of it, logan nods, scribbling it down onto a forum he kept for his records. “bring ‘er in. take a look,” his boots thud quietly across the floor, walking past you to pull open the garage door. the wiring had gone out a couple months ago and he’s yet to get around to fixing it, muscles straining as he pulled the door up an over his head. he watched you pull your car in, sighing as you stepped back out. “well.. ain’t even have to look. engine sounds like shit, definitely a leak. i’ll pop underneath anyway, see f’somethin’s loose or if it’s a crack.” he nodded, wheeling his creeper out from beneath the bench with his foot. he tries not to groan as he sunk to the floor, his body too old for this shit. he pushes himself up underneath the car, brow knit in a tight furrow as he took a look around to access the problem. “oil pan has a crack, s’pretty fuckin’ bad. i can change it out for you, take me an hour.. hour an a half at most.” he nods, sat upright, an elbow propped against his bent knee. your expression flashes with annoyance and he thought to himself that you looked like a fucking brat, but god damn did you wear it so well. he fights back with the corner of his lips that threatens to tug up.

logan gathered up what he needed, not paying you any mind as you’re left with not much other choice but to sit and wait for him to finish on your car. dressed like this he figured you had better places to be, but he didn’t give a fuck. you came to him, and the way he saw it was your choices were limited to accepting the help and learning some patience or ruining your car. he’s good at the work he does, it’s why he has so many loyal customers, why he’s been in business so long. he could’ve given you some grief for the look you gave him when he told you about the wait- and he still might. “she’s good as new.” he nodded, sliding out from beneath the car with your cracked oil pan. his chest is slick with sweat, glistening under the dull lighting. he brushed his dirty hands against the thighs of his jeans as he stood, tossing your old cracked pan into the trash as he approached his work bench again, quickly jotting down the work that he’d done. “s’goin’ to be.. nine hundred fifty three. s’for the replacement, fresh oil and that god damn look you gave me earlier.” he nods, dropping the clipboard onto the desk. “take cash or card.” his arms cross over his broad torso, forehead creasing as his brow sunk in. “this is a joke, right?” you ask, scoffing out a laugh as you look up at him though his expression doesn’t let up, unamused. “do i look like m’makin’ a fuckin’ joke, sweetheart?” his jaw is clamped tight, his tone flat, serious. “you can’t charge me for a look?” “i can charge you whatever the hell i feel like. i had other shit goin’ on.. could’ve made you wait a hell of a lot longer.” you scoff out in disbelief at him, shaking your head. “i don’t have nine hundred dollars.” you finally admit and logan’s head dropped forward, a low chuckle coming from his lips. when you didn’t pull out a card he knew this shit was going happen. he saw right through you. “alright so.. let me get this straight, sweetheart. you came here for me to look at your car knowin’ you didn’t have the god damn money to pay for it? is that right?” he lacks sympathy for you, pretty as you were you had another thing coming if you thought you were going to pull a fast one on him. “i might be old, girl, but i ain’t no fuckin’ fool. i tell you what.. no money, no fuckin’ keys.” his voice is low, your keys dangled around his finger and he shoves them down into his pocket. he walks away from you, too god damn angry to be stood in front of you, having wasted enough time on you already. “please, you don’t understand.. i need my car. i can pay you what i have right now and bring you the rest next week, please.” you beg, coming up behind him where he’s hunched over again beneath the hood of someone else’s vehicle, the same one he’d been working on when you arrived. “ain’t my god damn problem.” he muttered, biceps flexing beneath his tanned skin as he tightened a bolt in place. “i’ll do anything.” you plea again and logan slowly stops what he’s doing, looking down at the truck battery he was working at. he sighed loudly, recomposing himself as he peeled back from the truck, walking towards the garage door. he reached up, muscles flexing across his back as he pulled the door shut, closing off the inside of his shop from the street view.

“anything? that right?” he’s standing before you now, looking down at your shorter frame. “anything.”* you repeat in a whisper. he drew in a slow, deep breath as your palm slid over the front of his dirty jeans, stepping closer into you until you’re tucked between him and the truck. he groans when your squeeze your palm around him through the denim, your lips curling up to a sinisterly sweet smile when you tug at his belt. he grabs your face hard, lips puffed out slightly when he pulled you in for a kiss. it’s sloppy, his tongue lapping across your lips before dipping into your mouth, an anger filled hunger. he’s pissed off, but you’re pretty enough that he’d be willing to accept your throat as some sort of payment. he looks down at you as you pull back from his kiss, sinking to your knees. he appreciates that you had no issue getting to the point. “i reckon you must’ve been thinkin’ about this the entire time, sweetheart.” logan mused as you grabbed his cock out from inside his jeans, moaning at the sight of him. “bet you ain’t ever seen a cock that big huh, girl?” the palm of his hand pets against the back of your head as you stroke him slowly, his shaft filling out your small palm. “hands behind your back.” he nods slowly, gathering your hair into his fist, holding the back of your head with a tight grasp. he taps the weight of his cock against your tongue before he lays his base flat against you, slowly pulling his hips back as your warm tongue licked over the veins that protrude from tightened foreskin. “nice an wide.” he mutters, feeding the head of his cock into your mouth, a grunt parting his lips when he brushed the back of your throat. god damn. “you’re goin’ to sit here and take it like a champ. reckon you ought’a think about havin’ my god damn money next time. stupid girl.” he warned you before his hips draw back and roll forward, pushing the length of his cock down the curve of your throat. it’s lewd, the repeated squelch of your throat as he pushes himself inside again and again. “should’a known you’d be this big of a slut when i saw you. cute little fuckin’ outfit, barely wearin’ anythin’ at all. just knew how to get an old man goin’.” he grunts, unbothered by the tears that have begun to roll over your cheeks. he’s selfish, using your throat to his advantage, balls slapping the underside of your chin. the cute outfit you’d turned up in ruined by your own slop of saliva as it dribbled out the corners of your mouth. “good fuckin’ girl. payin’ off every fuckin’ dollar.” his skin is slick with sweat, head lulling back against his shoulders, blinded by the dull white light above him. your throat is exactly what he needed at the end of a shitty week, and he had no shame in taking out his stress on you, sure you wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon.

when he finally lets up you choke out a cough, spit strung between his soaked cock and your mouth, breathing hard as you look up at him with watery eyes. still, you come chasing for more, hands sat on his denim clad thighs as you licked your tongue along his cock, gasping in a breath of air before you took him back into your throat, craving the feeling once more. “fuck’n hell.. look at you. must really need that god damn car, huh?” his fingers move into your hair again, yanking your mouth back off his cock so he could pull you up from the floor. “ain’t that right, princess? you’d do anythin’ for those keys back, huh?” “yes, daddy.” you choke out and what patience logan had left snaps, swiftly turning you around by the hold he has on your hair. he lifts the skirt up over the swell of your ass, palm of his hand roughly swatting against. you. once, twice, three times. your cheeks are stained red as your legs tremble, impatiently waiting for him to give you more. “let me see ‘er.” logan nods, bent over you and he pulled your panties to the side, spreading your cheeks so he had a perfect view of both holes, your pussy slick with your own arousal.

“you like gettin’ treated like a slut.” he acknowledged, spitting against his fingers before he brings them to your pussy, fingertips swirling your clit before he pressed two long fingers into your core, free hand wrapped around your throat. he stroked his fingers slowly at first but gained speed as your arousal coated him, making it easier for him to plunge his fingers into your tight hole, biceps flexing with each stroke of his fingers, feeling out the warmth of your walls, infatuated with the way your pussy sucks his fingers back in. he grins at the gasp you take in when he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, pushing yourself up straighter as he sunk himself deep into your pussy. “daddy,” you softly grab at the hand he has around the middle of your throat, moaning as his chest presses up against your back. “you ever been stretched out this good before?” he asks beside your ear, breathing out a quiet laugh when you shake your head no. he grabs your face again, pulling your lips back to his when he fucks into you, hard strokes that press your hips against the grill of the truck, sure to leave you with bruises in days following. he swallows the moans you cry out, roughly driving his hips into yours. he’s unrelenting, giving himself to you hard the way you deserve it, the way you so evidently love it. it’s been a long god damn time since he had pussy this good, and fuck was he obsessed with yours, cursing himself for fixing the troubles your car had given you instead of giving you the run around to keep you coming back for more. hell, with the way you’re fucking yourself back onto his cock you just might anyway. “you’re going to make me cum, daddy,” you choke out, and he grabs at your hips, pulling him deeper into your sopping cunt. “that right? this ain’t even about you, princess. this was for me, remember? who says you’re allowed to cum?” he is brow furrows, getting a rise out of the way you while beneath him, small hands grabbing at the truck. “please, i know it’s not about me but please let me cum, daddy.” you whine, legs trembling beneath you, threatening to cave under your weight. he doesn’t respond, just fucking into your stretched core while you beg him to cum again and again. he ignored you until he spilled first, filling you with thick ropes of his cum, hips flush against yours so you take every drop deep inside. “you want to cum now, sweetheart?” he asked and you nod, rocking your hips back against him as your chase your own high.

needless to say, logan was more than willing to return your keys. and you.. well you might purposefully pop a tire soon.

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #xmen x reader #xmen smut #GRRRR #old!logan #deadpool and wolverine

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xenteaart · 7 months ago

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it's not about the roses

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but despite a brief mention of the studio it can fit any au, really) word count: 1,1k genre/warnings: er, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint but overall just tooth rotting sweetness. reader being kinda vulnerable author's note: inspired by my and @skzms 's channie brain worms, me crying over how boyfie he is in may's dms and her coming up with this little prompt. i'm manifesting a sweet healthy relationship for y'all, never settle for less <3

you were never the one for flowers, really.

it just didn’t seem anything meaningful or special, an occasional cute little bouquet on some first date you had ages ago, meeting someone completely new after mindlessly swiping them right on a dating app. plus, it’s always such a bother to take care for it. disassemble the thing, cut the stems, change the water, maybe cut off the leaves too.

at some point, you began to think of yourself as more of a practical person, taking gift giving to the point where it completely lost symbolism. always getting your friends and family either money or something they specifically asked for.

“at least, they’re actually gonna use it and get some utility out of it. ‘s good, right?” you thought to yourself, ticking a box on one of your friend’s wishlists for their birthday. it is good. no stress of choosing and endlessly pondering whether they’ll like it or not.

or is it avoiding the vulnerability of going down a more symbolic route if they don’t happen to respond to your gift the way you’d like them to after carefully planting hidden meanings and confessions all over a seemingly useless present? yeah, maybe, that’s the one, actually.

it was a regular saturday evening, no work, no plans, no big day or anything to celebrate. so, naturally, you were just spending the time at your place, resting after successfully having done all the house chores in one go.

purposelessly lying on the bed, you wondered what chris was up to. it wasn’t something out of the ordinary for you two to leave each other hanging during the day, keeping each other’s messages unread and waiting for some free time to give a thoughtful, proper reply.

but the little “1” next to your kakaotalk message was starting to feel unfriendly because... honestly? you just missed him. you wanted to know about his day, what he ate for lunch and whether work was okay today (knowing full well the man couldn’t care less about days of the week, coming over at the studio any time he needed or pleased).

distracting yourself with scrolling tiktok for a quick dopamine hit, you end up losing track of time a little. and the thing bringing you back to reality is chan’s short message, popping up on your notifications bar.

“can you come out for a sec? i’m at the door hehe~”

it takes you three times to read to finally understand what it actually means. he doesn’t have keys to your apartment yet, and you mostly hang out at his place anyways, so him coming all the way to the opposite side of the city makes your heart skip a beat.

you rush to the door and open it almost immediately, only to see channie, your channie, standing right in front of you with a nice bouquet of red roses wrapped up in kraft paper. the next thing you notice is chan’s wide smile, so sincere and endearing it makes you wanna cry on the spot.

you were never the one for flowers, really.

red roses always seemed like something either too vulgar or “easy”. something that becomes men’s first pick because they just never care enough to look for anything else and assume every girl loves it by default.

right now, however, it doesn’t feel like either of those.

the way chris is a bit nervous and really excited all at once; his hands gripping at the crunchy paper-wrapped base as he's waiting to give the flowers to you. the way his eyes sparkle and shine with warmth and genuine adoration for you. and you read past the roses, you learn so much more from it.

you learn how he’s been quiet because he was plotting a little surprise for you, trying not to be too obvious.

you see how he thought of you during the entire process, from an idea to carefully picking out the best flowers, making sure they’re fresh and pretty and will stay this way a while.

you can hear his timid little “thank you” to the florist as they exchange their bows and polite smiles.

you imagine the slightly awkward small talk with the taxi driver asking him about the occasion — the traffic and the parking area next to your building are awful, so you’re guessing he did take the taxi. and the drivers sure love to talk on the long drives, this one you had to learn the hard way.

gosh, chan looks so warm and… so soft, his lips making a familiar heartbreaking :] shape.

snapping out of your thoughts, you look into chris’s eyes and swallow down a salty lump in your throat.

“please don’t be alarmed, but i probably will cry a little,” you warn him before your voice gives out and take the roses, holding them close to your chest where the heart is bleeding.

“so pretty,” you stare down at the gentle velvety petals and sniff quietly.

chan looks worried for a moment but quickly pulls you into his embrace, stepping into the apartment and locking the door behind him.

“hey-y, i expected a smile, not your tears, baby. i didn’t upset you, did i?” to which you shake your head to reassure him.

“no, no, ‘course not! what do you mean? they’re so nice. i’m just… really happy? and i missed you. so much,” the last words come out like a weak mouse squeak as you close your eyes and let your emotions roll down your cheeks, staining your skin wet.

chan nods and takes your face into his palms, wiping away the tears and looking at you so lovingly you think you might actually break.

“i missed you too, baby. do you mind if i stay the night? i…- uh. i bought some face masks too, so we can just relax a little before bed and cuddle?”

you squeeze out a little “yeah” in response, headbutting his forehead and putting your arm around him, with another still holding the roses carefully.

“i love you,” you say slightly louder, making sure that he hears it.

maybe, gifts don’t have to be practical all the time. maybe, it’s okay to put sentimental value into simple, useless things sometimes. make them mean something.

“i love you too, baby,” chris hums still a little confused, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back and planting a chaste kiss on the bridge of your nose.

you reach for his plump soft lips and press yours against them. and even though your tastebuds can feel the salt, it’s the sweetest kiss you two have shared so far.

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #my fic #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #chan x you #bang chan x female reader #chan x female reader #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids fanfic #skz fic #my writing #my work #skz fanfic

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katiebblynne · 5 months ago

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~Denial~

SDV Sebastian ANGST/FLUFF

a/n: was gonna write sebastian smut but this scenario for the farmer x seb confession angst took over my hands srry :') happy ending tho!

pairing: Sebastian x Fem!Reader wc: 3911

Confessing to Sebastian doesn’t go well, just as you expected. But expectations can always be changed.

Days spent in Sebastian’s room were always your favorite ones. Sometimes you’d watch movies. Sometimes you’d play games in the company of Sam and Abigail. The time here never lets you down. But, there are certain nights that you look forward to the most – the nights you and him spend alone, talking about everything and nothing, for hours.

Tonight was one of those nights. You found yourself in a familiar spot on Sebastian’s couch, him occupying the rug on the floor next to you. You two have been laughing for what feels like hours, trading stories of what you’ve heard around town and showing each other rib tickling videos on your phones. When you say something that gets that less-than-often heard belly laugh from him, your feelings fill up every ounce of your body and seep out of your pores. You often hint your infatuations to Sebastian, but they go dismissed or ignored. The reality of things – what you’ve concluded from his disregard of your obvious advances – is hard to swallow, but you force the pill of it down anyway: he doesn’t feel the same.

You lay on your side, head propped on your elbow as you two decide the time passer tonight consists of lighthearted questions and answers. You toss around inquiries about his job, he asks you about your farm. You ask him about music, he queries you about your cooking. This goes well into the night, and you feel absolutely enthralled by the seemingly endless conversation. The way he moves his hands when he talks, the clink of his rings together as his fingers help portray his words… melodic bliss.

“Okay… would you rather live in Pam’s trailer or Elliott’s shack?” You ask to carry the conversation.

“Elliott’s shack probably… this basement’s just as dank anyways.” he responds. You both chuckle.

He takes his unspoken turn in the banter. “If you had to date someone in town, who would it be?” His voice is casual and unexpecting. You look at him with a confused expression. He glances back at you, the same tone taking over him. “What?” He asks with a small laugh.

“Well, you, of course.” You answer plainly. After all this time of advancing on him, it rots your brain that he would ask you a question with such an obvious answer. He looks at you and tilts his head. “Wait, really? Not like… Alex or Elliott or something?” You stare – surely he is pulling your leg. He returns your gaze with an unmoving, genuinely curious look. “Why me?”

This evokes an actual laugh out of your throat. “I mean, it’s no secret I have a thing for you.” Your voice carries nonchalantly, assuming he would have known by now. Sebastian’s heart starts pounding in his chest. He sits up and stares. “Wait, huh? You like me?” Your eyes widen a bit. “...yeah? You didn’t know? I’ve been pretty obvious this whole time, like when we’re hanging out and stuff.”

Sebastian is sincerely in a state of shock. He truly had no idea, or at least he didn’t think he did. He only ever saw you two as friends. His voice comes out hesitantly and it makes your stomach clench. You knew where the conversation was going to go, and most likely how it was going to end. “I don’t get it… when did you like, hint at it?” he asks. You reply simply. “I mean, I’m constantly complimenting you and trying to be close to you when we hang with Sam and Abby… stuff like that.” You see a slight concern on Sebastian’s face, not being able to read it past that. You quickly divert the tension building from your words, bracing yourself for the inevitable. You say, a feigned attempt to ease him, when you’re really just helping shield your own heart, “It’s no biggie. I know you only see us as friends. It’s all good, man.”

“Why are you trying to convince me it’s no big deal when you just… confessed your feelings for me? Don’t you think we should like… talk it out a bit?” He asks, his face filled with an awkward discomfort. The sight makes your heart drop, but you mock a relaxed state of being. “What is there to talk about…?” Your voice betrays you slightly, your tone uneven and guarded. Sebastian fidgets with his rings as he probes your confession from the rug in front of you. He keeps a respectful distance between him and the couch – almost a physical representation of the space he’s giving you to speak about your feelings. God, he’s so good to you. Sometimes you wish he was crueler. He asks you softly, cautiously, “How long have you felt this way?”

You take a deep breath to ponder the question. “Probably like… six months?”

“SIX MONTHS?” he immediately returns, a shock on his eyebrows. “How the fuck have you liked me for sixth months and I just now find out?” You give him a small shrug, “I guess I’m wondering the same thing, Seb.”

Sebastian was at a loss for words. He felt an urge to ask more about it, unfortunately not considering how it might be making you feel right now. His brain wasn’t functioning that way at the moment – he just needed to understand this news… really make sense of your feelings so he could handle them. “Why me?”

You let out a pained chuckle, having to reminisce on the foundations of your unrequited affections. You glance around the room as you think. “I dunno. At first, it felt the same to be around you as it did with everyone else. But then one day– I don't even know if you remember this–” You look at him for a small moment, a soft smile settling on your face before your eyes find moral support on the posters on the wall instead, “we were all meeting at the saloon, and you had already ordered my favorite drink before I got there. I had texted you earlier that I was having a rough day on the farm… For some reason,” you move your hands in an unknowing gesture “you kinda stuck in my brain after that and never left.”

Sebastian gazes over you, still steadying his thoughts as he wraps his head around this. “All because I bought you a drink…?” You shake your head slightly and laugh. “Well… no. That was probably just the moment I realized I liked you. It was small, yeah, but it was like… a catalyst. I started noticing all these intricacies about you after that, ya know?” You roll on your back and stare up at Sebastian’s ceiling, your thoughts taking over and causing a tender smile to caress your cheeks. He watches you, his stomach in knots as you continue.

“Like… how you tap out piano melodies on your thighs when you’re anxious… how you brush your thumb against your lips when you’re working. Or how you always roll your neck after you yawn…” Your voice trails off of Sebastian’s walls and settles into his skin. He looks at you as you speak, soft as a feather, your vulnerability crawling up his spine like a chill. He watches you, speechless. You continue with a sentence that makes his chest physically hurt. “You occupy my mind like you pay rent to be there… and in a room full of people, there’s only you.” A gasp strains on Sebastian’s lips, his heart aching. Your words spill out more, as if they are overflowing out of your chest. You laugh, stifling an urge to cry.

“It’s pretty annoying actually, thinking about you all the time like this. I hardly get anything done anymore. It’s really unproductive to be so hopelessly in love.” The words come out before you can stop them, but you don’t care. Might as well at this point, right?

Sebastian sinks into himself, an overwhelming anguish claiming his face. “...In love?” He asks, his voice approaching your confession as someone would a wounded animal. You look at him, your lips pulling into a closed line and your eyes softening to reaffirm what you said.

Sebastian’s very essence felt heavy. He didn’t return the feelings, but for some reason his heart was gnawing at his skin to reach you in a way he’d never felt before. He couldn’t stand himself in the moment – you being so open and saying all these beautiful things and his brain not being able to reciprocate. You sigh and look back up at the ceiling, his silence confirming your fears. “Sorry for rambling. Maybe I’ll be able to move on after this, yeah?” You chuckle dryly, sadness wrapping its hands around your neck. Sebastian so desperately wanted to comfort you. He wanted to pull you in his arms and make you feel better, but how could he? When he was the driving factor behind your broken heart.

As much as you fight it, a tear finds its way down your temple. Sebastian’s entire body is replaced with guilt as he sees it. You wipe it and force a gentle laugh. “I think I… should probably go now. I hope we’re still cool after this.” You lift your body off his couch, not making eye contact. You gather your things and make your way to his door. “Wait… y/n, I’m… so sorry… I-” You cut him off as you pull his door open. Your eyes meet his, glazed with tears that are just waiting to take over. “Hey, really. No big deal. I’ll see you later, Seb.” And with that, you leave. Sebastian is left on the floor, frozen in ache and a whirlwind of emotions.

~*~

Sam’s phone lights up, interrupting the competitive glint in his hands as Abigail demolishes him in the game they’re playing. He answers “Sebastiannnnn, what’s up?”

Sebastian sits on his couch, his phone to his ear as he stares down to where he was just sitting before. “Dude.”

Sebastian’s tone sends a spike down Sam’s spine. He sits up a little straighter. Abigail notices, pausing the game. Sam puts him on speaker. “Abby’s here too – What’s goin on?” Abigail listens in, resting the controller on her lap.

Sebastian’s voice takes on a shape they’ve never heard before – it’s shaken, soft. “Are you guys free? I need to fuckin talk man.” Sam and Abigail send each other a wide eyed look, concern – and a curious itch – settling in their stomachs and across their faces. “We’re at my house. Door’s open.” Sam responds. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to make his way there, his steps fueled by anxiety. As soon as he arrives, he slumps on Sam’s bed and just stares at the two sitting on the floor facing him. The look in his eyes simultaneously speaks volumes and says absolutely nothing at all. Abigail prompts him to speak with an enthusiastic ‘spit it out’ gesture.

Sebastian takes an uneven breath. “Y/n… just confessed to me, guys.”

Sam and Abigail immediately do a little cheer, high-fiving each other. Sebastian is taken aback, and his words come out small. “What?” Sam and Abigail take turns speaking, Abigail taking the lead. “We’re excited for you guys!” “Yeah, we’ve known you like each other for months now – this is great, man!” Sebastian’s anxious face creates room for puzzlement. “Wait… what? I don’t like y/n like that… Guys, I had to reject her tonight.”

A silence befalls Sam’s room. They both share the same expression of disbelief as they take in Sebastian’s words. Abigail bursts out laughing and Sam leans forward with his palm on his face. “Dude, you have got to be fuckin’ with us right now.” Abigail settles her laugh just a bit to add “Yeah, like, you’re joking right?” Sebastian looks bewildered at their reactions. He shakes his head slowly – of course he’s not kidding. Why would they think he has feelings for you?

Abigail and Sam both roll their eyes in different tones of exasperation – one true and one playful. Abigail looks at Sebastian, her voice deadpan. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking? We’re just friends, that’s how I’ve always felt. I don’t understand what gave y'all the impression I felt differently–” Sam cuts Sebastian off. “We’ve seen the way you stare at y/n when you think no one’s lookin’, my dude. You’re constantly talking about her to us, always textin’ her when she can’t hang out or making sure she’s having a good time when she can. Hell, she’s the only one out of us that can get a belly laugh outta you and she’s only known you a third of the time we have!” Abigail nods in agreement, both of their eyes piercing Sebastian’s. Sebastian retorts, a sprinkle of annoyance on his face. “So? That doesn’t mean I’m in love with ‘er.” Sebastian feels a cold wall encasing him, pushing away the strange mix of feelings coursing through his veins. Abigail leans forward, her elbows on her thighs. Her and Sam are steadfast in what they believe – no, what they know – unconvinced that he doesn’t feel the same. “Seb, you are genuinely crazy if you are in this much denial. I think you are in love with her and don’t even notice.” Sebastian stares at the two, frustrated at their adamant claim. His fingers burn with confliction. Sam ends the conversation with a simple sentence that rings in Sebastian’s ears in resolute. “You definitely need to go and reflect for a bit, man – before you miss your chance.”

~*~

Sebastian lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling that still clings onto your words from earlier. He tosses and turns, unable to get you out of his head. The image of you lying on his couch, your tear that has seeped into the cushion at this point… it replays in his head like a film. Guilt, confusion and… something else he can’t quite place makes their home in his chest, his stomach, his throat. He huffs, trying to expel the feelings for just a moment as he closes his eyes.

Suddenly, that film of you is replaced by vivid, dream-like memories of your smile, your giggle. The way you hum to yourself while you lay in his bed with him. The goofy faces you make when you’re sleepy. The way your fingers feel when they accidentally brush against his own. His eyes slowly open as the thoughts flood his mind. When his gaze fully settles against the ceiling once more, he feels it – uh oh. Sebastian clenches his bed sheets for stability when the realization hits him like a train, the impact crumbling down the cold wall around his heart in an instant. His heart starts to race, as he mutters to himself raggedly. “Do I… like y/n?” No, it’s… more than that. “Fuck! Do I love her?”

He doesn’t believe it. He is absolutely, desperately, in love with you.

Then, Sebastian thinks about tonight. He sits up straight in his bed, as if struck by lightning. He feels his heart drop to his stomach as he thinks to himself. ‘Idiot! I rejected her? I broke her heart! How stupid can I be?!’ He groans in agony as he flops back into his mattress. “How can I fix this… how could I be so dumb?”

You lie in your bed, chest sore from sobs. Your body feels almost numb from the exertion of emotions and rejection tonight. You saw it coming. You knew how he felt. But something in you clung to hope anyway. Hearts really just suck like that sometimes. You sigh and roll over, turning off your light and closing your eyes. You’re out in an instant, drained from the despondency.

~*~

Weeks go by. At first, you tried your absolute best to feign contentment around him, hoping that if you fake it long enough it’ll actually happen. But eventually, when you discovered the heartbreak had sublet your mind for the unforeseeable future, you let yourself distance. And boy, did Sebastian notice. Your eyes lost their spark. Your skin lost its glow. You stopped hanging out in the group as often, coming to the saloon as much. Alone time with him ceased altogether. When you’re around – which is rare now – Sebastian sneaks glances at you as much as he can – his heart just as shredded up as yours.

Abigail had convinced you to come out tonight. It was a Friday, and everyone was gathered at the saloon. Its liveliness was a stark contrast to you. You and the others gathered in the billiard room, sipping on drinks and shooting pool. There was an undeniable tension in the air, one that Sam and Abigail tried to cut through as best they could with jokes and small talk.

Sebastian had been looking for the right opportunity to talk with you forever now, but at this point it felt like he’s missed his chance. Guilt and love battled for more space in his brain everyday. He knew he was far gone when Sam started beating him at pool. Sam noticed it too. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Sam shot Sebastian strident looks, gesturing discreetly over to you – silently urging Sebastian to just talk to you about it already. His pleas are met with a simple, sad head shake from Sebastian. Sam rolls his eyes and continues getting through the awkward atmosphere.

After finishing your one drink of the night, which took a couple hours due to your lacking appetite for… well anything lately, you set your glass down and stand up. “I think I’m gonna head home for the night, I’ve got a lot of farm work in the morning.” Abigail and Sam didn’t dare try to stop you, their recent negotiations for you to stay out always being met with hesitancy or denials. They nod and hug you goodnight. You and Sebastian just wave, your eyes not meeting his. God, what a pathetic feeling that was. You leave the saloon, and Sebastian is met with angry stares from the other two. Abigail crosses her arms, and Sam points at the saloon exit. “Go. Talk. Now.”

“Guys… I can’t… I don’t know what to say–”

“NOW.” They both say in unison, their word firm and dominant. Sebastian sighs, reluctantly setting down his poolstick and making his way toward the exit to follow you. He anxiously catches up with you as you walk through the town square. “Hey, y/n, wait up!” He says as casually as he can muster, even though his heart is screaming. Your body tenses at the sound of his voice. You stop and turn to look at him, a measly smile forced on your face. “What’s up, Sebastian?” He comes up and puts his hands in his hoodie pocket, his last line of defense against his overwhelming emotions. “I uh… wanted to go on a walk before I head home tonight. Been stuck in the basement working a lot lately. Figured I could walk you back and take the long way from the farm?” You nod slowly in understanding, every ounce of your body buzzing with misery. Despite this, your words come out cordial and light. “Oh, yeah… no problem.”

The air that surrounds you two as you walk together is almost dense enough to make you sick to your stomach. Not a single word is exchanged the entire way to your house. You pray for a sudden heart attack, for a swift death would be better than this level of discomfort. Sebastian watches you as the trek continues, his pace slightly behind yours. With each step you two take, his feelings grab hold of him more. His legs burn with the ache. He gazes as the setting sun enraptures your hair, making it almost glow with vibrancy. His stomach is in knots. He watches your top flow in the evening wind, dancing on your hip. His arms are on fire. He takes in how you dainty fingers flex ever so often as you stride. His chest feels like it's going to explode. He sees your eyelashes flutter as your gaze hangs low onto the path. Pained ardor strangles his neck, cutting the air supply to his brain.

You reach your house. Sebastian looks at you as you head to the stairs up to your porch. He can feel it – the words fighting his tongue to get out. His essence rapidly surrenders to it. “Well, see ya later Sebastian.”

You place your hand on the knob of your front door – and that's it. That’s the moment the words blurt out of Sebastian's lips, catching you before you go in.

“I love you!”

The words hang in the air, surrounding you. They possess your joints, stopping you from opening your door. They turn you around to look at a broken, lovesick Sebastian at the bottom of your porch stairs. His hand is stretched out shakily to you, his foot on the first step of the stairs. He breathes rapidly, as if his bones themselves are trembling under his flesh. Your face is pained, shocked, addled. “W-what?”

Sebastian had meant to be more graceful in this moment, but his heart acted clumsily in yearning for you. He takes another step up, his hand seeking your warmth of which he missed so desperately. “I… I love you.” You gawk at him, your face so full of emotion it takes the opposite effect and becomes almost unreadable. Sebastian’s next words tumble out of his mouth as he approaches you… oh so softly, need floating at his fingertips.

“Your hair… when it glints in the sunlight. Your laugh, how… how it infects me. And how you smell after you use my shower… my shampoo. It’s my favorite smell in the world.”

Your eyes widen and your heart tightens. Tears fall down your cheeks, your hand drops from the doorknob and hangs limp at your side. Sebastian lets out a strained whimper, tormented by the sight of your tears once more. “Oh… y/n, don’t cry… please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you like this. I’ve been such an idiot all this time, denying my feelings and pushing you away…” His foot rests on the final step up to you, his movements hesitant to go further. “I should’ve let myself feel this sooner… oh god… please–”

His words are cut short, silenced by your lips crashing on his. You pour all of your emotions into him, your kiss deep and pining. His being stutters, but almost involuntarily responds with equal passion. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in and kissing you like it’s his last moment on earth. Love and regret surround the both of you, bonding you together. The rest of the world is quiet, giving you both center stage.

You eventually break the kiss, hardly pulling away. Your tears paint Sebastian’s cheeks, his eyes locked on yours with an upward furrow on his brows. His lips remain slightly parted, stuck between wanting to say something and needing to claim yours once more. You speak, your voice cracking in overwhelm. “I am so in love with you, Sebastian. It will always be you.” You two share a smile, gasping in relief.

You kiss once again, catching up with all the lost time in this single, consummate moment.

#sdv #stardew valley #fanfic #ao3 #sebastian sdv #sebastian stardew valley #angst #fluff #romance #sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian angst

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tacitoru · 5 months ago

Text

pleaser - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: A wedding for an old friend reunites you with a figure from your past. Except now he's famous, successful, and rich - richer, at least. You're not having any of it, but Gojo is determined to show you how much he's grown since you've last seen him.

rating: explicit

tw: basketball!au, enemies to lovers, slight non-con

wc:��5.1k

ch: 1/5

read on ao3

At long last, my attempt at unhinged Satoru and the basketball au that's been rotting in my brain since that damn twitter post. Enjoy!

Now

The wedding is a quiet, modest affair, but that doesn’t stop the paparazzi from finding you.

Or not you, but rather the several high-profile guests rumored to be attending your friend’s big day. You peak out at the gaggle of people and cameras gathered at the front of the venue from the makeshift bride’s dressing room. Anxiety blossoms in your chest. If this is the turnout for just the rehearsal dinner, you can only imagine what chaos will ensue for the main event. Any other day, you might have been among them - standing among a crowd of sweaty, haranguing men, juggling a Canon with a lens the length of your forearm in the hope that the next picture you snap lands you your next paycheck. Your next meal.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime sidles up behind you just as your stomach growls. She places a gentle hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile, guiding your attention away from the window. “Our vows are short. Dinner is right around the corner.”

Having made the mistake of arriving at the rehearsal dinner on an empty stomach, you’ve kept your hands and stomach occupied with the free-flowing wine and sake offered by the venue up to this point. Placing your glass on the windowsill you pat your stomach with one hand and take her manicured hand in the other, shooting her a grin and shifting the unease from your expression with practiced grace. “As long as you still promise I can take home leftovers.”

You take a step back to take in your former colleague, adorned in a beautiful pink kimono. Even in the fading afternoon light, Utahime is radiant, practically glowing from the inside out at the prospect of marrying her best friend. You give her hand a gentle squeeze and tell her as much.

The clamor outside the venue gets a little louder. The crowd grows restless. Glancing out the window again, you slip out of your friend’s grasp to pocket your hands and ball them into fists in the fabric. You think you spot a few white basketball jerseys among the crowd. “Well, that’s just fucking rude.”

“No, no. Don’t look over there, look at me.” Utahime admonishes, pinching your chin between two fingers to twist your head back in her direction with a grave expression, redirecting you once again with a little less gentleness.

“But that’s bad luck, don’t they know - the fucking audacity -,”

The bride-to-be shakes your head with her grasp on your chin before releasing you with a scowl.

“Sports fans will be sports fans. Plus, they’re technically not even attending the wedding, so it doesn’t even count, right?”

Maybe it’s the wine getting to you, but the fact that one person can cause such a hassle before they’ve even arrived grates on your nerves more easily than usual. You make a rebuttal but it dies on your lips at the sight of Utahime’s pleading expression. It’s the night before her wedding day - you should be doing everything in your power not to transfer the bubbling pit of unease manifesting in your chest in light of what awaits you beyond the dressing room doors.

“I know it’ll be difficult having him here, but he’s important to Shoko, so he’s important to me,” she tells you not unkindly, and not for the first time.

“I’ll be civil.” You promise and mean it. You had practiced your carefully crafted looks of disinterest in the mirror in the nights leading up to tonight. Any word spoken in his direction over the course of this weekend would be laden with well-rehearsed apathy.

Utahime sighs, adjusting the neckline of your dress before moving to return to where the gaggle of her aunts and cousins sit and gossip among themselves. Waiting for the rehearsal to start. “I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you.”

This day isn’t yours, but the days building up to it have been an excruciating crawl. The full picture hadn’t yet registered with you when you first received the wedding invitation. Initially, you had been overjoyed and honored to see the epic conclusion of what had been a long time coming - the marriage of Ms. Shoko Ieiri and Utahime Iori.

You remember scrambling for your phone and screaming, crying. Blubbering your well wishes to an exasperated Utahime and sleep-disheveled Shoko over a video call. The ceremony would take place in less than six months and there was so much to do. What dress would you wear? How would you afford to book a flight to Kyoto so soon? How much tourism could you squeeze in between your arrival and the ceremony?

The guest list hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind.

Utahime and Shoko had proven themselves to be far from the flashy wedding type. The venue of choice was a tiny art gallery in Kyoto, with just enough space for a selective audience to be present to witness the nuptials. You had anticipated meeting your former colleague’s childhood friends and relatives. You had assumed that, aside from Utahime’s family in the States and an old classmate or two from college, you would be the furthest traveling guests. Reuniting with your ex-college situationship is the last thing you would have expected given your circumstances and his.

And yet when the bride-to-be texts you a photo of Shoko and the man in question looking buddy-buddy at a dive bar captioned with a simple heads up a week before your departure, it’s already too late to refund your flight. Of course, world-famous top-ranking NBA player Satoru Gojo would be best friends - childhood pals, even - with renowned sports medicine physician Shoko Ireri.

Of course.

“So is he, like, a bum in real life or something?” A family friend of Utahime’s whispers to you from where you’re seated at the back of the ceremony space, watching as the wedding coordinator flits about the venue, rearranging furniture and decorations about the altar. She seems young - also a foreigner, maybe early twenties, and looks about as out of place as you feel. You distantly wonder which relative she knows.

“Hm?”

“You know…”

“Who?”

“That basketball player. You’re that journalist, right? I like your dress.”

You furl your lips and do your best to not appear peeved. So much for being a fly on the wall. It appears that feigning ignorance won’t get you out of this one, but you should have known better - this is Japan’s all-star athlete she’s talking about, after all.

“Thanks. Yeah, yup. That’s me.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole?”

“What-, no. No, that’s not what I said.” You blunder for the right words, torn between overexplaining yourself and telling her to get the fuck away from you. Taking a sip from your new glass, you glance around the rim and look for one of the brides or a signal that the rehearsal is starting to save you to no avail. At this point, even after all of these years, you’re not used to the questions. The speculations. The envious glances and disdainful side-eyes that follow. “He’s fine, great,” you offer her instead with a noncommittal shrug. “I wouldn’t really know.”

The guest looks surprised to hear this, but then you think back to how she referred to you as that journalist , and figure she assumes that’s still your field of work. Or that maybe you’re still in touch. It’s not a completely unfair assumption - Gojo was the much-needed catalyst to your career. Or at least, writing about him was. Whether he was just as charitable towards you in other, more illicit ways was always up for debate in the fan circles online whenever your article was brought into question.

Silence falls between you both as you watch the wedding coordinator struggle to carry two chairs across the room by herself. Neither of you stands to offer help. The guest doesn’t let the pause in conversation last for very long. You can practically hear the words buzzing behind her lips before she can even say them. Or maybe your ears are just ringing. “I read your article, I think.”

“Mm. Yeah?”

“Sure. It’s a shame, what happened to those two boys.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And they were so young too.”

“Yes, we all were.”

Your response comes off a little sharper than you intend it to be. The woman jolts a little in her seat, as though it’s just occurred to her that you had to have been a witness to the falling out she’s referring to for you to have published the detailed account that you did. To write the piece that cemented the legacy of your careers together forever, or at least until the athlete’s inevitable downfall. The invisible string that tied you to Gojo Satoru no matter how far you ran or how often you tried to cut it.

The ringing in your ears gets a little bit louder. Your lips bruise under the pressure of your teeth before you take another sip.

Despite it being five years after its publishing, there is no escape from the meteoric impact of your last submission to your alma mater's student newspaper and the events that transpired before it made print. Even if you could somehow stop the memories from resurfacing, the public will do its due diligence to remember for you. To remind you wholeheartedly. Sometimes you wished back then you had learned a lot sooner to say no to some tasks when offered. But back then you had been so eager to please.

The guest clears her throat and shifts in her seat, effectively chastened. You wonder what the chances are that Shoko is hiding a pack of smokes somewhere in her dressing room, and if anyone would notice if you snuck off for a moment. The wine is slowly creeping up on you like a warm cloak. A drunk cigarette to take the edge off is beginning to sound nice.

“Have you seen him play since he joined the league?” The woman asks in a poor attempt to change the subject. You eye her wearily, facing her directly this time to discern if she’s a fan. She prattles on without waiting for you to answer, nervous in the face of your sudden full attention. “He’s a freak of nature, I swear, and that smile when he-,”

“No, m’fraid not.” You cut her off, finally making to stand. The idea of seeking out Shoko’s cigarettes before the rehearsal starts becomes more and more appealing the longer you sit here. Something in the way the woman scrunches her face at your dismissal tells you you’ll be hearing about this interaction from Utahime later.

“Really? He’s literally everywhere these days.” She remarks, but you hear the underlying snark loud and clear: I find that hard to believe.

The double doors to the ceremony space are flung open behind the harried wedding coordinator as she suddenly rushes from the room, whispering fervently into the phone pressed to her cheek. Beyond them, the cacophony of paparazzi and fast clicks of camera shutters spill into the space. That’s my cue to leave.

You offer the family friend one last tight-lipped smile before turning to escape in the direction opposite of all the noise.

“Honestly, I’m just not a big sports fan.”

–

You’re purposefully sitting on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop Gojo Satoru from sweeping the place head to toe in the middle of the rehearsal.

You try to maintain your tipsy focus on literally anything else. The ceremony altar, the guest next to you breathing a little too hard, the price tag of the dress digging into your back that you’re determined to keep on until you can return it next week. Anything other than the flagrant way the grown man in a designer button-up and shades twists and turns in his seat to scan the room.

The pseudo-ceremony plays out before you, as you watch from the Iori family’s side of the room as ceremony officials walk the soon-to-be newlyweds through the process. The couple surprised you with their decision to go the more traditional route, but as you watch the rehearsal, you can appreciate how much more intimate this is compared to the alternative. The lack of a bridal party or audience participation is also a plus.

Wondering how much more different this affair would have been if your former colleague had needed a bridal party and you had been a bridesmaid, you allow your mind to wander. Would Gojo have been a groomsman? Or would he also be considered… a bridesmaid…?

Your wine-addled mind conjures up the image of Gojo and his Herculean figure squeezed into a modest gown, and you can’t help but huff through your nose. Somehow, regrettably, you know he would manage to pull it off. Curiosity getting the better of you, you finally manage to glance in his direction, hoping his attention has returned to your mutual friends as they nervously fumble through the ceremony steps.

Immediately, your eyes lock and you whip around to face forward again, incensed. With little care for discretion or the several other scrutinous pairs of eyes that follow his every move, Gojo’s head had been fully turned in your direction. Even the dark tint of his Ray-Bans - indoors, of course - couldn’t hide the full weight of his gaze. His megawatt smile turned up to its full effect once he’s got your attention. The athlete wiggles his fingers in a girlish wave.

You fume in your seat for a minute. So much for appearing uncaring. Whatever, you think, it’s not like you wouldn’t have had to face him eventually. In a setting this intimate, it was inevitable that you would run into him at some point. You will just have to do your due diligence and keep your distance.

Despite this, you still manage to cast one final look his way, having mustered up enough confidence to pull together a sneer. If you can’t give off an air of disinterest, then your next best play is disdain. The contempt is not hard to reach for, but your concern grows for the other guests playing audience to two performances, unwillingly. You wonder if that family friend of the Irori’s from earlier, seated a few rows behind you, has her phone out.

Gojo, whose unwavering stare in your direction at this point could be classified as downright rude for the setting, appears unbothered. More likely amused. His smile is unshakeable. Before you can redirect your attention, he mouths three words that make you go rigid in your seat.

There you are.

The ringing in your ears grows a little louder.

–

When you finally do find a moment of reprieve to make use of the cigarettes you “borrowed” from Shoko, the damage is already done.

As you pace around the enclosed garden beside the art gallery, away from the warmth of the festivities, panic begins to set in. The cool spring night air is sobering and nips at your cheeks.

All it took was one look to rattle the carefully conducted wall around your emotions and suddenly you’re second-guessing your ability to do this. Your strength to be here.

It feels like you have spent so much of the past few years of your life fighting for your independence from Satoru Gojo. There was a time, even before the article was published when the man had had a hand in every aspect of your life. And you had welcomed it. Directionless, spineless, and eager to make something of yourself. You had become a wayward sailor in the sea of post-graduate opportunities and Satoru Gojo had positioned himself as your North star.

And there was no doubt about the way your life had flourished when you let him. Not just the parties and the lavish gifts and the recognition.

The power that came with being associated with Satoru Gojo, even as a young college student and recent graduate, was unimaginable. But what you had been hooked on the most was his recognition, his steadfast attention to you, once earned. His belief in your craft. That kind of rare affection, the feeling of being seen - of belonging - had been his greatest gift to you. And that affection had buried itself so deep into your heart that once it had blossomed, it was nearly impossible to manage, and even more difficult to weed out.

You think of dark hair and amber eyes, and the warning that was afforded to you too little too late.

The cigarette, slightly bent from your pocket, trembles in your fingers while you dig through the other pocket for a lighter. Silently thanking whoever it was that made the rare decision to stitch pockets onto a dress.

You seclude yourself to a bench furthest from the garden entrance, take a deep, shaky breath, and flick the lighter to life. More than five years later, he can still get a rise out of you and it hurts .

“You know you can’t return the dress if it smells like smoke.”

Speak of the devil. Gojo's voice, dripping with amusement as he approaches, cuts through the relative peace. He startles you, the unlit cigarette fumbling to the ground from your feeble hold. You don't turn around, the anger simmering in your belly threatening to boil over.

"Still haven't learned to handle your nerves, I see."

"This isn't about nerves," you finally manage, voice tight.

"Oh, come now," he chuckles, leaning against the railing a few feet away. "Don't tell me seeing me doesn't stir a pot or two."

You clench your fists, the cigarette forgotten between them. "It shouldn't."

"No?" He steps closer, resting a hand on the furthest corner of the bench, yet very nearly leaning over you. Stopping a safe enough distance away, but still close enough to impose himself upon you. You don’t have to look to know that he sports that same teasing, knowing smile you’ve seen plastered on magazines and across news headlines for years. Your inability to see his eyes always makes it appear more menacing than not.

"I’m glad it’s not a problem then. I wouldn’t want things to become awkward between us.”

Clearing your throat and pocketing the lighter, you fight the urge to kick your aggravator in the shins. Utahime’s words come back to you. I’m less worried about what you’ll do when you see him, than what Gojo will do when he sees you. She should be more worried about me, you think as you finally turn to face him, wearily sizing him up from your seated position. It’s unfair that he’s still gorgeous after all this time. Rumors of enhancement drugs and body modifications chase him constantly, but you know better. Muscles built from years of hard work and relentless discipline flex and strain under the fabric of his dress shirt, smooth skin peeking from the collar of the top two buttons undone. You avert your eyes.

“You clearly still are unable to recognize when somebody wants to be alone,” you chide. “But other than that, no hard feelings, Gojo-san.”

“Gojo- san ?” The young man gasps dramatically, clutching his chest above his heart as though he’s been shot. “Such formalities! I thought we were friends.”

He says your name and it takes everything in you not to shoot off of the bench and break for the door. Torn between your fight or flight instincts as he makes himself comfortable on the bench beside you, folding one long leg over the other.

“Must’ve been excited to see me again, since you’re learning the language ‘n all. Who’s your teacher?”

You scoff. “Duolingo.”

“Ah. The wretched bird app. The final boss.”

“Need a tutor?” He tests his limits, broad enough to lean over and bump your shoulder with his own without moving too much when you don’t dignify him with a response. You don’t budge either, careful to keep your expression blank, your posture ramrod straight.

You can do this. You can be civil.

“Keeping me at arm’s length I see.”

You wonder how difficult it would be to knock him out and hide him somewhere in the garden underbrush, this man twice your size in stature, if only to gain some semblance of peace for the rest of the dinner. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You still haven’t eaten.

Taking that as your cue to stand, you brush your clammy palms across the front of your dress and fix Gojo with a steely look. “I would appreciate it if you could keep things professional between us tonight. And tomorrow. As colleagues.”

“Colleagues?” He can hardly hide the laughter in his voice. The condescension in his tone is clear nonetheless. “Sure, sweetie. Is that what you told them?”

Them as in your mutual friends. As the one who greenlit the finished copy of your infamous undergraduate article, Utahime knows only slightly more than the average weekly paper reader about the months that led up to its printing. Caught glimpses of how your closing chapter in college shaped and broke you, then launched your career into an unimaginable trajectory all within the short period of a spring semester. You had only been able to come partially clean about the nature of your relationship with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto in the years that followed, long after you had cut ties with the industry.

The tabloid media and its avid followers had enough to say about you. You didn’t need to hear it from your actual colleagues either.

“I’ve told them enough,” you bristle, spotting your discarded cigarette in your periphery and getting agitated all over again. “And you will tell them nothing-,”

“Relax, relax.” He cajoles. Gojo's laughter hangs heavy in the air, stinging like a mosquito bite. You hold his gaze steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

"Fine," he finally says, a playful glint still lingering in his amber eyes. "Truce it is. For now."

Gojo studies you for a moment, raking you in from head to toe as though trying to commit you to memory. You, arms crossed, hip cocked to one side, avoiding his gaze and flushed with irritation as you try to make a quick and dry escape. He wishes he could somehow reach inside your chest and pull on the loose thread he knows will unravel you.

Instead, he rises with a flourish, the movement sending a tremor through the ground beneath your bench. Having stolen your intention to leave first for the sake of having the last word, you watch him saunter back towards the building, as quietly as he came for someone so lanky, hands shoved casually into his pockets. Before he crosses the threshold, he says your name again, and you hate the way it still sounds perfect coming from his lips.

“It’s good to see you again.”

As he disappears through the doorway, a sliver of relief washes over you, leaving a cold dread in its wake. You make sure he’s gone for good before you pick up the cigarette again and snatch the price tag off of your dress.

The name cards look back mockingly at you from the dining table, your name typed in a dainty serif script and printed on cardstock too expensive to burst into flames from your glare alone. On the table is a matching one, delicately placed across from the one person you’ve tried your best to avoid all night. Seated at the head of the table with the love of her life, Utahime pointedly avoids your pleading looks, while you do the same to the giant man squeezed between two of Shoko’s aunts in front of you, pouting just as poorly.

The guests who aren’t a part of his usual entourage (his assistant and PR manager stand stiffly off to the side of the room, as though trying to blend into the wallpaper) are torn between overtly fawning over the new couple and not-so-covertly fawning over the basketball player. Gojo appears all too comfortable appeasing Utahime’s young cousins between heartfelt toasts given by closer friends and family. They gush at the slightest flex of this man’s biceps and find a little too much amusement in his jokes, much to the bride’s chagrin. You resist the urge to gag while you eat.

Yet as he works the crowd with his little sideshow, he still finds ways to coax your attention back to him whenever it wanders off too long for his liking. Laughing a little too loud. Accidentally kicking your shin under the table. Accidentally scooting forward too abruptly, shoving the surface so that it presses into your ribs, causing you to sputter into your drink. All done with that teasing, unapologetic smile playing on his lips.

Drinking on an empty stomach hasn’t served you well tonight, yet under the weight of Gojo’s constant attention, you grasp your fork in one hand and another wine glass in the other like a lifeline.

Dinner goes by smoothly, for the most part.

You down the rest of your wine with a grimace, the sweetness doing little to quell the rising tide of nausea threatening to erupt. The world feels pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, but the sharp awareness of Gojo's presence across the table cuts through the haze like a spotlight.

His amusement has morphed into something closer to concern, a flicker in his cerulean eyes that you can't quite decipher from behind the dimness of his shades. You clench the wine glass a little tighter, the condensation slick against your palm.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over you, accompanied by a horrifying pressure in your bladder. The three glasses of wine you've downed on an empty stomach are starting to make their unwelcome presence known.

Panic claws at your throat. There's no way you can make it through the endless stream of toasts and speeches with this bladder situation. You shoot a desperate glance around the table, hoping for a discreet escape route.

Utahime, bless her oblivious soul, is busy clinking champagne flutes with the Shoko’s parents. Shoko, on the other hand, seems to have noticed your distress. She raises an eyebrow in your direction, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. You mouth a silent plea for help, hoping it doesn't translate to "hold my hair" territory.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, simply nods and subtly gestures towards the back of the room. Relief floods your system, momentarily pushing the pressure in your bladder to the background. You manage a weak smile of thanks in Shoko's direction before excusing yourself from the table.

"Just need some fresh air," you mumble to Gojo, his presence looming large across the expanse of the table. He raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn't press the issue. An uncle swoops in before he can address you, eager to grill him on the plays made in his most recent game, on the odds of his team winning the next.

Clutching your stomach, you weave through the maze of tables, the polite murmurs of the guests a distant hum in your ears. The borrowed dress whispers its disapproval with every movement you make. You finally reach the back of the room, a secluded hallway leading to what you hope are the restrooms.

As you stumble towards your salvation, the world tilts precariously on its axis. You grab onto the nearest wall for support, willing the dizziness to subside.

Suddenly, a strong hand shoots out and steadies your arm. You look up to find Gojo standing there. Worry looks foreign etched onto his usually carefree face.

"Are you alright?" His voice is surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual teasing lilt.

You open your mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a weak groan. The pressure is unbearable now, threatening to become a full-blown disaster.

"Bathroom?" Gojo asks, already guiding you down the hallway with surprising ease.

You nod mutely, following him with the grace of a newborn giraffe.

"Second door on the left," he mutters, his voice a low murmur close to your ear. He pushes open the door and ushers you inside before you can even react.

You stumble into the cool, brightly lit restroom, practically falling onto the nearest stall. But when you turn to close and lock the door, Gojo’s hand is already there, stopping you mid-way.

“Gojo-san,” you startle as he pushes his way into the cramped stall. You back away in a clumsy attempt to make room for yourself, only to nearly fall into the toilet basin when the back of your knees hit the lid. “Gojo, wait -,”

"You know," he says, amusement creeping back into his tone, as he looms over you. You hear rather than see the lock click in place behind him. "There were simpler ways to get me alone."

At this point, your legs are squeezed together with little hope of alleviating the rising pressure in your lower stomach. You want to strangle him. But given your current state, a withering glare is the best you can muster.

"Get out," you croak, collapsing onto the closed toilet seat. He tuts like a disappointed parent as you groan and fend off his growing proximity with weak swats of your arms.

He chuckles softly. "Take your time. We can wait here when you come out."

"We?" you echo, surprised. Mortified. The ringing in your ears returns, in full force.

"Yeah," comes his breezy reply. "Remember, professional colleagues and all that? Besides, wouldn't want you to collapse on your way back to the table, now would we?"

“Gojo-,”

He sucks his teeth. “C’mon, babe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saying I lost pissing privileges?”

“Gojo, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” a slick look of satisfaction crosses his face when he notices you finally drop the formal title, one more barrier of familiarity extinguished. “Now piss.”

All at once, the frustration and anxiety that had been brewing all night wells up inside you at the height of your duress. You launch at him with what little movement you can afford, but Gojo is faster. He’s quick to pin you against the stall, one arm braced across your shoulders, the other splayed against your lower abdomen. Threatening to press right on the growing balloon of pressure that is your bladder. You immediately wrench back in fear. From his vantage point, Gojo admires the way the wine flush that once populated your cheeks now spreads down past your neckline.

“Do I have your attention now?”

next>>

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #basketball!au #pleaser #geto x reader #gojo x reader #stsg x reader #gojo satoru x you

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Title: cruel summer | chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Join a tag list

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: This is the end! Thank you all so much for enjoying this little fic that I have loved writing. Requests are open if you have anything you wanna see in the future 🥰

Additional Tags/Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (23F and 38M), mild/moderate angst (resolved!), alcohol consumption, discussions of family dynamics, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), slight fem dom?, dirty talk, pet names. Let me know if any are missing!

You don’t hear from Joel the next two days, save for the text he’d sent the night he dropped you off at your apartment with a broken heart. He said he’d fix this and god, you want to believe him. But silence doesn’t feel promising.

Your dad has called no less than twenty times since that night. You’ve let them all rot away in your voicemail graveyard. You don’t have the motivation to do much besides sit on the couch for your daytime crying and move back to your bed for your nighttime crying before exhaustion finally wins and you fall asleep.

There’s a knock at your door on the third day, but you don’t make any move to answer it. You hear the key turn in the lock and your mom enters the apartment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently, setting down an armful of groceries in the kitchen before sitting beside you on the couch, smoothing your unwashed hair from your face with a gentle hand. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but I think I know the answer.”

Tears prick at your eyes. “It hurts, mama.”

“I know, baby,” she murmurs. She pulls your head to her chest. “Have you heard from Joel? Or your daddy?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything from Joel. Dad’s called a bunch, but I…I don’t wanna talk to him, mama. He was so mean.”

“You gotta think about where he’s coming from. You’re his only baby, his little girl. He’s having a hard time separating the baby he used to rock to sleep from the woman who can make her own choices. And he reacted with the heart of a dad, not the brain of a logical man.”

You sniff. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know. You don’t have to forgive him. I’m spittin’ mad at the man myself. But I just wanted you to know.” She presses a kiss to your head. “Now, help me put those groceries away. I have somewhere I gotta be in an hour.”

________

Joel nervously scrapes at the paper label on his beer bottle as he waits for his lunch guest to arrive. He’s been a wreck the past couple of days, trying to keep it together in front of Sarah while his mind wanders to you, your last words to him ringing in his ears.

I love you, Joel Miller. I hope you find it in you to not be a coward and love me back.

That’s exactly what he intends to do. He just needs someone on his side.

Which is why he texted your mom a few nights ago, asking if he could talk to her.

The woman in question approaches the table and Joel stands to greet her, holding an arm out for a handshake. She only rolls her eyes, pulling him into a hug that surprises him. When she seats herself, the waiter swings by and takes her order for a glass of Chardonnay before leaving the two of them to stare at each other.

“So. Joel Miller. You love my daughter, huh?” She asks. He swallows nervously.

“Yes, m’am.”

“And my husband was an asshole to you about it?”

He considers his response. “It..uh..could have gone better.”

She nods. The waiter drops off her wine glass and she takes a dainty sip. “Well. Tell me the whole story.”

So he does. He leaves out the more salacious bits, because your mom doesn’t need to know about what happened in her kitchen, instead focusing on how you drew him in with your sweet disposition and he was helpless to avoid falling in love with you. He tells her about bringing Sarah over and how you played with his little girl like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He talks about the trip to the aquarium. He mentions his stupid attempt at pushing you away.

“And I can’t do that again, m’am. I don’t want to. I told your husband that she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since Sarah was born, and I meant every word.”

The whole time, she stays quiet, sipping her wine. Occasionally, a small smile will pass across her lips.

“You know, my own daddy didn’t like my husband when he first met him. Thought he was a no good troublemaker. I think my husband forgets that he’s just as in love with someone’s daughter as you are with mine. And one day someone will love your little girl, and you’ll think they’re not good enough for her, too. It’s the curse of being a father.”

Joel nods, unsure of what to say. Your mom finishes her glass of wine before continuing.

“I think you should join us for dinner tonight, Joel. And I promise to change the gun safe code before you get there.”

________

Joel shows up at your parents house with a bottle of wine and enough nervous energy to power a small city. He feels like he might throw up as he waits for someone to answer the door.

Thankfully, it’s your mom. He hands over the bottle of Chardonnay he brought and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Chin up. You got this,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him to the living room.

Your dad is sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in hand as he staunchly refuses to meet Joel’s eyes. He takes a seat in one of the accent chairs.

“My wife says I owe you an apology,” your dad says. “And that I need to get my head out of my ass before I lose it up there for good.”

Joel has to fight back his laugh, biting his lip hard.

“I just want my daughter to be happy. And she’s right, she’s an adult now. I forget, sometimes,” he continues. “She used to ask me to check for monsters under her bed and in her closet. Hard to believe that same girl is about to graduate college. Become a doctor. Save the world. All the best things I always wished for her. And I also used to wish she’d find someone to love her. And I can’t begrudge you for being that person. So, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Your mom shouts from the kitchen. Your dad rolls his eyes.

“For being an asshole. And ruining your date,” he grumbles. He drains the rest of his drink.

“Thank you, sir,” Joel replies. Your mom enters the living room.

“Excellent. Now, come on, Joel. Let’s talk New Year’s Eve plans.”

________

It’s New Year's Eve and your mom showed up at your apartment just after dinner with a garment bag and a stern expression.

“You are coming to the party, young lady,” she insists. “Now get in the shower.”

You do what she asks with heavy limbs. You still haven’t heard from Joel. Your dad’s phone calls have stopped. You’re not exactly looking forward to seeing him tonight.

When you get out of the shower, your mom is wielding your blow dryer like a weapon. You sit at your desk while she styles your hair for you. You do your makeup under her watchful eye, then slip into the shiny silver dress she brought for you.

“Gorgeous. Come on. Let’s go.”

She hustles you into the passenger seat of her car and drives to her house. There’s a whole line of cars parked along the curb, and you groan at the idea of having to mingle with their friends.

“Alright, in you go, chop chop,” your mom says, shooing you from the vehicle. You enter the bustling house, forcing a smile as some of your dad’s business colleagues and your mom’s friends say hello, pulling you into hugs and cheek kisses.

Your mom brings you a glass of champagne, pulling you along at her side as she talks with her guests. When the doorbell rings, your mom politely asks you to answer the door.

When you do, you feel like you’re hallucinating. Standing on the front porch is Joel, dressed in a suit, his wild curly hair slicked back and his face clean shaven.

Christ, the man can wear a suit.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

Seemingly out of nowhere, your dad appears beside you. “Hey, Joel! Come on in, can I get you anything to drink?”

You look between the two men, feeling like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. Have you missed something?

Your dad shakes Joel’s hand, all smiles, and your questions only multiply. Joel squeezes your hip as he passes by, following your dad to the kitchen for a drink. You trail behind them, confused as hell as you watch them chat like they’re old friends and your dad pours him a glass of whiskey.

“Uh, Joel?” You ask. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies. He excused himself with your dad and you lead him upstairs to your childhood bedroom, his palm hot on your lower back.

In your room, you shut the door and take a deep breath. “Joel, what’s happening?”

“I fixed it,” he says, setting his glass down on your old dresser.

“You fixed it,” you repeat incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, stepping closer and slipping an arm around your waist, “I’m all in. No more runnin’. No more secrets. No more bein’ a coward. It means I’m yours, and you’re mine, and nothin’ is gonna change that.”

You blink at him. “But…my dad—“

“Met with him and your mom. Had some good talks. He just wants you to be happy, baby. He did threaten that he knew a good place to hide a body if I hurt you, though.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Or text me?”

“Because when I came back to you on my knees beggin’ for forgiveness, I wanted to have everythin’ squared away.” He drops down to one knee, then the other, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his as his hands grip your hips. “So, can you forgive me, baby?”

You smirk. “I could probably be persuaded.”

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, trailing a hand up your calf. “You want me to earn it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice already breathy and your core clenching in anticipation. “I think you owe me a real thorough apology, Joel.”

He grins at you as his fingers reach the hem of your dress, urging it up your thighs until it’s bunched around your waist, exposing your panties underneath. He gently pulls them down your legs, eyes glued to your face as he does. He urges you to step out of them once they’re around your ankles.

Tossing them to the side, he lifts one of your legs and situates it on his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. “Was goin’ crazy without you.”

“Less talking, more apologizing,” you demand, breathing already labored.

He huffs a laugh against your skin before angling his face toward your center, his nose brushing your needy clit as he licks a broad stripe through your folds, his tongue dipping into your entrance. Your head drops back against the door with a groan.

“You gotta be quiet, can’t have all those nice people downstairs knowin’ you’re gettin’ your pussy devoured, huh, baby?”

You bite your lip to hold your noises as he returns to his apology, licking and sucking and biting at you until you’re a writhing mess.

“Joel!” You whisper-shout, tugging on his hair. “Want your cock, baby, please?”

His lips are shiny with your essence as he stands, hands working his belt and fly open in quick succession. He presses a messy kiss to your lips as he frees his cock, an arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up, your legs automatically circling his hips. His hot length slides against your clit and you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed in his kiss.

He presses you against the wall so that he can use one hand to position his cock at your dripping entrance, pressing his hips forward to drive himself inside you. Your arms cling to his shoulders as you gasp at the stretch.

“Christ, darlin’,” he whispers against your neck. “I’m not gonna last long like this.”

“Don’t care,” you reply, swiveling your hips in an attempt to get him to move. “Come on, baby, you’re not gonna make me cum standing still.”

Joel chuckles darkly, drawing back and slamming harshly up into you, the power of it knocking the breath from your lungs. He pounds into you harshly, his hands sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises on the skin of your hips and ass where he holds you to drag you over his length.

“Touch yourself, pretty girl, I need you to cum with me,” he demands. You slip a hand between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with little finesse as you work in tandem with Joel to reach your release.

It shatters over you in a consuming wave, your legs going tight around his waist as you lean forward to bite your scream into his shoulder. You feel his cock pulse inside of you as he presses in deep, his release warm as it fills you to the brim.

You slump against him, boneless in the aftermath. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder before gently lowering you to the ground, an arm looped around your waist to support you as you try to stand on shaky legs.

He tucks his softening cock away into his boxers, pulling his pants up. He locates your panties on the brown and kneels down to help you step back into them.

“Not gonna steal this pair?” You tease. He nips the inside of your knee in retaliation.

“Only because I’m not about to send you out in your parents house with my cum dripping down your thighs,” he replies, situating the fabric on your hips before pulling your dress back down over your thighs. When he stands, he pulls you into a deep kiss, his palms framing your cheeks. “I love you,” he says as he pulls back.

You grin at him, smoothing your fingers through his mussed hair. “I love you, too.”

________

You rejoin the party, your hand in Joel’s as he leads you to the kitchen for a drink refill. It’s nearing midnight, and your dad has turned on the TV in the living room to the ball drop in anticipation.

The man in question is in the kitchen with your mom, the two of them flushed from their drinks and the heat of the full house. Your dad gives you a tentative smile.

“Hi,” he says as the two of you approach. You release Joel’s hand to pull him into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers.

“I know. Thank you, dad,” you reply. You don’t miss the shine in his eyes when you pull back and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he tells you.

The noise in the house starts to grow as the ball begins to drop, the countdown echoed in chorus by the party goers. Joel hands you a glass of champagne, pulling you into his side as he starts to join in.

“3…2…1! Happy New Year!!”

Joel tilts your face to his, planting a kiss to your lips, in front of everyone. When you pull away, your mom tugs you into a hug and your dad shakes Joel’s hand, both men smiling.

And you can’t help but think how amazing it is that one summer can change your whole world.

Tag list: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @lovebandrry @str84pedro @daddy-din @missgurrl @paleidiot @mattmurdock1021

#no use of y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel x reader #cruel summer #complete fic #complete

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whoisneo404 · 8 months ago

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Hiiii! Could I possibly recommend a short fic between Nick and a reader that’s never seen snow before? Like maybe their from the south, or maybe even a country that doesn’t get much snow. I’ve had this brain rot of this for a while and I just can’t escape from it 😭

Snow day.

Summary: while you and Nick play videogames until you notice it started snowing, so he decides taking you out to experience your first snow fall.

Tw: cursing. Suggestive joke.

Note: YES, I took inspiration from heartstopper, I love heartstopper.

‘’You know, choosing another character won’t help you win.’’ I look at the screen as Nick is trying to decide on another character because ‘the last one was too slow’.

‘’Actually, it does matter which character you choose.’’ He finally chooses Wario, the screen changes to the countdown for the race.

‘’I know, but it’s not that much. I think you are just bad at the game.’’ I make fun of him and he punches my arm playfully.

‘’I’m not, you are just a fucking nerd who is obsessed with Mario kart.’’ I can tell he rolled his eyes at me; I don’t even need to look at his face, I know him so well.

‘’You are such a bad loser.’’ The race starts and I let him take the lead, hoping he will win at least one race.

‘’I’m not, you are just too good at this game. It’s not fair, you should play blindfolded or something.’’

‘’Uhhh, kinky. Okay, I don’t mind you blindfolding me.’’ I laugh when I see him blush.

‘’Shut up, you know what I mean.’’ He playfully pushes me and I laugh even more, and when I look at him to see his blushed cheek behind him, I see the white layer covering the trees and street. ‘’Hey, not cool. Why did you let me win?’’ He turns to face me and I don’t look back at him, my gaze is fixated on the way the snow falls and covers everything outside. Nick turns around eventually, then grabs my hand and pulls me to his room.

‘’What are you doing?’’ He opens his closet and throws a jacket and a pair of gloves at me.

‘’What? You don’t want to play on the snow?’’ he smiles at me while putting on his gloves. I feel my cheeks turning red and I nod while starting to put on the jacket and he gloves. ‘’Let’s go, I have been waiting for this.’’

Nick drags me outside. The cold air hits my face and I let out a sigh, I step in the snow and start smiling, its different from what I imagined but not a lot. Nick drops my hand and walks a few steps ahead of me, bending down to grab some snow and molding it into a ball.

‘’Oh no, don’t you dare throw that at me.’’ I start panic laughing as I also grab a bit of snow and form a ball with it.

‘’Or what? I’m not scared of you.’’

‘’You should.’’ I say and I throw the snowball at him, hitting his left arm. He makes a shocked face and I laugh; his arm immediately goes up and throws his snowball at me, hitting my back because I turned around. He burst into laughter; we start running around his yard while throwing snow at each other.

After some time, Nick walks to me and hugs me by the waist, I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his red cheeks. ‘’I love you.’’ He whispers to me.

‘’I love you more.’’

‘’Not true. I love you more.’’ His lips touch mine; he kisses me softly. Then he pushes me, I trip and fall into the ground. Nick laughs a bit and then lays beside me. ‘’Do you like the snow? Is it what you expected?’’

‘’I like it. But I think I am enjoying it because I’m with you.’’ He smiles warmly at me and grabs my hand.

‘’I know, I’m the best company.’’ He kisses my cheek.

‘’You know what we should do?’’

‘’What?’’

‘’We should build a snowman.’’ I giggle.

‘’Oh god no. I’m so bad at that shit.’’

‘’I know. That’s why I was thinking on covering you in snow.’’ I turn my head around smiling.

‘’Nop, never. Over my dead body.’’ Nick stands up before I can grab him, so we start running around the place again. To other people we might seem like two idiots in love, and they are not wrong, we are idiot and we are in love.

‘’Come here Nicolas! I want to make you a snowman!’’ He throws snow at me and I laugh as I try to catch him.

‘’Touch me and I’ll murder you!!’’

#nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x male reader #sturniolo triplets x reader

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thedeviltohisangel · 9 months ago

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Can you do a request for John Egan where a new recruit calls the reader “the major’s girl” in front of them both despite the fact that they aren’t together, just obviously in love with each other?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): A Feeling I Want To Get Used To

chapter 1 chapter 2 interlude 1 chapter 3 interlude 2 interlude 3

a/n: ok tooth rotting fluff. john egan is literally holding on by a thread. which also means my brain wants to put him through hell. if anyone is feeling devious and wants to talk about a spook/bucky disagreement please reach out. let me know your thoughts, interlude requests still open!

Cass was used to whispers and shadows. Sought comfort in them even. You’d be surprised what you learn when people think you’re not around. It was how she learned she’d been given the nickname of Spook. How she had learned Colonel Huglin was coughing up blood. It was also how she learned that, apparently, she belonged to Major John Egan.

She was sorting through her mail at Mary’s desk when her ears prickled with the sounds of whispers coming down the hall. When she heard her name, she paused her sorting momentarily but regained herself.

“...and then apparently he laid her down on top of the table and kissed her right there!”

“No! Lieutenant Cooper would never be so public.”

“Maybe Major Egan is driving her that crazy.” There was giggling that drifted away as they turned down a separate hallway away from Cass. It was not like her and John were trying to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret. He would bring her flowers every morning and they sat together in the mess hall for almost every meal. But they hadn’t been dancing at the base social club or kissed each other on the airfield for all to see. She was certain John would if the idea crossed his mind. Was certain he would do it right this very second if she asked. But she didn’t like being the topic of gossip.

“Find everything you were looking for, Lieutenant?” The secretary came from around the corner and sat back at her typewriter.

“Yes, Mary, thank you.” Cass turned to go but stopped short, unable to help herself. “Mary, I do have a question for you. Were Major Egan and I a topic of conversation amongst the girls last night?”

“Lieutenant-” Mary, for her part, was blushing furiously.

“I’m not asking because I’m upset. Just curious.”

“I didn’t confirm or deny anything, promise ma’am. But the girls all have such a crush on Major Egan and they’ve noticed you two spending time together. And someone mentioned maybe seeing you two at the pub in town and before we knew it, we were planning your happily ever after.”

“Oh.” Cass’ words were catching in her chest. Her heart hammering at the notion that not only had people noticed the something between her and John but that they were writing their own fairytale of it. “Well, on his good days, I do suppose he has a certain Prince Charming quality to him.” They both giggled.

“I promise, Lieutenant, it was just girls chatting.” Cass tapped the stack of envelopes on the desk a couple times.

“Thank you for your honesty, Mary. Enjoy the rest of your day, will you?” She slid her own pair of aviators over her eyes as she stepped out into the morning sun. “John, John, John.” Even the sound of his name put a smile on her face. Happily ever after indeed.

----

John was antsy. Gale was watching him with a toothpick between his lips. The rest of the boys were either dancing with a girl, talking about dancing with a girl or huddled together laughing over training stories.

“I don’t understand, Bucky. She said she wasn’t feeling like going out tonight. You shouldn’t be surprised she isn’t here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it.”

“Your pouting is ruining the night for the rest of them.” John scanned the room and they all seemed fine enough.

“Where’s that girl we were looking at the other day?” Two younger men walked past Bucky and Gale and took a spot at the end of the bar.

“James told me they call her Spook.” John’s eyes whipped to the side so quick it made him dizzy. “If she shows tonight, I’ve got to have enough of these to ask her to dance.”

“I’m not sure, Robbie. That nurse I was dancing with said she heard Spook is Major Egan’s girl.”

“Well, if that was my girl, I’d make sure there were no questions about it.” Gale readied himself to intervene in whatever was about to ensue.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s get a couple of things straight.” John squared his shoulders and held himself to his full height. His threatening words were never able to make it out of his mouth as he watched the two plebeians in front of him look over his shoulder in both shock and awe.

Cass had decided that no one was going to wonder about John and her after tonight. The entire time he had been giving her all of him. Open and honest about what he wanted and willing to go at whatever pace she dictated. In return, Cass had interpreted their dynamic as him trying to find a crack in her armor. To expose the real her. She had been fighting to regain the upper hand. Barely treading water trying to work through the feels he stirred up. But she didn’t want there to be any ambiguity. For him or for anyone else. John Egan was hers. And she was his.

The whole room had gone silent, even the saxophone squeaking out a wrong note, as she stood in the doorway in a red dress looking like a pin up they would paint on the side of a fortress. It was slightly off her shoulder, John drooling over the sight of her bare collarbones, the fabric hugging every inch down to her hips before flaring out into a skirt.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she whispered to herself as her heels carried her over to the bar. She waved away the Coca Cola he went to place in front of her. “Something stronger tonight. A double.” It went down in one go, Cass afraid to turn around and face the crowd again.

“Cassandra Ann Cooper, you are the most phenomenally beautiful, gorgeous, angelic woman I have ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.” John had love in his eyes. That was the only way she knew how to describe it. And, God, if she didn’t think her eyes were showing love right back.

“Thank you. I’m not used to all these eyes on me.” His eyes flicked down to the empty shot glass on the bar before flickering back to her.

“We can get out of-” His hand was running from her bicep to her wrist to her hand, ready to whisk her somewhere far, far away if that is what she wanted. She shook her head.

“No. That’s the exact opposite of the reason why I came and wore this dress.” She thought back to the hyperbolic version of her date she had heard this morning. Thought back to Mary saying someone thinks they might have seen them. Cass worked in the shadows but she didn’t have to live in them. “Dance with me?” She grabbed his hand before he could answer, as if he would have ever thought to say no, leading him out onto the floor just as the band was beginning to switch to something slow.

“Cass, not that I’m complaining, but did I miss something?” One arm wrapped and settled around the small of her back and the other held their interlocked fingers to his chest.

“Have you noticed people whispering about us?” He thought back to the airmen at the bar.

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it’s my fault for not being as forward or open-”

“Cass-”

“-but I want everyone to know you’re mine.” She felt his heart skip a beat under her hand. “That is, if that’s okay with you.” Words failed him so he chose action. Afraid the word he felt and meant but couldn’t say would slip out.

John held her face between his hands and groaned at the first sweet release of her lips on his. Even with heels on, she pressed onto her tiptoes to get all of him. Cass gripped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer and closer and closer. She could hear the whistles and the cheers but they were muffled by her heartbeat echoing in her ears. He kept her bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away, Cass whining and chasing his lips for more. John obliged her with a laugh, a genuine and happy laugh, barely able to oblige her kissing antics around his smile.

“I’m holding onto my last strand of fucking sanity, Cass, but I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.” She smiled wickedly and kissed him again in the hopes of branding his words onto her skin. John lost himself in her easily. Easier than breathing. Easier than flying. Easier than singing the words to his favorite song while he drove down an open road on the perfect summer evening in Wisconsin.

“You’ve got a little bit of lipstick on, Major.” He looked downright sinful with his swollen lips and blown pupils and her red lipstick smudged against his skin. Cass nuzzled her nose against his sweetly, her eyes closing with the warmth of being with him for all to see. “Hey, John?” He kissed her forehead and held himself there.

“Yeah, angel?”

“I’m yours if you’ll have me.” He wanted to say something cool. Be suave and charming and impressive.

“Never letting you go.” Instead he was truthful. They both just had to get through this damn war first. “Cass, I have to tell you something.”

“Can tell me anything.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek and kissed him again, insatiably high on her feelings for him. Cass knew the word to describe them. But she couldn’t say it. Not when it would devastate her.

“I lov-” His declaration was interrupted by Meatball’s barking as he ran towards them. She dropped to embrace him with a giggle, accepting his kisses and scratching behind his ears. “You’re a horrible wingman, Meatball.” John quickly recovered from his near declaration of his love for her. The word and the feelings that went along with it were simmering in his soul the past few days. He was desperate to tell her. Desperate for her to know the truth behind what she meant to him. John didn’t know how much time they truly had but knew they had to make the most of it.

“Sorry, you were going to tell me something.” She stood back up and twisted her fingers with his. John brought the back of her hand to his lips as he shook his head.

“Not important.”

“Everything going on in that beautiful head of yours is important to me.”

“Don’t let Gale hear you say that,” he mused as he leaned in to kiss her again. Cass looked around and noticed they had been swaying to their own beat as the music had changed around them. “I told him I was jealous that he and Marge were able to create their own world whenever they were together.”

“I think we’ve created our own solar system, John.” One where she was the sun he revolved around. One where he hung the stars in the sky just for her. One where they could build a life together and live forever.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He let the way he kissed her and held her and danced with her express the words he had tried to say. Let the way he carried her back to her billet and brought her flowers the next morning, as he always did, express his promise for tomorrow. Wrote the words on a piece of paper and put her name on the envelope before tucking in his trunk. If anything happened to him, he wanted Cass to have it. Wanted her to know he was hers as long as he had known her. That he had dreamt of an after with her. That as long as he was here, that is what he was fighting for.

John could only hope the universe deemed him worthy of having it.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

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syndrossi · 4 months ago

Note

Luke’s death

yeah, hi, it’s me, AGAIN, because this story has given me brain rot and i can’t stop thinking about it— congratulations, i hope you’re happy bc i’m here to stay dammit (i should really go to sleep)

So I started thinking about how HOTD S1 E10 would go down with the twins once it’s years later and the Greens have usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. (granted, I don’t know the time jump that’s going to happen so for this I’ve decided it’s just 8 years later, so the boys are 16). And how the event surrounding Luke's death would come.

Granted, in this scenario, Aemond did lose his eye, maybe the twins tried to stop it, maybe it wasn't even at Driftmark, but it still happens. I like to think that in the case time travel, the thing about time is that it wants to happen. You can cause ripples but you can't cause waves, not unless it's something big. So until one of them truly does something big, well, events will just continue to happen as they should.

It goes off normally, Rhaenyra loses Visenya, they cremate her, Ser Erryk arrives with the crown, Daemon crowns Rhaenyra and everyone takes a knee. (except Rhaenys of course). Now, for the scene where Jace says that he and Luke should bear those messages to the great lords and Rhaenyra agrees, Jon and Rhaegar share a look. They argue slightly that maybe they should do it since Jace is the heir and Luke is next in line.

Finally, they decide to go in pairs: one of the Queen’s boys and one of Daemon’s boys. I personally vie for Rhaegar wanting to go with Luke to Storm’s End and Jon and he argue about it in private. Jon reminds him of what happens in Storms End, Rhaegar is very much aware of the histories but says that:

1. Jon should be the one to go to Winterfell. He knows it better, he knows how Stark's work, how the North works, and overall just to see it. Besides, who knows if he’ll ever get the chance again with this upcoming civil war?

2. Aemond and Rhaegar got along as children, better than Aemond and Jon (or at least I’m going with that from the last chapter I read). (I also don’t know if they had a falling out when Aemond lost his eye or when J & R sided more with the Blacks). But regardless, Rhaegar is banking on that familiarity that might make Aemond calmer to deal with.

That doesn’t stop Jon from absolutely fighting it though because well, it’s the Baratheon seat, and that makes him nervous for Rhaegar. So, there is a version of this where it’s Jon that goes with Luke instead.

Still, let’s focus on Rhaegar for now. When he and Luke get to Storm’s End, they find Aemond there and in the middle of making a betrothal with one of the Baratheon girls. Maybe Rhaegar thinks he’d be open to a betrothal with one of them if it makes it easier for the Lord to choose Rhaenyra’s side, especially the idea that any children they have could claim one of Dragonstone’s dragons, as they have more than the Greens do. (heavily ironic that other!Rhaegar dies because of a Baratheon and unknowingly, this Rhaegar might consider marrying one. Talk about irony my friends.).

It still doesn’t end well with Luke and R being kicked out but not before Aemond demands Luke’s eye. When Rhaegar tries to dissuade him, Aemond is angry at him, still mad over how the twins went to the Blacks, calling him a traitor and maybe insulting his twin simply because of his hair color maybe? The boys get back to their dragons and sure enough, Vhagar is off and the chase happens. During the flight scene, Qelebrys and Vhagar do heavily injure each other to the point that the dragons will need weeks of rest to heal before getting back out there. As for Luke there’s two ways this could go:

Scenario A:

Daemon and Rhaenyra receive word from Storm’s End about what happened but don’t accept that their sons are gone. I mean Qelebrys is almost as big as Vhagar, surely they got away. They spend days searching until eventually, Qelebrys is spotted either at Sharp Point, Tarth, or Driftmark. She’s there and wounded and so is an exhausted, dehydrated, and traumatized Rhaegar. He’s clutching a torn piece of fabric that Rhaenyra recognizes at Luke’s and with no sight of him or Arrax, it’s easy to draw up the conclusion once Rhaegar starts bawling his eyes at his stepmother who he loves so much. He numbly recalls the fight, how they and the dragons were both on edge, and right when they thought they were free, Vhagar swallowed him. He feels terribly guilty, he thought he could talk Aemond down, he thought with two dragons they could’ve gotten away. He’s so sorry to Rhaenyra that he couldn’t protect her son, one of his close friends and family. I like to think that after that, Rhaenyra doesn’t blame Rhaegar, I mean she loves him and she knows that Aemond’s fury was aimed at Luke. That fury paired with that dragon, there was nothing Rhaegar could’ve done. She hugs him and kisses his head, swearing vengeance on Aemond.

There is definitely a deep dark part of Daemon that thinks that Rhaenyra would’ve rather Rhaegar die than Lucerys, he doesn’t bring that up of course, but it could influence their relationship in the upcoming future. Both their sons left and only one came back, surely you would’ve had a preference, but then Daemon also feels like a hypocrite, had it been Luke who came back traumatized over Rhaegar’s demise, would he treat him with as much love as Rhaenyra did his son? He doesn’t have the strength to answer that, he doesn’t want to think it, and it still haunts him. Oh! Bonus material for Harrenhal haunting visions. In the end, Daemon wouldn’t chose either child, he came to love Luke, he loves Rhaenyra, overall it’s loss and terrible and could’ve been avoided which is what makes everything so hard.

Scenario B:

In another version, Luke lives other than one of his legs and a few fingers being bitten off when Arrax is killed. His body is found by Rhaegar fast and they fly to Dragonstone, only to crashland on Driftmark maybe. People see Qelebrys, still nursing her wounds but otherwise protecting the boys from strangers. Word gets to Dragonstone and Rhaenyra and Daemon are there immediately for their boys. I don’t know how it works, but it’d be fun that when a dragon bites someone’s head off or other body parts, it’s burning hot, so when Luke’s leg and fingers were taken off they were also somewhat cauterized which means he doesn’t bleed out as much so that’s how he survive longer until their parents find them. Same vengeance is declared but they’re clearly worried about their children, Aemond had no trouble and no restraint in attacking them on a peaceful envoy mission.

But overall, despite the pain and loss that Luke is feeling, he lost body parts and his dragon, it is mournful and a declaration of war. I also think that Rhaegar is relieved, I mean, the whole reason he was steadfast in going with Luke was to ensure that he lived and he did. So, yeah, not great circumstances but he’s alive, that changes things.

— — — — —

The other version where Jon would’ve been the one to go could mirror Aemond’s rage you could think. It’d be very interesting if Aemond did in fact manage to kill Luke and Arrax (again, on accident if we’re going via show, which I’m fine with because it brings more nuance to the killing. That fear when you remember no one can control the dragons and Aemond had to own it or else have the realm believing he’s lost control to the biggest dragon in the world.) So, yeah Luke and Arrax die but immediately after, Jon is angry. He is blazing with fury and so is his dragon, they don’t give Aemond and Vhagar mercy. Vhagar may be the largest but she’s also the oldest. She’s slower than Jon’s dragon. It makes killing her and Jon driving a sword through Aemond’s eye easier. (YES I’m having Jon do the exact Daemon thing in the end, mirroring both father and son, only the son does it earlier.) I don’t know what Jon might be thinking, other than wrath, but I do think that Jon would’ve preferred Luke to live to be the thing that changes events but he’s dead now so instead, he’ll kill his murderer. Jon does suffer some burns on his arms, maybe he gets the iconic scarring on his face from the books/show, but otherwise, he and his dragon manage to get back to either Driftmark or Dragonstone, exhausted, covered in red and black blood, numb, tired, and just staring off into the sea until one of his parents find him. When both of them arrive and want to know what happened, it sends things into more chaos.

The Green’s lost their prince who was a great swordsman and their biggest dragon.

Rhaenyra lost her son but he was also avenged almost immediately.

Jon has to live with the title of kinslayer, despite the fact that he was killing another kinslayer. It seems like he’ll never be rid of dishonorable titles, he might as well be a bastard again.

A version where Luke lives would be similar to the same scenario that Rhaegar has.

A version where Luke dies and Jon doesn’t kill Aemond would also go down as the same scenario only I picture more anger than depression coming from him, he might be more impulsive. He might follow Rhaenys and Meleys out to Rook’s Rest and not tell anyone because he knows that Aemond will be there, he can take him out while Meleys can easily deal with Sunfyre. And he’ll continue to be more impulsive until maybe Rhaenyra talks with him.

This is all I got so far.

I'm going to go drink some water.

Goodness. Actual Dance era is so far away I've not thought about it tooooo deeply.

If the boys are unable to avert the Dance like they intend to, my own imagined circumstances for the start is actually one where both are at King's Landing when Viserys dies, and they're seized as extremely valuable hostages because a) leverage against Daemon which means leverage against Rhaenyra and b) it keeps their very powerful dragons out of the fight. And perhaps c) they're very popular, so having either declare support for the Greens, even coerced, would sway public opinion. So there would be some escape/rescue arc.

In your scenario, the boys would probably need to be closer to 18 for Jace and Luke to be reasonable emissaries. (That would put them at 15 and 14 respectively.) Good pickup on Aemond favoring Rhaegar; we'll see more on that later. Splitting is a tough sell for them, given the bracelet vow of facing threats together. I could see them arguing, especially with good ties they would have already built with the North, to have safety in numbers and move as a pack from lord to lord.

But if they want to live on the edge/aren't convincing enough about the "strength in numbers strat," I think Jon sends Rhaegar to Winterfell because it's safe and he doesn't trust Rhaegar's safety to Borros Baratheon and doesn't give a damn about who Aemond likes better because he's not negotiating with Aemond. Also because if you want diplomacy at Storm's End to fail, you can't send Rhaegar. He'd run diplomatic circles around Aemond and have Borros convinced somehow that a marriage between one of his daughters and him, the second son of the wrong wife of Daemon's, is superior than one to Aegon's brother, Aemond. (Who is at least third in line to Aegon's throne.)

So they make the "wrong" split. Rhaegar goes to the North which already is likely to support them, and Jon flubs diplomacy at Storm's End, and gets the extra angst of a brother dying or nearly dying because of him and fully igniting the war. (Jon's the type to go for the throat. He would kill Aemond in the hopes of preventing future dragon losses and live with the kinslayer title. And because he went after Jon's little brother.)

Lots of angst potential for all of your scenarios, of course, as you noted!

#resonant asks #sorry this took forever 😞#(in part because strict adherence to the dance is not in the cards as of now)#(there are so many other things/threats happening)#(not that i'd be opposed to a more traditional dance exploration au with the boys at some point)

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highandlow-in-borderland · 2 years ago

Text

Todojima HCs

Pairing: Todoroki x Yuken (High&low: the Worst X)

A/N: Holy fucknuts, I had no idea these would end up being so long. My Todojima brain rot is really starting to show 💀 Also, I know I switch between past and present tense in this, don’t @ me

Thank you times a thousand to @livelaughlovehyunjin for beta-ing this! 💕

They never agreed to meet, but Todoroki and Yuken crossed paths on the dock at least once a week

Yuken always thought Todoroki was indifferent to his presence, but there was one week in April when Yuken stayed home sick

And Todoroki noticed

He found that, while still relaxing, fishing just wasn’t as nice without Yuken around

Because when Yuken wasn’t there, Todoroki couldn’t glance at him every few minutes to take in his pretty profile

And Yuken couldn’t pretend not to notice

And yet—

Each man had convinced himself that there was no way the other one could ever want to be with him, albeit for very different reasons

Todoroki was certain that Yuken was far out of his league, and Yuken believed that Todoroki wasn’t a romantic person, period

They were both wrong

But what to do? After all, Yuken knew that Todoroki often stared at him and ask him where he was when he was away

But that didn’t mean he had a crush…right?

But Yuken is too curious to ignore it

So he starts pushing boundaries

Each day at the dock, he inches closer to the stoic, black-haired person next to him

Todoroki should warn him to keep his distance, lest their fishing lines get tangled up

But he doesn’t

Instead, Doroki asks Yuken one day if he’s hungry, suggesting they pause fishing to go to a street food vendor

Yuken knows better than to miss an opportunity, so he nods nonchalantly

But his heart is pounding

They eat for about half an hour, then walk along the riverfront until well after dark

It’s the first time Yuken sees Todoroki smile, and he thinks there’s no way this is actually happening he is so cute but then—

Todoroki laughs

Yuken says something offhand, and Doroki actually laughs

At the same time that Yuken is thinking he needs more of a smiling Todoroki in his weekly routine, Doroki is thinking to himself that this is the first time in a long time he’s actually had fun

Their conversations run for hours and it becomes increasingly evident that they’re on the same wavelength about a lot in life

Including not talking about their feelings

Todoroki doesn’t want to, and Yuken doesn’t need to

They communicate by acts of service and physical touch

Todoroki starts bringing Yuken coffee at Housen so he can recharge between practice fights

And Yuken learns how to properly bandage knuckles so that he can help Todoroki patch up after brawls

Thinking, Maybe if I hold eye contact while I do this, he’ll get the hint??

Doroki’s breath hitches in his throat the first time Yuken does this

Not only because he’s not used to someone doing that for him, but because it’s Yuken and he’s so close and is he holding eye contact on purpose??

One thing that the two have in common is that no one expects passion from them

Todoroki is unwavering, relentlessly coolheaded, and Yuken is an easygoing jokester

But they love the same way that they fight— focused and ferocious

Even then, Yuken was taken aback at Todoroki’s eagerness the first time they kissed

Because Yuken may be an expert flirt, but Todoroki is full of pent-up Gay frustration

Yuken was watching Todoroki practice kicks on the punching bag in his homeroom at Oya, and the little voice in his head had started to become an impatient scream

He moved away from the wall and stilled the punching bag as Doroki watched, also moving closer without realizing it

But Yuken doesn’t stop at that, stepping closer and closer until the only thing keeping them from each other is the bag itself

And neither of them is certain what’s happening, but they know they don’t want it to stop

Yuken moves around the bag until he can feel Todoroki’s breath across his lips, and he’s sure that Todoroki can hear his heart pounding

Their lips meet and it’s strange at first; unfamiliar

Yuken pulls away first, but only barely, to look at Doroki and make sure that this is real

And then it clicks into place

And Doroki is pulling Yuken back to him by the back of his neck, kissing him with such urgency that Yuken has to wonder if he thought about doing this

They both did, many times, and by the time it happens, it’s long overdue

And fishing is never quite the same

#todoroki x yuken #high and low the worst #high and low the worst x #todoroki #odajima #yuken #todojima #todoyuken

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insidetheravensmind · 2 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing ~ Minho x Reader Genre ~ smut, slightly fluff !!warnings!! fingering, eating out, dumbification, mean and sweet dom! Minho x sub reader. Reader struggles with school. Lots of touching and love but also a little filthy. Cockwarming, mention of cumming inside but doesn’t actually occur. I think that’s really all! Word Count ~ 3,014 Author’s Note ~ Minho brain rot because I want him so bad Requested ~ No Check out my Stray Kids Masterlist Support me by buying me a coffee ☕️ Synopsis: You're struggling in class, and the only one who can help you is Lee Minho.

Just because high school was over doesn’t mean that needing help didn’t exist. University is way different, but when your brain can't comprehend a problem, then you can’t help but ask for help. You knew asking the professor would be pointless because he hadn’t helped countless times before, so when you looked over to a boy that seemed to have an idea, you thought you’d ask him.

“Hey, excuse me,” You started.

He turned to face you. The boy wore a beanie that covered his hair, and he had a slim face; his lips were gorgeously pink and plump. His eyes were catlike with the way they changed shapes when his facial expression changed, and he wore clear square glasses to see.

“Hello, what is it?” He asked in a neutral, but confused tone.

“Do you think you could help me with this assignment? I can’t get used to it.” You asked.

He smiled at you. “I’d be glad to. How about you come over to my place after class?”

“That sounds great, thank you… uh… what’s your name?” You asked.

He smirked. “Minho.”

“I’m Y/N.”

A little bit later when your class finished, you gathered your things and followed Minho back to his place. As you arrived and walked inside, Minho spoke.

“My roommate isn’t here, so you don’t gotta worry about anyone being around.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.”

“Let’s get this started.”

Two questions later, and you still couldn’t get the hang of it. But you couldn’t blame yourself. Before the both of you started working, he changed. He took off his beanie and put on a form fitting black t-shirt as well as black sweatpants that hugged him nicely. He was no longer wearing his glasses, and his hair was roughed up, looking messy. He was really a sight to see.

You were lost in a trance, staring at his hands and the way he wrote on the piece of paper. They looked so nice, so inviting, so fucking delicious. “Y/N, are you getting it yet or not?” He quizzed, snapping you out as his head turned towards you. “You’re not even paying attention.”

“Yes I am!” You argued. You knew you were lying. But he didn’t need to know what you were thinking.

“Don’t lie to me.” He said harshly, his hand moving to your thigh.

The placement of his hand startled you, but you didn’t dare move it away. It sent shivers down your spine and signals to your core that you wanted Minho to fuck you right there.

Looking away from him, quietly, you spoke in your natural submissive state, “I’m not lying to you.” You were always so quick to submit in situations like these. It’s just who you were.

“Oh, Y/N, I know you were struggling, but this simply won’t do.” He turned his body towards you, moving his hand up your thigh while the other lifted to grab your chin, making you look at him.

“Come here, I’m gonna make you pay attention.”

He lifted you up from your chair and made you straddle his thigh, facing towards the desk with the homework splattered over it. His arm reached around you, with a pencil, moving towards the paper.

“Okay, as I was saying…” Minho continued.

But it didn’t matter. Being on his thigh was making it much worse. All you could think about was him fucking you.

While he was demonstrating another example problem, he began to move his leg up and down, specifically the leg you were sitting on. Even though it made no contact with your clit, the mere slight thrust made you let out a quick but loud moan.

You froze. You tried to act like nothing happened. But Minho didn’t seem to notice? He just kept going. Kept demonstrating. So you stayed there. Acting like nothing happened. But then it happened again. This time Minho put his pencil down. You tried to ignore it again, but he picked you up and placed you next to him. He didn’t say a word, so you just sat there.

He returned and sat back down in his chair. He put you back in the position you were before. The same as before. You were confused. What was happening?

“Y/N, close your eyes.” You did as you were told. “I’m gonna see if you can envision this question in your head. Okay?” You nodded. “Okay.”

“So,” Minho started. His hands moved to snake around your body. “Let’s say that…” his hand moved down your thigh, creeping into your crotch. “That I move this hand down here.” You gulped. “Minho, I thought that, I thought that I was gonna envision the problem.” You said, voice shaking. “Oh, you are. Just trust me.” You nodded again.

“As I was saying before. If I move my hand down there, and I move it around this area,” he circles his hand around your clit area. “That makes you react positively to it, correct?” You nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Okay, so if the problem you’re having is down here, then why are we focused on what’s on this paper?” He asked.

You went to move to explain yourself, but he kept you in place. “No, no, I know you WERE struggling with the paper, but that’s not the issue anymore. The issue is that you’re just a little too horny to focus on anything but me.” You gasped. “Minho- I swear that’s not-“

“I said I didn’t like liars.”

You kept stuttering over your words trying to explain yourself while his hands traveled into the waistband of your pants and panties. You moaned as his soft hand made bare contact with your pulsing wet clit. He began to mess with it, slightly tapping it with one finger to see you jump when he hit just the right spot.

“Minho - please - I can’t.” You tried to beg.

“But I think you can.”

He removed his hand from your pants and placed you next to him again. He stood up and grabbed you, throwing you over shoulder in the process.

“Wait, wait, stop, I might hurt you!” You tried to warn.

His response was a harsh slap on the ass.

You moaned.

Spanking always got you going.

He threw you onto his bed. Grabbing your hips and turning you on your stomach. He moved your hips to be facing up with your head pushed down into the mattress.

“Arch your back, baby.” He growled.

You obeyed.

You didn’t know this would happen, but you weren’t complaining. Two sexually frustrated college kids would be willing to fuck anything they could.

Minho grabbed your waistbands again and pulled them off, exposing your entire region to air, to his sight. What he saw was your pulsing clit, your juices spread so beautifully and in the light that they glimmered. His eyes lit up.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

He moved his hand to your clit, gently massaging it in circles.

“Mi-minho, f-fuck!” You moaned as he continued to explore you with his other hand.

“That feel good?” He asked, focused on your clit.

“Yes, fuck, it does.” He smirked to himself while slowly coming to a stop. You moaned into the bed, body calming from the quick rise of action, upset that he stops, but refusing to whine about it. His hands ghosted their way from your hips to your ass and then down your thighs, softly caressing them. You shivered even though you were hot to the touch.

Minho grabbed your hips and turned you over onto your back. He pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned, strong body. You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together to create fiction, and quietly moaned as he threw his shirt across the room into a laundry basket.

He grabbed your thighs and pulled you to him, legs instinctively wrapping around his torso. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Then he reached around and unclipped your bra. He stared at your tits, biting his lip at how soft they looked. He reached down and lightly pinched your nipples which caused you to moan loudly at the contact. He smirked again, watching your reactions only turned him on more.

“Baby, you’re so pretty to watch. I could stare at you all day, love the way you react to my touch.” He said, eyeing you from the top of your head to as low as he could see from his position.

He was standing at the end of the bed with you in front of him, his clothed crotch touching your wet cunt as your breathing increased with each passing moment and his eyes only wandered over each part of you, breathing you in.

“Minho, please, I need you.” You said, lightly pulling him into you.

“I know, darling.”

He grabbed your ankles and removed your legs from his waist. He took a step back, eyeing your pulsing wet area from lack of touch. His eyes were glazed over at such a sight caused by him. He brought his hand up to it, exploring it again with more intensity. He only touched you with one finger, knowing the lack of attention made it hypersensitive. Your breathing hitched, and your body jerked anytime his finger made any sort of contact.

Softly his long, slender finger entered your hole. You felt full solely from that, satisfied that you finally had relief there. He moved it in and out and slowly with a steady rhythm, kneeling down and staring at his movements, occasionally looking at your body and face from above.

You looked heavenly, the way you took what he gave you with no complaints. Enjoying every piece of him that he gave you.

He reached his other hand to lay on the pouch that rested just above your clit, bringing his thumb to gently rub your soft clit.

You were in heaven, in bliss, moving your body to match his light thrusts. He added a second finger, filling you up more, stretching you slightly. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but you adjusted due to his soft nature.

He began going faster after a bit, but his thumb moved at the same pace. You had never felt this way before, such focus on your pleasure alone, as well as speeding up the thrust but keeping pleasurable rubs on your clit. You didn’t know sexual intimacy could feel so wonderful.

“Minho, that feels really nice.” You say as your head rolls around on the bed, body feeling like it was floating and your head starting to soar into the clouds.

“I’m glad, baby.” He says with a smile.

You feel a knot in your body tighten, tension building ready for release at any point. Your breathing was heavy, your body was hotter than ever, and you began to move your body more.

Minho knew you were close, so he increased his pace. You moved to lean on your forearms, pushing your body off the bed, and looking down at the sight. He stared back at you, glazey eyes looking deeply into your eyes, almost like he was trying to stare you back into the bed, back into your submissive headspace.

You let out a loud moan and collapsed back on the bed as his thumb on your clit increased its speed. He smiled, letting out a breath that sounded like a small victory laugh.

Minho removed his thumb from your clit and replaced it with his mouth. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes rolling back into your head as he sucked on your clit finally allowing the knot in your stomach to untie itself. Your hands grabbed onto his head as you moved your pussy in sync with him, trying to ride out this feeling that had never felt so amazing. He focused on you, continuing even after you settled back into the bed, making sure you were fully finished before pulling back.

Minho stood back up, looking down at your figure. You felt so small below him, no matter the difference in figures, you never felt so tiny before. He traced his fingers down your stomach, admiring your beauty from his place.

“Would you like to continue, Y/N?” He asked softly, eyes still wandering over your body. Your name sounded like music the way he said it, so full of care and tenderness.

“Yes, Minho, I want more of you.”

He nodded gently.

“Then more of me you will get.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a condom from one of the drawers. He walked back over to you and pulled your legs apart. You stared at him while he pulled his sweatpants and underwear down and off. He opened the condom and slid it over his dick.

Minho leaned down and softly caressed your cheek. His dick brushed against you, making you jolt at the idea that he’d be inside you soon.

“Are you ready, doll?”

“Yes, Minho.”

He grabbed his dick and began to guide it into your entrance. You moaned at the feeling, starting to be filled was the only thing that could make the burning desire to be fucked by him stop.

“F-fuck! Minho!” You moaned, scratching at his back as he slid in slowly. It took a second before he bottomed out inside you, and when he did, he stayed there for a moment. He found comfort in the warmth, and you found comfort in the fullness. Both of your breaths were unsteady, heavy, and hot. So many feelings, so much satisfaction.

Eventually he grew impatient. He had to move. He kept himself up by his arms, using his hips to slide in and out of you. He didn’t just push in and out of you like everyone else did, he thrusted with his hips properly. It actually felt like there was a rhythm, and there was, and he was hitting every pleasurable spot he could with his skin making contact with your clit every time he thrusted in.

“Baby, you feel so fucking nice. God I fucking love this feeling.” He moaned as his pace quickened.

You groaned. “Min, you have no fucking idea how good this feels!” You arch your back when he snaps back in as he thrusts harshly. “I think I do, baby.”

He changed his stance. He fully pulled out of you, brought you close to the edge of the bed and grabbed a pillow near you.

“Lift your torso.” He said. You do as he commanded.

He placed the pillow underneath you, and you relaxed into it. Your crotch was elevated, and he slid back in.

He started to go at a rough fast pace, but somehow it still had rhythm. He was going feral, but he still had technique. You didn’t think it was possible.

He was fucking you stupid. You couldn’t form coherent words or sentences, they were just noises leaving your mouth every time he snapped his hips back into you, and it got even worse when he began to rub your clit again.

“You think you understand the problem yet? Envision it? Are you still-“ Minho almost breaks you when he thrusts into you and stills for a moment.

“Struggling?”

You moan and he starts back up. The knot in your is retying itself, and he can feel himself getting closer too, ready for his cum to start shooting into the condom. However, with how nice this is, he just wants to cum in you and fill you up.

He smirks at you when he sees the way your eyes roll back into your head with lack of thought.

“I’d ask if you wanted to go back to studying, but I think you’re even dumber than when we started.” You only groaned at his words. He was loving a moment ago, and now he’s degrading you.

And fuck, you loved it.

You couldn’t hold it much longer, you just allowed your body relax and convulse while you climaxed while Minho fucked you. The feeling of your climax sent Minho over the edge and he came too, filling the condom with cum, but fucking you until both yoy and him were fully finished.

When you both calmed, he stilled in you again, waiting for a moment before pulling out.

He removed the condom, tied the top, and threw it in the trash can. He got on the bed and pulled you close. After a bit he asked, “Wanna try to study now that the real problem is out of the way?”

“Yes, I’d love to try.”

He helped you stand up, but held your hand and walked you over to his desk, not bothering to have either of you put your clothes back on.

“Stand in front of my desk.” He commanded.

You stood in the place he told you, and he grabbed his chair and sat in it. His cock was erect again from staring at your naked body.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you onto him, placing you back onto his dick.

“Min-minho! Full!” You yelled, still too dumb to form a proper sentence.

“It’s okay, baby, let’s see if you continue to struggle now.”

He pulled the chair into his desk and grabbed a pencil, pearling over you while you struggled to sit still.

“Alright where were we?”

“Uhhh, I don’t, I don’t remember.” You said honestly.

“Of course you wouldn’t, you’re just a dumb little slut.” You felt more wetness pool, and Minho felt it too.

“Hmmm, so you struggle when I’m not inside you and you struggle when I am inside you. I’m starting to think all you’re useful for is being fucked.”

You had no idea where all this was coming from, but you weren’t complaining. You were more than turned on.

“I’m just gonna keep you on my dick for as long as I please, unless you have a problem?”

You shook your head. “No, no, I don’t, Minho.”

He caressed your sides softly.

“I thought so. I think I enjoy seeing you struggle.”

#stray kids #skz #lee know #lee #know #minho #lee minho #leebit #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz smut

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larz-barz · 1 year ago

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BasilMilo head canons cause the brain rot is going too far lol

@aceofstars0 @aceofstars0 @aceofstars0 @aceofstars0

Basil always keeps his arm around Milo cause it calms her down when she’s nervous.

They make eye contact on accident all the time cause they love each other’s eyes. When they realize, they get super blushy

They LOVE to play with each other’s hair

Basil has really soft hair so Milo is usually gently brushing her fingers through it or braiding it

Basil makes a lot of flower crowns for Milo and she keeps every single one

Milo usually comes back from missions with an assortment of flowers she thinks Basil will like and leaves them in his estate

Basil loves to show Milo how she deserves to be treated by others as she was mistreated for a good portion of her life (not by her parents, by other ppl including her uncle)

Milo has nightmares fairly often and Basil is always there to comfort her.

Basil is the reason Milo started feeling emotions again and he helped her when she was overwhelmed by the amount of strong emotions she felt

Basil thinks Milo is adorable and he wants to pet her so bad but he doesn’t know if she’d be alright with that so he refrains until she states otherwise

When he finds out Milo actually loves being pet and sees it as a source of comfort, he does it all the time cause he loves seeing Milo happy

THEY HUG A LOTTTT

and i mean a lot lol

When they eventually have their first kiss it’s really awkward and quick at first then they kiss again and it’s more natural

did that make sense-? idk

They say I love you a lot. Like, they don’t overdo it but they make sure their partner knows that they love them

Have I mentioned how protective Basil is of Milo? I don’t think so-

Basil is mega super ultra protective of Milo, especially after finding out about her uncle

Milo is also really protective of Basil of course, she was extremely worried the whole time he was gone fighting Akaza

They’re terrified of losing each other

Basil bby this is the Hashira Milo au, I’m sorry but she’s gonna die with Mui😭

Basil and Milo both dyed part of their hair to match each other

Basil buys Milo lots of gifts after finding out about how her uncle would destroy her stuff

My cat just scared the crap out of me

They have really cute nicknames for each other

Basil calls Milo things like princess, baby, sweetheart, love, and angel

He just seems like the type that would have classic pet names for his partner

Milo calls Basil things like baby, love, my star, my life, and the universe (or my universe)

If Milo were to ever tell Basil that she can hold the universe in her hands then pick him up he’d get so flustered and so would she

They fight really well together in battle, but because of how they are, they never get paired in missions

They sing together a lot

They spent a lot of time pining before actually getting together

It was very obvious they loved each though

Considering not having hashira au Milo die in this version of it cause they deserve happiness

Not saying she doesn’t in the regular hashira Milo au, cause she definitely does but like, Basil and Haia don’t meet in the purple streak au soo- yall get what i’m saying?

A/n: Alright! I think that’s a good place to stoppp!!<333 This definitely helped with my brain rot lol:3

(Ace is your BasilMilo brain rot as bad as mine or is mine way worse?;-;)

#hehehehe #basil x milo #basilmilo #larz talks #lala rambles #hehehehehehehehe #meowww #basil kocho #milo suzuki #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #meow #teehee #random posts from larz #sort of #i just rlly like that tag and it keeps disappearing #it makes me mad that it keeps disappearing #basil x milo supremacy

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blank-house · 1 year ago

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maybe this is a weird question, sorry! but i was curious about a possible 'rival system'? as the boys each have their own perspective about mc, could they end up with other people or we won't have any kind of 'rivals'? surely this is going too far ahead but idk how the idea just came to me! and while i'm at this, do you think a couple formed by cast's characters could work out? I do think some of them together could have a cute dynamic even if it's just for funsies and not canon! :) thanks anyways 💛

Rivals isn’t something I thought too deeply about tbh. Mostly because the guys, for their own reasons, are the type that won’t look at anyone else if they like you. Or like, they’re the kind of guy that’s got their own problems to even think about liking/being interested in more than one person.

Maybe that stance of mine will change as we flesh out more of their character— but for now I don’t have any rival system in the works!

NOW AS FOR COUPLES BETWEEN THE CAST AHDHDHDHE

I have been sitting on this brain rot for a while. And I mean a while. Like just because MC wasn’t there happily ever after doesn’t mean they can’t have their own with someone who’s also been close to them :,)

Like Elio and Percy are pretty much a solid duo. Cameron and Jamie? Dude, they like caught the Ice King’s attention! They would so work together.

Those two pairings are the most straightforward but haha I can see other pairings working as well because of little things between each characters. That being said I think there are some match ups that are just so out of left field but would be so fucking funny to think of lmao but yeah I think a couple between the cast can work out too!

#keyframes vn #keyframes asks

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jell-0knight · 4 months ago

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Book 4 or whatever. Okay so Mariketa and Bowen. I considered not posting this at all because how much I disliked this book, like, I don’t wanna ruin it for anyone, if anyone even reads this ofc, alas it is still the Internet so I just feel bad. Basically: warning this rant will be not ‘that’ nice.

‘her befuddled mentor Elianna explained, "Horses have powerful legs - but that doesn't mean they're prima ballerinas."’— I can’t even explain why I just thought this quote was neat. *shrug*

I would get little red riding hood vibes at first with the red cloak to hide from the big bad wolf but then it turned more into Snow White with the whole apple and mirror situation. Nothing more nothing less on that note. It was a bit of a blessing and a curse to have started the series out of order since I know who Rydstrom is meant for. I’m like um excuse me sir you’re protective nature is already taken lols but since I scanned a bit of his book beforehand I get to see Rydstrom in a curiously alternate angle even if I found it somewhat annoying how protecting of Mariketa he was especially because they’re essentially strangers. I guess this speaks for his noble actions though right… wink wink

Also Cade smh being flirty boy, return to your designated love match sir. I’m going to tell on you. Joking, but he was funny to read, how he was somewhat the Cidney of the story here, but I will say that made me more intrigued for his story even more so than Rydstrom’s. I might be confusing here so I’d best admit that I read some books out of order and by read I mean I scanned through them. Yes a shame. I have my one and fave book from the series that I have read over and over but I won’t mention which one just yet. Regardless Cade and Rydstrom are one of the ones I scanned and so what I saw in Cades paired with what I’m reading now has me intrigued. Sarcasm incoming— why can’t demons be ‘normal’ (there’s nothing normal about anything) and just scent their mates like everyone else instead of having to go all the way to 4th base to be sure— ‘Bowe felt his fists clench, claws digging into his palms. Whereas Lykae could recognize their mates by scent or even sight, many demon breed males could only determine if a female was his by mating her. Demons called this investigation attempting.’ 👀

Anyways I’m just going to dive into the bad— ‘In a dry tone, Rydstrom said, "Yes, naturally to get even. Obviously there could be no other enticement to want Mariketa."’ — for context Rydstrom is talking with Bowen about obviously Mariketa being so so hot and obviously there’s so much more to wanting her than that because she’s so so hot. I just have to say this— this book is becoming annoying in the way that the fmc is seen as gods greatest gift on earth. My fave thing about upcoming side characters in this series so far is that usually they tend to mind their own business, as in stick more to what’s important to them, I personally feel like this makes them more realistic characters than narrative tools, and in an ironic twist of fate it would be interesting to see why Kresley Cole chose Mariketa to be the character that has not one but TWO future mmc’s want her, albeit they’re not as into her as Bowen but still it’s *there*, if it weren’t for the fact that I hate it. It’s just cliche to me. Blame my years as a young adult actually rotting my brain with nothing but young adult novels filled with these fmc’s. Personal opinion, so whatever. I thought seeing as Lachlain wasn’t fazed by Emma’s gorgeous aunts , even as she straight up has this thought, Nikolai as well, and Sebastian too, that it wouldn’t be too much to ask from the rest of other male characters but alas I was wrong. I mean I get Kresley wants me to feel bad for Mariketa because she feels she’s always second choice hence her bf wanting someone else (and even then technically he wanted a throuple or something), her parents ‘abandoning’ her. So Kresley more than makes sure Mariketa doesn’t ‘actually’go through that. I mean duh have you seen that ass.

Honestly the trek through the jungle was the worst part when the little group was together. That part of the book had me more exited about Hild and Tera (hmmm future appearances?) than anything else.

Okay fr though so far this book has delved so far into the cringe it’s starting to give me comic relief. It just feels so unserious how, yea, Kaderin, Sebastian, and Bowen just out there fighting each other to pieces meanwhile Rydstrom, Cade, the 3 faes, and Mariketa just twiddling around waiting and rotting away in the tomb from like day one task lol also after Bowen returned to release them? Hilarious because they’re saying things and fighting about things like this— then she forced herself to rise, Cade asked her, "You're not really willing to go along with this? Sleep with him for some fish? Because if that's the case, wait half an hour for me to return with my catch."— literally less than a day from starving for a week and then subsequently almost dying lmao no like seriously Bowen is bargaining with all of them to let him almost explicitly fuck Mariketa and everyone is just like going along with it lol

‘The werewolf had no idea he was sidling round a spring trap hungry for his paw.’— okay another quote I like.

I’m getting more into the story perhaps natural intrigue or it really is getting better. I’m curious who Mariketas parents are and what’s the deal with them.

I’m sorry it’s funny all over again when Bowen asks Tera to watch Mariketa while he boils water the way he reiterates the care instructions Lmao I get she’s mortal and so *caution/fragile* but like omg stop these things are normal for us mere mortal readers 😂

This can’t be topped: Bowen fights Cade then throws Mariketa over his shoulder like a sack and let me quote —‘"Aye, thrash about. If anyone's foolish enough to follow me, the sight of that'd be sure to stop them in their tracks.” Reminded that her barely clad ass was jutting up for all to see, she stopped her struggles.’— please Gahd I can’t. Idk why I’m cringing left and right, stop this. And nope it continues. Shortly after this, meer feet away (I’m exaggerating), they have some orgasms that I doubt any of these creatures with super good hearing heard lolol but I will say once they all get separated and go their separate ways things look up for the story. Phew.

I feel like I’m finally getting to see the complex emotions behind Bowens situation with his previous Mate and his growing love for Mariketa. Also huge kudos for the grisly scene where he comforts Mariketa in the airplane niceee. I mean the bad thing still happens like wow he actually wasn’t able to save her somehow. Mid sarcasm here. And then I enjoyed how they finally start to embrace the feelings for each other, in that little island. Also a highlight was the heart wrenching twist that Bowen spent years trying to get Mariah back only to find out he had been tricked by her to want her because he actually did not want her, oh lord bless him. But clever of Kresley to explain all in one how he refused to die with his mate, as questioned in book 2, since most Lykae do so after losing a mate. Also Mariketa had a neat way of using her powers with the mirrors, nicee, I liked the imagery. And lastly I loved the little detail that she’d be getting a sibling soon because I felt for her parents who as it turns out never abandoned her. All in all Hated the first half but started to like it by the end. The End. That’s a no for a second reread

#won’t tag this with the series #button’s rants and book thoughts

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yunhohours · 2 years ago

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What You Want From Me

✗ Pairing: idol!bf!chani x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 2k

✗ Warnings: lil bit of angst, reader is passive aggressive and immature (boo tomato tomato don't be like reader boooo), no actually reader is so annoying i'm so sorry, fingering (f. receiving), exhibitionism if you squint, orgasm denial, consent could be considered shaky ig but dw everything is consensual here

✗ A/N: this was a daydream i kept having despite the reader behaving absolutely nothing like me. i had to write it to get it out of my head. here's hoping it rots your brains instead xoxo

You’re checking every hanger in your closet to make sure you’re not missing any potential outfits when you hear Chani from the other room. “Y/n, are you ready? We need to leave.” You can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s hovering by the front door, probably busying himself with his phone while he waits for you. You know you’d be leaving this very moment if it were solely up to him. “I need to stop and get gas on the way.”

You had already finished every other part of readying yourself. You showered, moisturized, attended to your hair, and enhanced your features with just enough makeup to make you slightly more radiant. Chani would swear that you couldn’t be more radiant than when you first wake up, but you like to put in that extra bit of effort when you’re going for lunch with others. You don’t care so much when it’s just Chani’s members, but from what you’ve gathered, there will be at least a handful of company staff members attending lunch as well. You want to look nice in front of people that probably care very much about him.

You finally settle on two possible dresses that suit the image you’d like to present. They’re both the same simple silhouette–nothing too proper but certainly not too skimpy either. You’re only struggling over which color to pick. The black one will make you seem more elegant, perhaps currying favor with the staff members that want only the best for Chani. The cerulean one may give the impression that you’re light and bright–a bit of sunshine for everyone around. Who wouldn’t want that, right? Does Chani want a polished girlfriend or a sweet girlfriend for lunch?

Why don’t you just ask him?

You bounce out of your room, dresses held up in a hand each, and find Chani exactly where you thought he’d be. “Babe,” you announce yourself, causing Chani to look up from his phone. “Which dress?”

Chani’s gaze moves from one dress to the other in silence before he looks back at you incredulously. “Y/n, it really doesn’t matter. Can you just hurry up? I’ve told you we need to go multiple times and now you’re showing me the same dress twice and asking me to pick one. Wear whichever one you want. I don’t care.”

I don’t care. Ouch.

You stand there shuffling your feet for a moment. “I just wanted to look nice for you,” you admit in an almost whisper before you disappear into the bedroom again.

You pull the black dress over your head, tossing the bright, light version of you to the floor. You slip on the first pair of shoes you can find and make your way back to Chani. Don’t want to make him wait another second, you think to yourself.

The car ride to the restaurant is quiet and so is the lunch itself. You don’t say much because, quite frankly, your feelings are still hurt. You cared so much about this lunch because you love Chani, but he couldn’t care about your dress for two seconds?

You know you’re being a bit ridiculous, especially because he has apologized to you multiple times. He apologized to you in the car the second your seatbelts were buckled–eyes on yours and your hand in his as he kissed the back of it. When you still didn’t seem to forgive him, he figured he’d let you have time, deciding not to push the issue and just holding your hand softly in his lap while he drove. You could feel his eyes glancing at you every few seconds to gauge you. Clearly, he didn’t mean to upset you.

Even during lunch, he kept apologizing. Despite being surrounded by members that could tease him and staff that he wants to appear responsible in front of, he kept your hand in his. He’d lean over when everyone else was busy talking and press a kiss to your temple, mumbling another soft-spoken apology even when you didn’t respond to any of the previous ones. He was really trying and Chani doesn’t apologize when he doesn’t mean it. You should just tell him about how it made you feel and forgive him. Hell, you were both wrong when you really think about it. You weren’t being respectful of his time and he wasn’t sensitive to your feelings. Neither of you have the upper hand here.

You’re not sure what you expect him to do or why you can’t get out of your funk, but when you step back into your bedroom and see the blue dress on the floor, you know that you’re certainly not over it yet. You step over it and make your way to the bed, situating yourself against the backboard, legs straight out in front of you. Chani followed you the second you parked the car out front, clearly still intent on getting this issue resolved, but you could tell he was starting to lose his patience. That’s almost definitely your fault. You were acting like a brat–refusing to look at him, talk to him, or even acknowledge his presence at all, really.

He places himself on the bed next to you, his back resting against the headboard too. You sink down a bit, creating some distance from him. Even though you can’t see him, you can feel him burning a hole into the top of your head with his eyes.

“Still not talking to me, mm?” His voice practically falls onto your ears with his position above you like this.

You don’t answer, pursing your lips as your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress. You can’t answer, actually. If you did, you would have to admit that you have been ignoring him on purpose and you’re still not feeling adult enough for that. The silence in the room is suffocating but your stubbornness is unwavering.

“I see,” he finally says after a minute or three of silence. You expect him to get up and keep himself occupied elsewhere, but he doesn’t and you feel frozen. You don’t even want to move for fear that it will pop the bubble of indignance you’ve created around yourself. Chani is not above calling you out. And when he does… he’s almost always right. You can’t have that.

You can feel Chani turn his attention to a bottle of water on the nightstand. He picks it up and takes a nice big drink. Probably calming himself, you suspect. He turns to put it back down where he found it, his other hand sliding itself onto your thigh. Your eyes are immediately focused on his hand and the way it seems to be nonchalantly sliding up the inside of your dress. What does he think he’s up to? Still, you subconsciously part your legs for him, cursing yourself over an instinct you hadn’t expected you’d need to stifle.

You want to look at him. You want to see if he’s smirking about how easily your body gives itself over to him even if seeing that smirk would only make you mad. The only reason you don’t is because you wouldn’t just be mad. You’d be embarrassed.

You follow the trail of Chani’s hand until it reaches its destination: your panties. You almost groan when you realize you wore his favorite pair–a decision made before he hurt your feelings, obviously. His middle finger ghosts over the crotch of the fabric before pushing it to the side. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re struggling not to make a sound or to move a face muscle. That proves immeasurably more difficult when Chani’s fingertip eases itself onto your clit, rubbing slow circles.

He’s so fucking quiet. It’s maddening. You want him talking. Not because you want to talk to him, but because you want to know why the fuck he’s touching you right now. It feels too good to stop him but not knowing his thought process from she’s ignoring me to i should play with her pussy is driving you crazy.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Chani’s other hand rise from the bed, instagram open on his phone. You can’t believe your eyes as you watch him scrolling lazily through post after post, occasionally double tapping a like while his other hand dips down, two fingers grazing through your folds. You can feel his fingers gliding with more ease by the second, your own body betraying you by giving Chani the arousal he surely expected. You clench your jaw when you feel a moan trying to force its way out. Fuck. Why do you always want him so bad? Even when you swear you’re pissed?

Things continue just like this for a few minutes. Chani’s fingers spread your slick over your cunt and you try like hell not to humor him with indications of the pleasure he’s giving you. He circles your entrance, testing it, and your toes curl, seeking grounding from the mattress. He seemingly gets bored of instagram and swipes it away, switching to some game you couldn’t possibly name as he sinks two fingers inside of you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your head tilts up and to the right as you stare at the ceiling, insisting on not letting him see the way your jaw goes slack. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as he pumps his fingers inside of you, your body succumbing to him by the moment. You’re fighting a losing battle but you desperately want him to make you cum. Maybe then you’ll forgive him.

You almost jump out of your skin when the silent room is suddenly disturbed by the loud ringing of Chani’s phone. Your eyes are back on his screen, praying that he rejects the call. You know if he answers it then this little game–is that what it is?–will be over. You watch as his thumb moves towards the “accept” button and you start to feel defeated.

Except he answers it and his fingers don’t leave you. Now you’ve seen it all. Chani does not normally take the risk of others hearing or seeing you two engaging in any kind of physical contact. Yet here he is… talking to Hwiyoung as his fingers curl deliciously inside you, pressing right into that spot you so desperately want him to touch. You stare at the side of his annoyingly handsome face in shock, fingers clutching at the blankets beneath you to try and keep yourself composed. It infuriates you that he doesn’t look at you. You’re finally acknowledging him, albeit only with your eyes, and he won’t look at you?

It’s hard to stay too mad, though, when his thumb finds your clit, joining his scissoring fingers in this quest to overwhelm you with pleasure until you break. You’ve decided that’s what this is. And you hate it, but you think he might just win. You can feel yourself tumbling frighteningly close to an orgasm and it’s getting exponentially harder to choke down the sounds you would normally let out freely. The only thing saving you now is Hwiyoung being on the other side of that phone call.

Your head falls back onto the headboard, eyes closed and mouth open in silent moans. You can hear Chani planning to meet up with Hwiyoung and some of the others to do who-knows-what for work but it’s all meaningless to you because you’re unraveling, your body writhing from Chani’s slender fingers. You feel yourself starting to clench around them at the same time as Chani says, “Yeah, I can come by now.”

And then his fingers are pulling out of you and he’s pressing the end call button as he stands up, sliding the phone into his pocket. He gives you a onceover. You’re gawking at him as your body is still recoiling from the orgasm he dangled in front of it, only to snatch it away. He cocks his head to the side. “Hmm. Seems like you need something? Too bad you can’t tell me what that is.”

He heads in the direction of the bedroom door, picking his keys up from the dresser on his way. He stops before he leaves the doorway, turning his head only slightly to say one final thing to you over his shoulder. “Maybe while I’m gone you can think about what it is that you want from me.”

And just like that, he’s gone and you’re feeling exactly what you’ve been hoping to avoid this entire time: embarrassment.

#th: chani #th: sf9 #chani smut #sf9 smut #kpop smut

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