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wolfiesmoon · 5 months ago

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The world in my hands

Riddle, Leona, Idia, Malleus x fem!reader (seperately)

hello twst community did u miss me😍

this is a request hehe!! the prompt i was given is yuu says "i may not be able to use magic but i can hold the entire world in my hands" and then holding the guy's face

i had no clue how to write lead-ups to this type of fic so they will be either very minimal or not there at all😭

i feel like my writing is SOOO rusty omg😥

✧･ﾟ: Leona Kingscholar

"Get out." Leona didn't look all that happy to find you laying next to him in his bed. You decided that as his girlfriend, you now have the right to sneak into Savanaclaw at night and then sneak into his bed, too. With the great hearing all the beastmen in his dorm have, you wonder how no one caught you. Or maybe they just don't wanna mess with you.

Regardless, you're not one to disrespect your partner's wishes, so you get up and walk around the bed to be right by his face, just off the bed this time. You thought of doing that randomly last night because you couldn't fall asleep. Both the sneaking into Savanaclaw and the thing you're about to do.

He seemed a bit flabbergasted while looking at you from his bed and honestly, you can't really blame him. You would say you'd feel the same way if Leona appeared in your bed in the morning but knowing his habit of falling asleep on you, you wouldn't even count it out.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

You cleared your throat dramatically before placing your hands on both of his cheeks, making his face scrunch up in half surprise half annoyance. It's a funny expression on him.

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can do something even better." you didn't even let him respond, quickly adding on "Because I can hold the entire world in my hands."

Leona's wittier than he seems at first glance and you can tell he understood what you meant instantly by his facial expression. But all he does is grunt and gently remove your hands from his face, then fall back on the bed.

After a few seconds of silence, he asks "Are you gonna join me or not?" while tapping the side of his bed a few times.

"Oh, but I thought you didn't want me in your bed?" you placed your hands on your hips, replying with the most sass you could muster. You're not sure what kind of reaction you expected from Leona, but it kind of seems on par with him. He's not one to get flustered by cheesy flirting, you suppose. But letting you on his territory, on the other hand...

"...Just get in here before I change my mind." he grumbled and you joined him without another word. As soon as you did, two strong arms wrapped themselves around you.

You also felt something touch your forehead. A kiss?!

"Leona, did you-"

"Shut up before I kick you out." and he just squeezed you tighter. Hm, maybe he enjoyed it after all.

✧･ﾟ: Riddle Rosehearts

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled at Riddle knowingly before gently grabbing a hold of his face. You invited him over today, but were struck with the idea to pull this on him randomly. You like him best when he's blushing, after all.

He seemed a bit lost, if anything. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking at your lovestruck grin with confusion.

He's happy that you can still be happy despite your lack of magical abilities. But why are you randomly telling him about this now? While holding his face? There's no need to do that since he can pay attention to you perfectly fine.

Is that a thing lovers do?

"That's great to hear." He saw the way your face dropped when he replied like that and felt even more stumped than before. That wasn't the correct response, it seems.

"Could you explain what you meant?" He started after a short silence. Your hands are still warming his cheeks and he doesn't want it to end. It's a nice feeling.

"You know... I can hold the world in my hands because, uhh, you're my world..." you realise just now how awkward it is explaining flirty jokes. Well, you suppose it isn't exactly a joke. You're being completely serious.

"Oh." He seemed to finally realise what you meant, because his entire face went scarlet red.

"That is..." he seemed at a loss for words. He never thought a girl could affect him the way you do, but life is full of surprises.

"Hehehe, I prefer you when you're all red from being flustered, not from being angry." you gently kiss his nose, which only elevates the amount of red on his face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your teasing, but could he really get mad at you when he's getting kisses?

"I never realised you thought so highly of me." you felt that his face was getting warmer through your palms. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

✧･ﾟ: Idia Shroud

"Would you turn away from that game for just one second?" you chided, hoping your boyfriend would finally listen to your pleas. He groaned in response, not intent on listening to you anytime soon.

Okay, seems you have to do this the hard way. You didn't want it to come to this, but there's no other choice. It's the conscequence of having a gamer boyfriend, after all.

You walked up behind him, swiftly turning him around on his spinny chair. He gasped in surprise and then his expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance. "Why are you so insi-EEK!"

Before he could even finish his complaint, you grabbed his cheeks. A little more roughly than you intended, looking back on it.

"You wanna know something?" you asked it like he had an option to say no, but the determined expression on your face made Idia think you're not giving him much of a choice. "U-Uhm, yes?"

"I may not have the ability to use magic, but, I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled awfully innocently compared to how determined you looked just seconds before. He seemed a bit lost, so you added on "I'm doing it right now, actually."

The reaction was instantaneous. It's like a chemical reaction occured because the entirety of Idia's face immediately turned red. The ends of his flaming hair began to burn in a pink color as well. Honestly, you think he might be at his cutest when he looks that way.

"Y-You.. That's dangerous!" he yells overly dramatically, swatting your hands off of his face. "I know, it's a dangerous skill to have. Does critical damage to Idia Shroud, apparently." you shrug.

"H-How do you... how do you expect me to defend myself against that?!" he shoved his face in his hands out of embarrasment.

"That's the thing, I don't. The point is to leave you all defensless and flustered." you smile mischeviously, even though you know he can't see it.

"I knew it was a bad idea to get a girlfriend... my poor heart..." he mumbled under his breath, almost unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"UM- Nothing!" you're kind of worried he might pass out from all the blood travelling to his face.

✧･ﾟ: Malleus Draconia

To be honest, you knew that you had to do as soon as you saw that video pop up on your Magicam feed. Considering your boyfriend's frequent surprise visits, you'd assume it wouldn't be hard to find him and catch him off guard with something like that.

And you definitely know he hasn't seen it before, considering his... lackluster grasp of technology.

"Greetings." you almost fall out of bed, quickly turning off your phone to hide the evidence. Does he have to pop up at the most random times? You suppose you wouldn't have it any other way, though.

"Oh, hello there, Malleus." you quickly got up from bed and walked up to him. He wrapped an arm around you like it was second nature.

"I have something to tell you." you told him in a sweet, playful tone and he immediately seemed intrigued. He's excited when you're excited, after all. "Go on. I will always listen to you."

"I may not be able to use magic..." your arms slipped up towards his face... "But I can hold the entire world in my hands."

"Oh..." he thought about what you just told him for a few seconds before finally realising what you meant. Flirts with Malleus are hit-or-miss usually, sometimes he gets it, sometimes he doesn't, but you're glad he realised it this time. "Oh, I see what you mean, dear." his silly lovesick smirk was now mirroring yours.

"That makes me tremendously happy." he squeezed you in his hold. "I feel the same way. You too are my world." he kissed your cheek happily. You noticed his cheeks were a pretty pink color, one of the loveliest sights you can possibly witness in this world. He even gave you a peck on the lips for good measure.

You know, your original goal was to fluster him, but somehow, you get the feeling that you're the one getting flustered right now.

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midnightwriter21 · 8 months ago

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jjk hcs: the jjk boys as boyfriends

characters: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu

warnings: none (i think?)

AN: if there’s anymore boyfriend hcs that you’d like to see lmk!! read gojo & nanami as boyfriends HERE

YUJI ITADORI

oh girl i am JEALOUS

he can be a little air headed at times but he’s the sweetest bf ever

i say he’s air headed but he’s actually very attentive

you get half an inch trimmed off your hair?

he notices immediately

“babe your hair looks great!”

notices everything about you actually

from your favorite color

to the brand of PENS you prefer to use

who tf notices the brand of pens people use?!?

yuji does

yk the tiktoks of boys picking entire BUSHES of flowers for their girlfriends

that’s him.

he straight up rips a whole bush out of the ground from the front of jujutsu high to give to you

principal yaga was not amused

gojo was tho

HE PRINTS OUT YOUR INSTAGRAM PICTURES TO REPLACE THE POSTERS OF MODELS ON HIS WALL

he’s so proud that your his girl fr

oh and he’s gotta hella pet names for you too

they’re all super basic

babe, sweetheart, cutie, etc.

he flirts w u like y’all aren’t together

awful pickup lines and everything

“do you have a mirror in ur pants? cause i can see myself in them.”

if u don’t think he’s the cutest then u can go argue with the wall bye

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

he has me in a chokehold

anyways

at the beginning of y’all’s relationship he’s awkward as fuck

but he eases up pretty quickly

veryyyyyy private with y’all’s relationship

if you somehow get him to hold your hand in public let alone give you a kiss?!?

girl count ur blessings fr

and it’s not bc he’s embarrassed of your relationship or anything no ma’am

it’s bc he would NEVER hear the end of it from gojo, nobara, and yuji

valid excuse

but when you two are alone?

oh girl it’s like he’s glued to you

when i say clingy? i mean it

also

king of nap time!!

he’s kidnapping u, bring you to his dorm room, dropping u on the bed, and laying completely on top of you

swear it’s his solution to everything

ur tired? it’s nap time

sad abt something? it’s nap time

a curse beat ur ass? it’s nap time

gojo is being annoying? it’s nap time

nap time cures everything ong

he’s not too crazy w the pet names

in private he’ll call you babe

in public you’re lucky if he adds a -chan to ur name lol

he’s so pretty boy

also can we appreciate his gorgeous luscious eyelashes?

no? okay

YUTA OKKOTSU

i would give my first born to make him feel happy, safe, and loved

KING OF MY HEART

he’s so baby

he’s the type of bf that no matter how long y’all have been dating he still gets flustered over you

y’all been together for an hour? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a week? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a year? he’s BLUSHING WHEN YOU GIVE HIM A KISS ON THE CHEEK

HE. IS. BLUSHING.

which is so incredibly endearing and innocent

but don’t get me wrong

mess with this man too much?

oh he’ll snap

he has the patience of a saint. but when it runs out?

oh ur in for it miss gurl

period.

teasing him a lil too much tryna make him flustered

when he finally snaps he is switching that dynamic up real quick

now he’s the one smirking and feeling all smug while you’re the one with the bright red face

ahem…

anyways

yuta’s love for you is very intense

now don’t start thinking HE is intense cause no

i mean yuta loves you so much that he might just crawl up inside ur body and live there

that type of intense

you occupy his mind 99.9% of the time

he’s on a mission and has time to stroll through the mall

“oh y/n would like that” aND HE’S BUYING IT

he’s chit chatting with inumaki and panda

best believe he finds a way to bring you up in conversation

“oh! that reminds me y/n said something the other day about…”

he is the softest ever when it comes to pet names

sweetheart, my love, princess, etc.

i’m so soft for him he deserve the world

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forlix · 1 year ago

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𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes.

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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chuusheartattck · 3 months ago

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THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Chapter 30- It’s whatever ☕️

You were already there when you texted Xiao. You just needed extra time to mentally prepare yourself. Originally you had wanted to cut him off over text, but he didn’t deserve that. You knew it was wrong to do it over the phone.

You were sat on a bench scrolling through twitter. It was a chilly night and you should’ve brought a jacket. You felt anxiety coursing through your veins. With every passing minute your heart rate increased and you kept looking around anxiously for any sign of Xiao. You were so on edge and for what? You’re the one who called him out in the middle of the night out of the blue. He should be more nervous.

As you were scrolling through your phone, you heard footsteps approaching you. You didn’t want to look up, worried for who you were about to see. The footsteps stopped in front of you and you could only see a pair of converse in your peripheral vision. You looked up and met eye to eye with Xiao.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat down next to you.

You weren’t ok at all.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you want to meet up? You’re not breaking things off with me are you?” He was only half joking.

“About that,” You began. You needed to be stern about this and not beat around the bush, “You’re a really great guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone that’ll like you the way you want them to. However, that person isn’t me.”

Your voice got quieter after the last sentence. You were scared on how he was going to react. You’ve never done anything like this before and his intimidating aura didn’t make you feel any better.

He let out a small chuckle and looked away, “It’s Scaramouche isn’t it?”

Was it that obvious?

Your silence didn’t make it any better as you looked down to your hands. You didn’t know what to say. Only tension and awkwardness filled the air.

“Have you once considered how I felt?”

You looked up meeting his amber eyes. You raised an eyebrow.

“How do you think I felt every time you would talk about him? It felt like you never liked me.”

Are men always this idiotic?

It’s understandable that he feels rejected but you never told him you liked him back. You liked being his friend but he went too fast and didn’t ask you how you felt about anything.

Annoyed, you argued back with him, “You’re right, I never did. You can’t just guilt me into thinking that I never considered how you felt when you never thought about feelings. I never wanted to be more than friends with you. Yes I did find you attractive and there were times where I would flirt back, but that was it. I tried giving you a chance, I really did, but it was only after you tried convincing me to. It was never going to work out.”

He only stared back not saying a word. Probably speechless at your sudden outburst. You took this opportunity to chew him out even more, “You can’t force someone to like you if they’re infatuated with someone else. I’m sorry if you thought differently but I only wanted to be friends. You’re a fun person to talk to but nothing more.”

This time, he was the one who looked down at his hands. There was a moment of silence as he tried for find the best words to say. You felt bad for being so blunt, you did have a way with being brutally honest when you needed to.

Xiao finally spoke up, still looking down, “If that’s how you feel then so be it.” He sighed before continuing, “What’s so good about Scara anyways?”

“His impurities. The weak part of him, the goodness in him which is still a mess, but little by little, he changes, and I don’t want to miss out on those changes. I don’t get what makes him the good guy but I do know I don’t want him to disappear from my life.”

When did you turn so sappy?

“I expected it everyday since we decided to take things slow so I was nervous everyday that you were going to leave. It stings but I feel a bit relieved I don’t have to feel that way anymore.” Xiao admitted.

You’re started to feel bad for him. Did he like you that much or was he that desperate for a relationship? Either way you knew you weren’t the right person for him.

The only thing you could say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have pressured you into anything. It was my fault that things turned out this way.”

You gave Xiao a small smile, apologized again, and quickly hugged him goodbye. You didn’t want to say anything else, afraid it was going to cause a more intense riff between you guys.

Were you satisfied with how things ended? No, not really. However, do you have any regrets? Absolutely not.

You knew you were going to have to see him at award shows and pretend you two didn’t just have a falling out. It made you sad that you lost a good friend. Maybe one day you guys could reconcile.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: End of act 3!! Literally 10 more chapters till ttme finishes 😨😨 Hopefully act 4 will make up for all the pain and suffering you guys endured while reading this 🥰 I would also like to apologize to team xiao. Anyways!! Chapter 32 will have major scarayn so be prepared 😜

ALSOOO lmk if you guys want your users to be added to this au and i’ll make you a twitter user :)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

Taglist: @skyoverkill1 @quacking-simp @lolmeowing @astro-stars @kaitfae @sl-vega @scarawiki @yuminako @samyayaya @skyvella @kur0kki @practicoi @kukikoooo @scaraenthusiast1 @shutingstar @lloovvv @moonjellyfishie @miy-svz @xionri @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @kathiwis @state-of-grac3 @morgyyyyyyy @scaradooche @theyluvkatt @meigalaxy @noirechomps @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @vxcmx @ariesloves @cayl33n @animeobsessed56 @heartsforni-ki @feikyuu @ichcocat @strayharmony943 @chscklvr @kunikissr @jiminscarmex @sp1ng @bananasquash @aceakariii @thegalaxyisunfolding @ariilies @hisfuture @automaticpatroltragedy @sartrst @cheriswag @kokomiskiss @albedomestic-airline @lxkeeeee @sundays-prince @wvvyq @amurotoorudesu

#genshin impact #genshin impact smau #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader #y/n #genshin smau #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x reader #scara smau #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #ttme #chuusheartattck

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blackmoonowl · 4 months ago

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Paladin Danse dating headcanons

Assuming it takes place after Blind Betrayal.

These are just random headcanons I wrote down in no specific order.

Say goodbye to going anywhere on your own. If he can he's coming with you. To keep you safe, mostly. He can't bear the idea of losing you. You're all he has left in the world, without you he feels he has no purpose.

Very protective, would give up his own life to save yours without questioning. You're the one person in his life who truly saw him as a person, not as a soldier of abomination.

A bit awkward when it comes to physical affection at first. If you hug or kiss him out of the blue he'd go completely stiff, a distinct look of surprise on his face. Make sure to build it up with him, show him it's okay to touch and be affectionate back, he'll get into it at his own pace.

Keeps things neat with military precision. This man doesn't leave messes in your house, everything is neatly put away in designated spots. He doesn't like it when you leave things strewn around either.

Needs your reassurance. He found out his entire life was a lie, and you're pretty much the only person he can rely on nowadays. His entire identity was ripped away from him, as was his purpose in the Brotherhood.

Sometimes he starts to overthink about how much of his life was real, and how much was programmed in. A dark, erratic part of him wonders if you're real sometimes. That he'll wake up one day and realize you were a false memory.

Doesn't full realize it when he gets jealous. He knows that you talking too much with other men makes him deeply uncomfortable, but it takes him a bit to understand why he feels that way. He'll straight up question you about your encounter, and his true feelings quickly become obvious.

As for you, you don't have much to be jealous about. Half of the time he doesn't understand someone is hitting on him, the other half he does but he's just not interested at all. It's like flirting with a brick wall.

Slowly opens up to the idea of ghouls and synths if you want him to. He doesn't like them, but seeing them around your settlement makes him a little more tolerant.

Gets upset if he sees the Prydwen or Brotherhood soldiers in the distance, especially in the beginning. It puts upsets him for a while, and he might shut down and give you the cold shoulder. Give him some space and then comfort him, he slowly gets over it though.

Actually likes holding you once he's comfortable. He won't do it in front of anyone, but in private he is putty in your hands. He'll stand or lay wherever and however you want if that means he gets to hold you close to him.

To add to that, he's a very light sleeper. If you pry yourself out of his grasp to do something, he wakes up almost immediately. It's like he's on constant alert.

Sometimes he wonders what it's like to have a family, but he's never brought it up. Part of him fears his nature as a synth means he won't be able to have a son or daughter to protect. But he can get behind it just being the two of you.

Scary dog privileges, especially in his power armor. It's a great intimidation factor. People generally don't try to mess with you with a strong, stoic ex Brotherhood Paladin looming over your shoulder.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout x reader #fallout 4 x reader #fo4 #fo4 x reader #paladin danse #paladin danse x reader #paladin danse x sole survivor #fo4 danse #fo4 companions

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vallification · 5 months ago

Text

"womanly advice" // JJK AU PT. 2!

incl: satoru gojo, suguru geto, nanami kento, choso kamo (all separate)

content: fluff, flirting, kissing, confessions, drinking

wc: 5.5k

please like, reblog, and tell me your thoughts!!!

satoru gojo

the plan was to meet gojo at the park saturday evening, which gave you wednesday night, all of thursday, all of friday, and the majority of saturday to gather your thoughts (AKA have a silent, 64 hour anxiety attack) before talking to him. both of you figured that it was a good idea to wait until the meeting to say anything else, completely cutting communication between the two of you until saturday. in theory, it was a good idea, but in practice, it completely sucked.

from thursday morning when you last spoke to him to now, friday night, you’ve felt stuck in place. for the past eight hours, you've been sitting on your couch, wrapped up in a blanket, mindlessly entranced in the worst c-list movie marathon you’ve ever seen as you anxiously await saturday evening, just as you have been since thursday. although the exchange of apologies between you and gojo alleviated some of your anxiety regarding your friendship, it didn’t do anything to clarify what actually happened. the actual conflict.

what if he says that he was just messing with you? what if he says he was just teasing you because you’ve been so dodgy and moody? what if he starts telling you about the actual person he’s been referencing to in regards to your advice? what if you acted this way for nothing because he can’t even pick one out of the hordes of women wrapped around each of his long, calloused fingers? what if what if what if what if what if—?

three soft knocks on the front door of your apartment interrupt your mind��s endless cycle of what ifs. it’s half past midnight, and you’re not expecting anyone, but you assume that it’s shoko. on occasion, she’d show up to your apartment to stay over when she couldn’t get to sleep at her own, but surely she’s not calling it a night already, right? who knows, you think to yourself as you make your way to let her in, unassuming and oblivious to who’s actually standing just outside your door.

“hey,” gojo greets, his voice as lively as usual. hanging from one of his strong arms is a few plastic convenience store bags, which you’re sure are filled to the brim with various sweets, and there’s something so distinctly him about that fact that you almost smile. a black hoodie, gray sweats, and sneakers have replaced his usual day clothes, the latter being the only thing distinguishing his outfit from pajamas. if you weren’t so shocked by his random, unplanned visit, you’d wonder if they are his pajamas.

one of his large hands rubs at the back of his neck where his undercut meets smooth, pale skin as he awaits your reply, but you can’t manage anything more than a near silent, “hey.”

“i know we planned to meet tomorrow, but i couldn’t sleep, so…” he trails off, nervously switching his weight from foot to foot on your welcome mat. to prevent any further embarrassment from your mumbling idiocy, you clear your throat and try to form a sentence.

“that’s— no, it’s fine, satoru. is everything okay? did something happen?” idiot. obviously he would have called if something actually happened. you hope he doesn’t see the way you cringe at yourself, but he does. “do you want to come in?”

“everything’s fine,” gojo reassures, now shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie to pick at the rough, peeling skin near his nails. “can i? i mean, i could have picked a better time to show up. would’ve been super awkward if you had someone over,” he huffs with a humorless (okay, slightly humored) laugh.

“oh yeah, like who? my mom?” you play along, attempting to ease both gojo’s nerves and your own. moving to open the door further, you step aside and gesture for him to enter, and you realize you’re in your own ragtag set of “pajamas,” consisting of an old stained t-shirt and boxer-style shorts. embarrassing. gojo grins down at you as he steps in, and to evade his eyes you make a show of locking the door once you close it.

“mmm, definitely wouldn’t be your mom. she’s at my place,” gojo replies coolly, still wearing that stupid grin, pushing his black blindfold up to his hairline like a headband. “she’s had a looooong day.”

squinting your eyes as you inspect him, looking up and down his figure once, twice, three times, you shake your head and wince. “surely not that long,” you sing-song.

as gojo kicks off his shoes by the door, you make the most of his occupied time and head back to your spot on the living room couch, wrapping yourself back up in your blanket. being able to banter back and forth has calmed you down enough to not feel like you’re submerged in liquid nitrogen, but you’re 85% sure your socks have holes in them, so you cover up anyway.

“you’d be surprised,” gojo sing-songs back, his eyes shallowly scanning what he can see of your apartment as he slowly makes his way to join you on the couch. it’s clean, he notes, nice and neat, but still warm and lived-in. it smells good, too, courtesy of your candle addiction. from where you sit, he looks like a giant, towering over your couch before plopping down to sit, dropping the plastic bags between the two of you.

“i doubt it,” you reply, outwardly smug but inwardly screaming. nervous, your fingers find and pick at a loose thread at the corner of your blanket, trying to find something to pour their antsy energy into. time to change the subject. “anyway, you’re like, the king of sleeping. why can’t you fall asleep?”

“well,” he starts, pausing for the sound of crinkling plastic as he opens a pack of blue gummy sharks, placing one on your covered knee, and tossing two into his mouth. “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

the way gojo says it makes it sound so simple, so matter-of-fact, as if it wasn’t a confession of some sort. part of you wonders if he’s still teasing you, because you know that he knows how to make even the slyest people seem the most gullible, and everyone knows that vulnerability is not something he’s partial to. you don’t say anything back, but you gingerly pick up the gummy shark and bite off its tail.

“i’m also confused,” gojo says once he swallows his mouthful of blue gummy sharks, proceeding to throw two more into his mouth and place one on your knee. he’s carefully inspecting another gummy, tracing its elementary-level anatomy with his eyes to keep them busy and away from you as he talks. “why did it make you so upset when i said it was you?”

and there it is, laid bare and plain in the space between you. it’s your turn to speak because you know that question isn’t rhetorical, but you don’t let the pressure con you into a rushed answer. as you think, you bite at the poor inside of your bottom lip, a bad habit which will definitely leave it raw and sore tomorrow.

“because it felt like you said it as a joke,” you answer before biting the tail off of the second shark. “like you think the possibility of that is so low that it’s funny.”

more silence ensues. it’s tense, but not tense in the same way last friday night was tense. it’s not aggressive, awkward, or commanding, but rather nothing more than a side effect of the earnesty of the situation. another blue gummy shark is placed on your knee.

“why would it be a joke?”

“why would it not be? you know that you’ve got some of the most beautiful, smart, talented women in the world wrapped around your fingers,” you reply plainly, neither snarky nor sappy. when you look up from your fidgeting hands, gojo is inspecting another gummy. “and you know that i have feelings for you. it could be framed as a joke.”

“i didn’t know that you had feelings for me,” crinkling plastic noises, “these things are good as fuck.”

that makes you both laugh, cutting through the solemnity in the room. in a weird way, your own confession feels like nothing at all— not shameful, or embarrassing, or compromising—just matter-of-fact as its weight rolls off of your shoulders. you rest your head against the cushions of the back of the couch as you stare at gojo, appreciating the way his makeshift headband keeps his soft white hair away from his face.

“is that why you were upset before?” gojo asks, setting the last blue gummy shark in the pack on your knee next to the others. “you thought i was talking about someone else?”

“when you say it like that it sounds dumb.”

“were you jealous?”

“no,” deny, deny, deny. obviously you were jealous, and he knows that now, telling by the same shit eating grin from earlier. if you look close enough, the very tips of his ears dust a light pink, while your entire face flushes beet red. “i don’t get jealous.”

“i think you do.”

suguru geto

beside you on the couch, geto looks effortlessly flawless. the top half of his silky black hair is tied back as usual, but he’s got on a plain white t-shirt and black joggers, the former just tight enough to cling to his biceps and stretch over his shoulders. now that you’re sober, it’s harder to look at him than it is to look away from him, so you sit with your whole body turned to him, your legs tucked up to your chest.

“you know, i never took you as somebody so clueless,” geto starts, leaning back into the couch with one hand behind his head, his bent arm showing off how his bicep is just that much bigger than his shirt sleeves. it’s hard not to be distracted, but his comment pulls your eyes from his muscular arm to his face.

“what?” confusion crowds your features, scrunching up your nose and stitching your eyebrows together.

“i mean, really. everything has just,” his free hand swipes over his head with a quick, light whistle, “right over your head. you know that?”

“i don’t get it,” you reply, your confusion continuing to build when geto offers everything but context. the cogs in your brain are working overtime in an attempt to prove him wrong, but… well, he’s right. in regards to romance, you are clueless. all he does is laugh this time, that same low, sultry laugh that had you glued to your barstool. “okay, i think you’re just bullying me now. did you come here to be mean to me or to let me apologize for making things weird?”

“weird?” geto muses, an almost invisible smirk tugging at his lips, now looking up to the ceiling. for a few seconds, you study his sharp side profile, and the way his adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, but you tear your eyes away quickly when he tilts his head to look at you again. “i think that’s where we’re miscommunicating.”

“you know what? you are really, really bad at having open and honest conversations,” you say, your tone comparable to jabbing a finger at his chest. “i’m the clueless one but you’re the one making this difficult.”

“i’m trying to let you figure it out on your own,” he laughs, readjusting himself to face you and pulling one leg up to lay flat on the couch, bent at the knee so he’s sitting half-crisscrossed. “should i just be honest? or is your mom going to call again?”

huff. your cheeks blossom pink, and you look down at your hands in embarrassment at being called out. “she might call. it depends on what you say,” you murmur.

“are you going to avoid looking at me the whole time i’m here?”

“start talking or i’m dragging you out of my apartment, suguru.”

“i knew what i was doing that night, you know. i’m not oblivious to the effect i had on you,” he says, dipping his head down in an attempt to catch your eyes. geto’s expression seems sincere but no less smug than it has been, reflective of the way he looked at you the night this situation began. “there was no other girl, either. i just wanted to know what you liked, so i figured asking for your ‘advice’,” finger quotes,”would be the best way to find out.”

from your side of things, geto’s words drop in front of you like a bag of bricks. cinderblocks, really, a loud, metaphorical “thud” reverberating through your brain the moment his words sink in. his honesty, while refreshing, overloads your brain, and as you sit there, blank-faced and speechless, geto begins to elaborate.

“i admit that i came off pretty strong, but i figured i’d have to since you’d been avoiding me that whole week,” he laughs. “i think i did a pretty good job, though.”

“i…” you trail off, flicking through your memory of an entire language for a set of words to accurately describe how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking, but eventually you settle for anything that manages to come out. “i am clueless. was clueless. i think my mom is going to call me again.”

“is she? does she have to?” without taking his eyes off of yours, geto leans forward, subtracting from some of the space left between the two of you. this close, you can almost smell his entire shower routine— his warm, boozy body wash, his bright, clean shampoo, his warm, musky cologne, the bite of aftershave, something creamy—

your thoughts are falling out of order with his face so close to yours. geto’s eyes fall to your lips, and yours fall to his, but you turn away before he can even think about closing the gap between them. your face feels like it’s on fire, your cheeks burning impossibly red, no doubt totally visible to the man before you. he doesn’t look away, though, instead bringing his gentle fingertips to your chin to bring your attention back to him. geto’s voice drops to a whisper, so soft, his words only for your ears.

“you don’t feel the same way?”

“i-i never— that’s— i never said, um— i do feel the, uh, the same way, so—“

“can i kiss you?” jesus christ, this sentence brings you to your metaphorical knees, breaking any and all of your resolve to not melt like ice cream in his hands. you nod, just once, and geto nods back in confirmation.

when his lips meet yours, it’s nothing like what you expected. what you expected was excitement, eagerness, too much too fast; when his lips meet yours, his kiss is so soft, so sure, so slow that you’re unsure if you’ll still be on earth after it ends. the moment geto pulls away, you’re scared that you’re going to sob, but you don’t. you don’t make a sound at all.

“okay,” geto whispers, his minty breath breezing over your lips. “see you monday.”

your eyes pop open, searching his face in confusion.

“what? why? where are you going?” you watch geto stand and stretch, trying to pay little mind to the sliver of exposed skin when his shirt rides up, before he starts making his way to the door.

“we talked this out, yeah? i know what i need to know, you know what you need to know. it’s late,” geto says coolly, slipping on his shoes and snatching his keys off of the small table by your front door. you scramble off of the couch and over by the door, flustered, standing a few feet away from him. geto grins as he stares down at you, halfway out the door. “things would’ve gotten out of hand.”

nanami kento

one thing nanami did get right was that it was a shame that you didn’t get that necklace. in the mirror, you take note that your neck looks too bare in your velvety black dress, but none of the necklaces in your collection meet the standards of what would look best decorating the empty space. however, you figure it doesn’t matter too much— instead of a necklace, you decide to pin in some dangly earrings, complementing the updo your hair is so meticulously done up in.

you spritz your wrists and neck with perfume before taking one last look at yourself in the mirror, now suddenly aware of how quickly 8:30 is approaching. your phone has yet to light up with a message at 8:27, which is slightly worrying… you took nanami as being one to appreciate punctuality to the point of always being early, but maybe he got caught up in something.

switching your closet light on, you tip-toe to reach a box at the top shelf containing one of the best gifts you’d ever bought yourself: a shiny black pair of louboutins. it’s rare that you get to wear them, but you figure that if you’re going to wear them anywhere, it’s out to wherever nanami plans on taking you. each heel slips on perfectly, neither too snug nor too loose, and a younger part of your brain thinks you feel like cinderella.

once you take a few practice steps in your heels, you’re good to go, slinging your purse over your shoulder and checking your phone again. 8:29 and nothing.

and then one minute later, someone knocks on the door.

the same smile from the jewelry store spreads across nanami’s face when you open the door, pearly white teeth showing, the left side of his mouth cocked up a bit further than the right, something you hadn’t noticed then but impossible to miss now. from behind his back he produces a beautiful bouquet of red roses, the kind wrapped in paper, not plastic, secured with a pink silk bow. his eyes, uncovered by his usual glasses, look you up and down in a way that feels honoring instead of exposing.

“i didn’t know you’d come up to my door,” you murmur shyly, entranced in the warmth of nanami’s expression. “i figured you’d text me when you got here… are those for me?”

“of course they are,” he says, his smile seeping into his voice before taking a step back so you can step forward, holding his hooked elbow out for you to take. “what man would make you walk out to his car alone? i certainly wouldn’t.”

“oh— shit, i have to grab my wallet first, nanami. i left it in the kitchen,” but before you can take another step further into your apartment, you swear that he glares daggers at you, almost as if to say ‘you’d better not go any further.’

“no need. why would you need it?” nanami muses almost smugly, gesturing again for you to take his arm. you say nothing back, too busy thanking whichever gods can hear you out there for whoever raised such a gentleman. instead, you lock the door and take nanami’s arm, your hand resting at the crook of his elbow.

“so… i know you said she may not like this, but think of this as a practice date for me,” nanami watches your expression falter when he says that, and if he had less resolve, he’d fall to his knees and apologize right there. however, it’s for the plot. “i haven’t been on a good date in years. if tonight goes well, i’ll know i’m ready to make my move. what do you think?”

despite the dull ache of dejection in your chest, you smile and nod. “i think that’s a good idea, nanami. it’s very important to be prepared, especially if you like her as much as you seem to.”

the short trip to his car is over before the two of you want it to be, but it ends with nanami opening your door for you and ushering you into the passenger seat like a true gentleman. you don’t think you’ve been treated this well by anybody cumulatively, and you haven’t even been on the actual date yet. it only takes nanami a few seconds to get to the driver’s side of the car, but once you’re inside, you can’t help but peek into the backseat. behind the driver’s seat on the floorboard is a small gift bag with the jewelry store’s logo on it. jealousy swarms in your chest, but before you can feel any worse, the driver’s side door opens and it’s time to go.

“you look beautiful, by the way.”

you and nanami spent three of the best hours of your life at one of the finest, most beautiful restaurants in tokyo. the food was amazing, the champagne was better, but the conversation was the best part of the entire date. you don’t think you’ve ever laughed so hard, or blushed so much, or felt so heard. it’s all courtesy of nanami, but there’s no doubt that the entire bottle and a half of champagne shared between the two of you helped a little. well, you had much more than him— but nanami still had to call someone to drive the two of you home.

before you know it, the two of you are back to standing by the front door of your apartment. the humidity and the alcohol have done a number on your updo and your makeup, and the left strap of your dress is slipping off of your shoulder, but nanami swears he’s never seen something more beautiful in his life. he’s not in much better shape— his collar is half-popped, his tie is loose, and his neatly combed hair has fallen forward, lying freely on his forehead. to anyone else, it may look as if your date went too well.

it was hard to remember to grab the small gift bag from his backseat, yet somehow he managed not only that, but hiding the bag behind his back all the way from the car to the door. you’re both fighting a laugh at nanami’s last joke as you unlock your door, loudly shushing him through your giggles for plausible deniability should your neighbors complain the next day.

“i—“ hiccup, “i think i’d count this as a success,” nanami says, swaying on his feet as you finally unlock your door. “would you?”

“nanami, this was, like, not only the best date i’ve ever been on,” giggle,” but probably the most fun i’ve ever had. like, ever!” okay, too loud. the both of you fall silent for several seconds, staring at each other wide eyed as you listen for any complaints, before devolving into laughter once again.

“soooo… would you want to do it again?” nanami tries to slip that into the conversation coolly, not wanting to disrupt your giggles. please say yes. please say yes please say yes please say yes—

“… what?” you say, wondering if he’s the one who drank so much instead of yourself. “i thought you just needed one practice date?”

“mmm… i was kind of… umm, practicing for you, with you,” he says, now more than ready to abandon ship based purely on your reaction. “‘s okay if it’s a no. we had a really, really great time ‘n i’m glad.”

“wait, what?” none of this is registering in your brain at all, staring up at nanami with wide, drunk, glassy eyes. “it’s me? i’m the girl?”

“… well, yes,” nanami says, his voice starting to become much softer, much more withdrawn. “is that not okay?”

if you were sober, you swear you’d be jumping for joy. instead, you tip-toe and throw your arms around nanami’s neck, trying not to squeal in his ear but failing miserably. his eyes widen at the sudden development in physical contact, but his hands instinctively move to your waist to make sure you don’t fall down.

choso kamo

okay, maybe you’re a little heavy handed with the booze. it wouldn’t be so bad if you had just measured how much tequila you were pouring into the blender, or if you had poured the frozen margarita mixture into smaller cups instead of two huge cups with straws, one for you and one for choso, but alas. the two of you lay stretched out on your stomachs over his bed, a playstation controller in your hands and another in his, as you both poorly attempt to play mortal kombat. neither of you are doing anything remotely close to purposeful as you press the buttons, but somehow choso keeps winning.

“okay, no fuckin’ way you’re not cheating!” you accuse, overflowing with giggles as you let the controller fall to the floor. choso sits up on his knees, slurping his margarita through his straw as he celebrates his fourth win in a row.

“sorry ma’am, ‘s a skill issue,” he teases between sips, watching as your jaw drops.

“you’ve been playin’ too many games with yuji, sir!”

“maybe you should get good, ma’am!”

“think ’m too drunk t’ play any more video games anyway,” you sigh, sitting up to grab your own drink. choso nods in agreement and stands to turn off the playstation, letting the tv switch back to the blank input screen.

it had been a long time since the two of you drank together, especially so much, which was reminiscent of your college days when you would steal liquor from your parent’s house just to drink with choso in the alley behind your dorm. this time around, you can see the way the alcohol makes him flush pink, starting at the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, dipping lower to his chest where your eyes can’t see.

“maybe we can watch a movie ‘n here?” choso asks, grabbing the remote to his tv from his nightstand. “i don’ think we can safely walk over yuji ‘n his friends.”

“might trip,” you mumble, moving up to the head of the bed to rest your back against choso’s headboard. “let’s watch something funny.”

“wait, i kinda wanna play a game,” choso interrupts, plopping himself down next to you at the head of his bed. he uses one of the two hair ties on his wrist to pull his hair into one ponytail at the back of his head to get it off of his neck— drinking makes him feel hot. if you weren’t so drunk, you’d realize that he’s being kind of shifty, almost as if he’s nervous. “yuji told me i should play it ‘cause i haven’t before.”

you whine, a pout forming on your face. “you just turned off the playstation.”

“no, no! not that kind of game. truth or dare,” he says excitedly, and there’s a little voice in your head saying No. no no no no no, that it may be a fun game to play in a group setting, or with someone you’re not secretly in love with, but unfortunately you can’t say no when he looks that excited. plus, another little voice in your head says Yes. yes yes yes yes yes, you can torture yourself by finding out information about who choso wants.

“mmmm… okay, fine. you know how to play?” big sip of your drink to cushion any blows this game might throw in your direction. crisscrossing your legs, you sit up straight, holding one of choso’s pillows in your lap for comfort so your cold cup doesn’t touch your bare legs.

“yes. kinda,” he says, mirroring your position on the bed. “i wanna go first. truth or dare, ma’am?”

“hmmm… dare, sir.” choso cheers quietly when you pick dare, and it makes you laugh. he takes a few moments to think, even aha!ing once or twice before shaking his head no before he lands on a dare. when he finally shares his dare for you, you almost choke on your drink.

“okay. i dare you to tell me who you like.”

“m-me? who i like?” you stammer, completely caught off guard by the new, sudden change in direction. there wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t say something like this, but you never expected it— from him, at least. choso had never been interested in your love life, and it was a fairly new thing for him to share his.

“yes. and you can’t lie or skip it because yuji said that’s cheating.”

“i don’t… i don’t like anyone,” liar. choso’s not entirely convinced either, dramatically raising a skeptical eyebrow at your response. although your face was already dusted a light pink, your cheeks now glow bright red, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“was that a lie?” choso prods, dropping his head down to try and meet your eyes. “i think you just lied to me!”

“no! not a lie!” Liar. choso’s jaw drops, hanging slack in disbelief at the audacity you have to lie, and then lie about lying.

“i think we’re too drunk to play this game,” you say, placing your cup on the floor next to his bed. there’s nothing in it that you need, especially when you nearly fall off of the bed putting it on the floor. thankfully, one of choso’s big, rough hands grabs onto your leg before you can slip. that doesn’t help your case either.

“what? no, i’m not. i don’t think you are either. we’re drunk but not too drunk,” he corrects, and he’s right, and he knows you know he’s right. “if you tell me, i’ll tell you.”

“you tell me first and i’ll tell you.”

“what?! it was your dare!”

“if you don’t tell me first i won’t tell you! i’m… too embarrassed,” you murmur, hoping, praying, begging that he’ll drop this, but if anyone’s going to back down, it’s not going to be him. choso squints at you from where he sits across from you.

“why are you embarrassed? do i know him? do i not like him?”

“what? no. i mean, i guess you know him? i’d hope you like him. stop stalling! you have to tell me first or i won’t tell you.”

the both of you fall silent in a standoff, your stares the weapon of choice for this fight, and for several

moment’s you’re sure that choso will be the one to break. he’ll get tired of the quiet and this conversation will be left for another day, or will never be picked up again, but… part of you doesn’t want him to give this up. you want to know, but not before he knows.

“i like you,” choso declares, his chin held high and his eyes still participating in your weird duel. he’s definitely blushing, but other than that, he shows no sign of embarrassment, or shame, or fear… he’s also not laughing. when you don’t say anything, choso keeps talking. “i like you a lot. in, like, more than a friend way. that’s why i wanted to play truth or dare.”

“i, um… i thought that—“

“holdonholdonhe’stellingher—“ creaaaaaaaak. THUD. “—shhh!”

both of your faces immediately turn bright red, heads snapping towards the door that was previously left cracked two or three inches, which is now swung wide open. three sets of footsteps run down the hallway as you jump up from choso’s bed to slam the door shut, locking it afterwards just to be safe. you want to slam your head through the thin wooden door, but instead, you rest your burning forehead against its smooth surface.

“… was this his idea?” you ask, your voice wobbling from such an extreme level of embarrassment that you think you might cry. from behind you, you can hear a small ‘yes.’ “did he tell you to dare me to tell you who i like?” another small ‘yes.’

instead of saying anything else, you take a deep breath and force your weak, trembling legs to carry you back to choso’s bed. you stand at the side he’s sitting on, staring into his amber colored eyes which stare back into yours, both held wide and shifting nervously before placing a hand on each side of his face.

however, it’s choso that moves first, almost violently bringing his lips to yours, and it’s like a supernova explodes behind your eyes— thousands and thousands of colors, lights, sounds, feelings you’ve never felt before flood your senses, and within a second you’re melting into him. choso moves so that you’re standing between his legs, his hands moving in tandem to rest on your waist, trapping you where you stand so that you can’t leave. not that you’d want to.

eventually, you have to pull away from his lips to breathe, but your foreheads rest against each others, the both of you left eyes closed and panting.

from the living room, yuji yells, “did you do it?”

a/n: FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYY HERE COME IN HERE COME GET YALL JUICE

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seeingivy · 1 year ago

Text

high infidelity

satoru gojo x f!reader

do you really wanna know where I was april 29th?

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: infidelity (omg who knew), yn is a doctor, satoru gets injured and haha ur still my emergency contact's his way back into your life, megumi and yuuji flirting side quest, a big hot flaming mess of writing this is actually so bad

an: no one say anything to me about this fic actually. or the fact that I made everyone do a poll about which taylor as gojo to write just to not write either of those options and produce a flaming, hot wreck of garbage. anyways, live love high infidelity this song will always be special to me because on april 29th, I was indeed, at the eras tour seeing mother for the first time

You swallow hard as the waitress walks up again, with that sheepish, awkward smile on her face. And you dread the unrelenting, embarrassing question that’s going to follow. One that she’s already asked, three times.

“Are you still waiting for someone or would you like to order?”

And you’re not sure why, but the fact that she asks the question, in that phrasing, in that tone, is enough to aggravate the very thin patience you already have. Because really, it’s quite possibly the stupidest question she could have asked.

Clearly, you are still waiting for someone. You’ve been sitting here for the past hour and a half. If you were really intent on eating at this restaurant alone, then you would have ordered the second they seated you.

And it’s rude, abrasive even. To ask, to relentlessly question, three times. Because obviously, you feel horrible for taking the table, when there’s a line of people patiently waiting by the door. And it’s not your fault that your boyfriend is late. And really, it’s just humiliating, that she keeps throwing it in your face, that you’re sitting here, alone when he should be here making you feel special.

You sigh, giving her a halfhearted smile.

“Can I have twenty more minutes? I promise I’ll leave after that and let you give the table to someone else.”

She smiles, genuine and sweet, as she places her hand on your shoulder and makes a promise to bring some more bread before you leave.

The premise of it - the fact that she smiled in earnest and must know that you feel horrible, that she has her own deposit of pity for you - has you bringing your fingers up to your forehead and massaging that small, pulsating feeling by your temples. Because here you were, mentally cussing out the poor girl working minimum wage at the restaurant when the real subject of your wrath couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

And you hate that the negativity, the frustrations of the situation, seem to bleed into everything else. Because you’ll find yourself being upset with Yuri, but then suddenly it turns into a blind agitation to everything. The barista, for not making your coffee right, your co-workers asking to switch shifts so they can go on a trip with their partners, the laundry machine when it stops working.

Your phone starts incessantly buzzing on the table, the smallest glimmer of hope sparking in your chest at the sound. And instantly dies, when you realize it’s just the Emergency Room calling you.

You slide open the call, pressing the phone to your ear.

“This is Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital. Is this a miss Y/N L- wait.” Megumi states into the phone, mumbling off the speaker.

You press the phone harder to your ear, to try to catch the end of the conversation that Yuuji must be having with Megumi.

“Y/N. Right, hi!” he states, voice halfheartedly cheery, which is already odd enough for him.

“Hi Megumi. Why are you calling me on my day off?” you deadpan, that backlogged deposit of irritation coming in hot and fresh for the sweetest resident you have.

“Right. Um, we have a mister Satoru Gojo in the Emergency Room who has you listed as his Emergency Contact. He’s kind of in bad shape so we were going to call regarding-”

“Gojo? I’ll be there in ten.” you respond, shoving the phone into your purse and leaving the tip flat on the tablecloth. You give the waitress - standing there with that restocked bread in her hand - a polite wave on the way out and speed as fast as you can to the hospital.

You march into the ER, rubbing warmth into your biceps, to find Megumi at the nurses station, as always, flirting with the pink haired student nurse he’s taken a keen liking to.

“Hey. Where is he?” you ask, Yuuji and Megumi turning their heads to give you half hearted smiles. It’s only the start of the night shift, but by the way their shoulders are already sagging, you can tell whoever has to deal with them has a long night ahead of them.

“Right sooooo. We can’t decipher any of his paperwork. We need you to read it first and then you can see him. He’s in room eleven.” Yuuji states, giving a peachy smile, as you scan over Gojo’s characteristic illegible handwriting.

“Jesus. He still writes like a twelve year old.” you murmur, filling out the sheet at the side with all the information Yuuji needed.

“You’re all dressed up, teach. What’s the occasion?” Megumi asks, lazily leaning his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Ah. It’s my one year anniversary with Yuri. We were supposed to go to dinner.” you mumble, scratching the last of the information on the sheet and handing it to Yuuji.

You feel a hand sling around your shoulder and a distinct smell of smoke, only to find Shoko hanging off your frame.

“And yet here you are, because he didn’t show up.” she murmurs, earning you a set of wide eyes as you glare at Shoko. Because at their core, Yuuji and Megumi are first, definitely crushing on each other, and second, nosy as hell.

“And here you are. Destroying every last cell in your lungs, that are eagerly, earnestly begging you to stop.” you deadpan.

She flicks your nose as you finish filling out the sheet and reading through the paramedics report that was attached to his paperwork.

“Please tell me you attacked Yuri at the dinner table and that’s why you’re here. Fork to the hand? Spoon in the eye? Knife to the dick?” Shoko asks, excitedly.

“Didn’t you like take an oath? For the preservation of human life?” Megumi deadpans.

“No. I skipped that day of medical school.” Shoko replies.

“Gojo’s here, I’m still his emergency contact.” you respond back, giving her a pointed glare.

“What happened?”

You turn your head expectantly to Megumi, who obliges.

“His car got t-boned. He’s pretty roughed up.” Megumi responds.

You give Shoko a weary look, as you march to the other side of the unit, preparing yourself for whatever roughed up version of Gojo you were about to be greeted with. Because every interaction with Gojo was a rush of emotions - good, bad, sweet, and ugly - but this might be the biggest thing you’ve ever had to stomach yet.

“So. Who is this Satoru guy? I’ve never heard of him before.” Megumi asks Shoko, giving Yuuji an all knowing glance.

“Her ex-boyfriend.” Shoko responds.

“No way. Before that asshat Yuri?” Yuuji asks, suddenly too invested in the story all together.

“Well, obviously. He taught as a professor at the same medical school she attended.”

“Y/N dated a professor?” Megumi asks, tone incredulous.

“I mean that’s one way to get through I guess.” Yuuji adds.

Shoko smacks the top of Yuuji’s head, earning a fit of laughter from the two of them for his stupid comment.

“You need to focus on your nursing exams instead of flirting with Megumi on your fifteen. It would do you some good to flirt with your preceptor. And no, he was just a fellow doing research at the time. They were best friends for a good few years, had that whole will they won’t they vibe going on.” Shoko responds.

“So….did they?” Megumi asks.

“They did. To be honest, I can’t really remember why they broke up. Something stupid.” Shoko shrugs, giving the two of them shoves on the shoulder before walking past the hall, to find you standing in front of the door. Your hand is resting against the handle, but you have yet to yank down and push yourself in.

“Are you warming up the handle or…?”

You’re thrown out of your train of thought to find Shoko at your side, hands buried deep in her white coat as she gives you a weary glance. To anyone else, Shoko would seem wildly disinterested, almost annoyed at how you were acting. But you know better and can see that small twinge of concern buried under her long eyelashes, the hint of it in her voice.

“Oh. Um…no. Just got lost in thought.” you murmur, staring at the faded eleven on the marker.

“About?”

You swallow hard, the warm tears filling your eyes.

“I haven’t talked to him in so long. And the last time we talked we were arguing over…..leaving dishes in the sink. Breaking up. If I walk in there and he’s dead, that’s going to be the last thing I ever said to him.” you whisper, air grating against your throat.

Shoko puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes once..

“He’s not dead. The monitor tech would have picked up on that.”

“The monitor tech? Are we talking about the same monitor tech? Because Nobara is too busy flirting with the phlebotomist Maki to ever do her job. They’re worse than Megumi and Yuuji.”

Shoko scoffs, before rolling her eyes at you.

“No one is worse than Megumi and Yuuji. Yuuji knocked the entire crash cart over when he clocked in because Megumi complimented his Star Wars themed scrubs.”

You snort, shaking your head, as you take a deep breath in and push the handle down. Shoko gives you a warm smile as you walk in and flick the lights on, only to see Satoru, sitting up in bed and lazily scrolling through the TV channels.

He looks over at you first, his eyes going wide, as you walk up to him and cup the side of his cheek. The tears that were welling in your eyes are falling in full flesh, at the sight of him all battered and bruised.

His snow white hair is matted red, an angry, glaring scratch on his forehead. His arm is littered with tiny cuts, with a good amount of dressing on his torso, the red blood already seeping through and the look on his face so broken and tired that it makes your heart twinge.

“Satoru.”

He smiles, albeit a little confused, as he looks up at you and brings his hand up to yours, where it’s resting against your face.

“Hey princess.”

You laugh through your sprout of tears, which has the smallest smile turning up on his cut up lips and the soft, faint smile lines appearing near his eyes.

“You here to patch me up, doc?” he whispers.

You shake your head incessantly, which has him rolling his eyes.

“Not today.”

“Shame. I heard having sex is really good for patient recovery.”

You smack his shoulder, biting hard down on your cheeks that Satoru Gojo, in full flesh, is okay. Because he still has the audacity to flirt with you, even when he’s near death in the hospital.

“I’m going to look at your chart, okay?”

You let go of his face and find yourself in front of the computer, logging in with your credentials, and trying to pull up his chart as fast as you can.

“If I found out you got into this accident because you were trying to find the perfect song before you got home, I’m going to put your head on a stick, Satoru Gojo” you murmur, earning a laugh from him.

“First and foremost, you always have to close the drive home on a banger. Sue me.”

“I think I might just.”

“And contrary to your beliefs, this accident actually wasn’t my fault. They crashed into me, naturally, because I do no wrong. Ever.” he states.

“Right.” you chuckle.

You read over the report, making it a point to berate Yuuji for his shitty charting later, as you look through his vital signs and blood cultures that were taken when he arrived here.

“So do all doctors dress like they’re about to go clubbing or is it just you?”

You look down, only now noticing that you’re still wearing the a-line dress from the dinner you were supposed to have with Yuri. You make a mental note to shoot him a text after checking with Satoru after, knowing all too well that with how busy Yuri is, you standing him up would throw him over the edge.

“Just me. I really love to put on a show for my patients, Gojo. And what clubs are you going to where people dress like this?” you mutter, clicking through the scans that were taking.

“I appreciate the lengths you go to for me. It’s always what I loved about you. And I exclusively attend Taylor Swift night at the Underground” he states, placing his hands on his chest.

You look over and glare at him, before reading through the treatment plan. When you look over Nanami’s notes, you feel your heart drop and turn over to look at him. At his bright, blue eyes so wide and unaware, the look on his face so…innocent it bothers you. That in a few hours, he’s going to be in unspeakable pain while he recovers.

The door opens and Nanami and Yuuta are standing at the door, Nanami already scoffing at you.

“That’s confidential patient information, Dr. L/N.” Nanami states, voice stern. He hands you a jacket, which you pull on, as you hike your hands under your biceps and talk to him.

“You were going to tell me all of it anyways. So…what’s the plan here?” you grumble, settling next to Gojo at the side of his bed, placing your hands in his nearly pink hair.

“Well. I’m going to-”

“The surgical resident has to be Yuuta, I don’t trust that dumbass Todo to do it. You have to use prolene stitches, I don’t want his skin to scar and don’t leave him under for too long. He’s never been one to suit medications well. Don’t play any rap music when you’re operating, he hates that type of stuff and-”

Nanami puts his hands square on your shoulders, squeezing once.

“Thank you, Dr. L/N. We’ll talk all details after, okay?” Nanami states, voice soft, as you turn over to look at Gojo.

Gojo gives you a weak smile, which you return, before pushing his hair off of his forehead, and lightly brushing through the white tresses as he looks at them.

“Give it to me straight, Kento Bento.” Satoru states, earning an eye roll from Nanami who's clearly unamused. But you can tell he doesn’t mind it all too much, because in the monotony of shitty patients, he’s always been one to appreciate the sweet jokesters. And Satoru’s the biggest clown there is.

“It’s a relatively easy procedure, Satoru. We’re just going to go in and repair the damage that you sustained to your digestive tract from the crash. Do you have any questions for me?” Nanami asks.

“Can I request that she’s not in there when it happens?” Satoru asks, looking up at you.

“Hey. I can-”

“Yes. We’ll make sure of it.” Yuuta responds.

“Thank you, Yuuta.” Gojo responds, giving him a smile.

“We’ll be around in an hour to take you to surgery.” Nanami states, ignoring the pointed glare you were giving him as he strolls out of the room.

You turn to Gojo, the overstimulation of the past ten minutes really hitting you, as you feel your brain short circuit while he’s looking at you. You try to focus on the sensation of his hair in your hand and that pulsating beat that you’ve been feeling for his wrist, but you can’t really process any of it.

Every high and low you’ve experienced in the past few minutes - the elation in Gojo’s voice, the pain from seeing him suffering, how he’s still the same as you left him- it’s enough to abandon any rational thought processes from occurring in your head. And it leaves you standing there, silently, with your hands on him.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi ‘Toru.”

He smiles at the nickname, reaching forward to lace his fingers through yours.

“I was driving and then…I wasn’t. I looked up and all I could see was the stoplight above me, then the flashing lights of the ambulance, and now…you….looking at me like that. Your brain isn’t the only one hurting right now.”

“Looking at you ike what?” you murmur.

“Like you’re in pain, Y/N.” he states, emphasizing his syllables.

You shake your head, fighting down that wave of worry that’s sitting in your skin.

“You know, Kento’s a really good doctor. And Yuuta…he’s like the most promising surgical resident. And even then, I-I can get another senior surgeon if you don’t want a student. And-and it really won’t hurt that bad and I’ll make sure they give you all the good meds and-”

“Y/N.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I know you’ve always hated that and I just-”

“I don’t hate it. Just, slow down for a second…talk me through all this because I really don’t know what’s going on and you know I don’t like not knowing.”

You pull up the chair, messing with his hands as you talk.

“You have to get surgery. The impact you had when you crashed led to-”

“Y/N. I know all of that already. I’m asking about you.”

You frown, swallowing hard, as you run your fingers along the scratch on his knuckles.

“You never update your current information.”

“Huh?”

“You….you never canceled the stupid Hulu subscription when we got the Disney Plus bundle. And you kept having to trek all the way across town to get the mail, because you forgot to change the address when we moved, and you-”

“I don’t really see how-”

“You forgot to change your emergency contact, Satoru. After we broke up, you-you forgot to call them and tell them that they shouldn’t call me.” you hum, as Gojo’s hand tightens in it’s hold around yours.

“Oh shit, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You lurch up from your chair, tangling your arms around his neck as you crackle his head into your frame, that incessant stream of tears pouring down your eyes as he brings his own arms around yours.

And it feels too fast, because suddenly Nanami and Yuuta are back at your sides, giving you sympathetic glances as they wheel Gojo away and you’re left standing in the hallway, flat against the wall, every horrible outcome of the next four hours playing through your head.

On hour five, already a bad sign, you’re sitting flat against the floor with a jello cup in your hand and in Megumi’s spare pair of scrubs. They’re both sitting at your sides, the dead quiet of the night shift leaving them with you.

“Kento likes to be really careful, Y/N. That’s all it is.” Megumi states, giving his best attempts at calm reassurance.

“And Yuuta’s great. We all love Yuuta, he’s sweet….intelligent. He’s more than capable to do this.” Yuuji adds.

You crack through every last bone in your finger, the entire interaction playing over in your head.

“I-I just went in there so fast. And the time was so…so short that I didn’t even say much to him.” you respond, sighing.

“When’s Yuri coming?”

You turn your head to the side, in confusion, before you register Yuji’s words all together.

“Why would he-”

You panic, remembering that you had never texted Yuri back, that he’s probably fuming in his own pit of rage right now at his apartment, cursing your name to god knows what degree. You reach for your phone in your pocket, only to find no notifications from him. You scroll up on the chat, only to find that he hadn’t texted you the entire day, yesterday.

His last text read April 28th, a reminder that he needed you to pick up his drycleaning for his golf game this weekend.

“He’s really an asshole, isn’t he?” you spit.

You see Megumi and Yuuji give each other wide eyed looks over the top of your head, as you click your phone shut and let it fall to the ground.

Because in the dim lights of this hospital, with Satoru’s blood, some of it still smeared on the side of your hand, you feel like you’re seeing clearly for the first time in years.

That really, Yuri in actuality, is not the one for you. And it’s not that he’s a bad guy, he’s honorable in some sense really, but what he gives isn’t even a fraction close to what you want.

He’s tall and lanky. The type of guy to represent every portion of the food triangle in the three meals he ate. He wakes up at five in the morning to go to the gym before an entire day at work, and still somehow finds time to read and run a personal wellness blog when he gets home.

He’s classy, in every sense of the term. The exact type of man you envision when you think of someone put together, wholly and fully. On top of their shit, living their best life, one that people aspired to.

And that was in no way what you wanted.

You wanted Satoru. Satoru who convinces you that there’s still enough room for a little treat after dinner, despite the fact that you both stuffed yourself full at the restaurant. He sleeps in late on the weekends, pressing lazy kisses to your skin to wake you up before entirely botching the whole breakfast in bed thing he was trying to impress you with.

He was real, in every sense of the term. The type of person you envision when you imagine the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He’s funny, he’s kind and he most certainly would never leave you stranded at a restaurant on your one year anniversary. Because Satoru Gojo certainly wasn’t classy, but he was honorable. And if he promised to be somewhere, he’d be there early, making sure everything was perfect before you got there.

And right now, two of your most trusted co-workers had their hands inside his body cavity, trying to fix the mess in there.

When Gojo comes to, there’s an aching soreness in his torso and neck. He can feel the tense pressure around his arms too, bandages wrapped around every square inch of his body. But that warm feeling around his wrist was entirely different from the rest.

He opens his eyes to find you, fast asleep with your head down on the side of his bed and your hand secured tightly around his wrist. Your breaths are slow, so deep in your sleep that you don’t even process Satoru moving around you amidst your slumber.

He brings his hand down to your hair and watches you lean into his touch, nuzzling your head closer to the blanket. Your hair is messy at this point, bunched up at the top of your head in the messiest knot he’s seen you sport yet.

There’s a knock at the door and Yuuji is standing there, a small smile on his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Gojo. Welcome back.”

Satoru smiles as he moves to his side and starts to hook him up to the monitors, taking a set of fresh vitals.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just sore, Yuuji. How are you?”

“Ah. Night shift. Same old.”

“Is that little emo you like here?”

Satoru watches Yuuji’s cheeks go bright pink, as he starts fumbling with the cuff around his hand.

“Ah, you mean, Megumi? Y/N’s resident? No, he-he’s off tonight.” he stumbles.

“Shame. Nothing like flirting on the night shift.” Satoru states, clicking his tongue.

“Oh, I don’t flirt with-”

“Well, you should. He’s cute. And a doctor. Someone is going to snatch him up real fast.” Satoru states, definitively.

“Mr. Gojo, I don’t know if-”

“Trust me. I know all too well. People swoop in for the doctors before you can even fight to get them back.” Satoru states, reaching down to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Well, I-”

“I’m just saying, kid. Swoop in before it’s too late.” he states, giving him a smile.

“Yeah. Sure, I-I will. Do you need anything else, Mr. Gojo?”

“Can you get her a blanket? She always gets allergies when it’s too drafty in the room she’s sleeping in.”

Yuuji smiles, tapping on the railings of the bed.

“Sure thing.”

And Yuuji curses himself for doing it, for meddling, but he pokes his head into the room one last time before leaving.

“And just so you know. You….sometimes you think it’s too late to swoop. But it’s actually like…the perfect time. To swoop….like a bird or something, I don’t know-” Yuuji stammers.

And when Yuuji leaves and Gojo is able to process his words, he’s trying his best to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Hey, Megs. How are his vitals today?” you ask, swiveling over in your chair.

Megumi, irritated with your constant pestering, has had enough of his fill today. He swings his own chair around, tugging at the stethoscope around his neck, as he glares at you.

“For the hundredth time, your little boo boo bear is just fine. We’re planning to discharge tomorrow.”

You frown, reaching for the closest item - a roll of gauze - and throw it square in his face.

“He’s not my boo boo bear. And I’m just checking. You know he could have complications after the surgery like inf-”

“Infection, hypotension, septic shock, multiple system organ failure, yeah yeah. I know. I graduated top of my class at medical school, you know?”

“And yet here you are, being taught by Shoko. You’re clearly not that great if you’re being trained by a girl who cheated her way through medical school.”

“I’m going to leave. And when I’m gone, you’re going to be really pissed because you’re going to be stuck with some idiot that can’t even take vitals.” Megumi deadpans, swiveling back to his computer.

“No, you’re not. You’d never leave your boo boo bear hanging. Especially since he’s planning on asking you on a date tomorrow.”

“He’s not asking me on a date.” Megumi responds.

You smile, trying to swallow your laugh as you respond.

“Oh, sure he is. And-”

Your phone timer goes off, as you gleefully sprint out of your chair, and down the hall to Satoru’s room. Nanami’s in there, unwrapping his bandages, as you knock and enter to make your presence known. At the sight of you, Nanami’s glaring as you drag the chair up and sit at his side.

“Y/N. You should be working.”

“I’m on my lunch. And I’m allowed to do whatever I want for lunch.”

“You should eat something, Y/N. Instead of bothering our patients.” Nanami scolds, as he shuts the door behind you and you turn to Satoru.

Satoru looks way better, the bruising on his skin fading to yellow and the cuts all around his skin healing. He’s smiling softly, a hand cupping your cheek as he talks.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Hi Satoru.”

“You know, you really should eat something on your lunch break.”

“You know, you really should keep your annoying opinions to yourself.” you respond.

He scoffs, moving his hand to mess up your hair, as you swat his hands off.

“So.” Satoru states.

“So?”

“A little birdie told me that you broke up with Yuri last night.”

“Well, your little birdie was wrong. As nosy as he is, he clearly doesn’t know how to listen.”

You both laugh, Gojo slightly dejected by your response, as you lace your hands through his, and smile at your hands firmly pressed together.

“Yuuji’s got a bad case of the chismosa virus.”

“And you don’t? I heard you giggling with Shoko at the nurses station about how the emo is going to ask Yuuji on a date.”

“No, Yuuji's asking Megumi on the date. And okay, but that’s actually a big deal. I’ve been trying to set that up for months.”

“Well, you can’t take credit because I’m actually the one who got Yuuji to do it.”

You frown, reaching forward to pinch his cheeks.

“Shut up. It’s only the months of build up, that I basically created, that’s making him do it.”

“Well, I pushed him over the edge. So it’s my victory.”

You sigh, sitting back in your chair as you smile at him, at how easily you both fall back into this.

“How about we both did it?” you ask, giving him a smile.

“Sure. We always did make a good team.” he responds, making your cheeks burn.

You reach for his blanket and start moving his gown to inspect the incision, trying to make sure that the site wasn’t getting infected, from when you checked yesterday. .

“Okay, pervert. I didn’t realize you were into voyeurism.” Satoru says, incredulously.

“Gojo. Do you even know what voyeurism means?”

“Yeah. It’s people who like to have sex in public.”

You snort, moving the edge of the gown as you note the clean sutures, healing well along the length of his torso.

“That is not what voyeurism means, dumbass.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was fighting with the sex kink expert here.”

“I-I’m not a sex kink expert! You’re just fucking stupid.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You roll your eyes, as you settle back into the chair, reaching forward to cup his face. He smiles, soft and warm, which you return.

“You’re healing really well. It’ll just be a faint line, right around your torso when you’re out of here.” you murmur.

“It kinda looks like I got my legs cut off and someone sewed them back on.” he murmurs.

“That’s not funny.” you deadpan, glaring at him.

“Kinda funny. That’s a really unfortunate way to die.” he responds.

“I know there’s a universe out there where that actually happens to you. And I know for a fact that Satoru doesn’t think it’s funny at all.”

“Okay, Doctor Strange. Let’s pipe down there, alright? Even if that did happen to me, I’d come back from it. Because guess what?”

“Don’t say it.” you groan.

“Because I’m the strongest.”

“You know that never gets less annoying right?”

“You love it.” he responds, reaching forward to pinch your cheek.

You look down, at your hand tangled in Satoru’s as you find a way to broach the topic. That for all intents and purposes, that you want nothing to do with Yuri. That you want him, that you do love his stupid jokes, that you’d beg on your hands and knees for him to take you back because-

“Do you want to go to the aquarium on Friday?” Satoru asks.

“The aquarium?”

“Yeah. We can take a picnic basket, eat on the lawn outside afterwards.” Satoru says.

You swallow the lump in your throat, aggressively nodding in response.

“Yeah. That sounds nice. We can um-carpool.”

“Sure. It’s a date.” he responds, leaning into his pillow with a soft smile on his face.

You bite down the stupid smile that’s rising to your cheeks, as you close your eyes, humming in agreement.

“Yeah. It’s a date.” you whisper back.

Eight days after the fact and Yuri, in his infinite wisdom, finally comes through. That’s when he musters the courage to bring himself to your apartment, where Satoru has been staying with you since he was discharged. And when Satoru answers the door, Yuri’s all levels of pissed.

“Who are you?” Yuri asks.

“I’m the owner of this house.” Gojo responds, trying not to laugh at his own joke.

“Did Y/N move?”

“No, dumbass. It was a joke.” he responds, rolling his eyes.

Satoru leans off of the door frame, calling for you, as you join him at his side.

“Hey, you okay? I was planning on making lunch for- oh.”

Satoru smiles, reaching forward to ruffle your hair, before he shuffles away.

“Holler if you need me.”

You shoot Satoru a grateful smile, infinitely thankful that the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off, as you turn to Yuri in your doorway.

“Where were you on Saturday?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest.

You swallow hard, rehearsing the speech you had prepared with Satoru when you were tangled in his arms last night, and make your best attempt to deliver the blow the best you can.

“Yuri. I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“What?”

“I just don’t think that we’re really compatible. You and I are…on different wavelengths. And you deserve someone who is better suited to you and your….interests.” you murmur, awkwardly rubbing your arms on your arms.

In actuality, you feel a little bit bad. That technically, you might have been…a little bit dishonest with Yuri. Because you’re having this conversation with him, days after the fact, when you’ve already done god knows what with Gojo in the past few days he’s been back with you. He’s all but living in your apartment at this point, under the premise of needing twenty four hour medical support, when really, you’re both just soaking up on time you lost.

Time is so precious, that you forgot to tell Yuri until he showed up, on your doorstep. You finally understand why Yuri was late to things, because whatever he was doing when he wasn’t with you, must have been keeping him occupied the way this was keeping you occupied.

Because you kept planning on calling him, but then Gojo would take you out to breakfast. Or you’d sleep in too late and then knew that you’d be interrupting Yuri at work. And the list, it went on and on and led you to this moment and it’s painfully awkward.

And maybe it’s bad, a little bit evil even, but that small bit of bad feeling is overshadowed by every bit of good that you’ve felt in the past few days. At Gojo ordering dessert out of nowhere, that he insists he’s sharing with you before he eats almost the entire thing, or when he drags you to the bathroom when he’s doing his night time hair care routine.

“Where were you? On Saturday?”

“Look, I just got called into work, okay?”

“Are you…are you serious? Don’t tell me you’re really dating that dumbass who just answered the door?”

“Frankly, it’s none of your business who I date anymore because you…you aren’t really a part of my life anymore. And we’re not dating, we’re just-”

“God. He flashes one pretty smile at you and you go running back to him? Need I remind you, that you complained about him for months on end. About how he’s messy, he’s careless, he’s-”

“That stuff doesn’t matter. At least not anymore.”

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

You feel Gojo padding behind you, and you put your hand up in the air, signaling for him to stay where he is.

“Do you really want to know where I was on April 29th? On our one year anniversary, I was sitting in a shitty restaurant, for an hour and a half waiting for you to show up. When I hadn’t heard from you all day. And then I got a call, that the man that I love was in the hospital, and then I was at his side. Willing him to wake up, because I would be so fucking angry, so fucking pissed if he died and I didn’t get to tell him that he meant the world to me.”

Yuri swallows hard, the look of betrayal etched on his face.

“Are you trying to hurt me right now? Do you get some kind of sick gratification from killing the one you love?” he asks.

“I’d argue that my way is nicer actually. One fell swoop, with the truth out there. The slowest way to kill someone is never loving them enough. And honestly, it’s just cruel. And of course, something that you were too skilled at.”

You’re not sure what it is about what you said, but suddenly Yuri’s stomping down the hallway and you’re shutting the door, as the tears start pouring out of your eyes and you’re leaning against the door.

Now that Yuri’s gone, Satoru’s shed all his inhibitions and he’s cradling you straight in his arms, his soft voice cooing in your ear as you hiccup into his chest.

“Hey. You did so good, princess.”

“I-I’m not crying because I’m sad. I still…I still want you, you know?”

Satoru smiles, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks in his hand and wipe your tears away.

“I know that, sweetheart. I’m irresistible.” he murmurs.

You lightly shove him, before resting your head against his torso, hearing the rapid beating of his heart under your ear.

“I’m just really relieved. That you-that you’re-”

You look up, at his sparkling blue eyes, the tiny fractals of color like perfectly constructed, charted constellations in his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here. Again.”

He smiles wide, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“Me too, yeah?”

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme

lmk if you would like to be added to my taylor as gojo or my general masterlist in the replies or inbox <3

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uzurimisery · 6 months ago

Text

like real people do. / kageyama tobio / nsfw

wc: 5.5k

Warnings: Kageyama is autistic, smut, fingering, reader has nipple piercings, reader works in A&R for music, reader used to live in brazil, friends to lovers, awkward sex

A/N: experimenting with more awkward/realistic smut and I love my autistic blorbo Kageyama

thank you to @peachyminx and @dervngedgf for beta reading

Kageyama never did understand the way that conversations worked, or were supposed to work. They were winding, circuitous, jumping from place to place. Unstable like a fault line, bursting from tension. The older he got the more he began to have a loose grasp on them. One so faint it slipped from his fingers if there was too much deviation. It hadn’t been easy to get to this point. It took years of failed attempts at making friends, three failed relationships, and a PR manager to get here.

Hardly a gentle climb into social know-how.

There was a script that worked in most situations. The gym, interviews, the grocery store, casuals and quick conversations weren’t altering his normal routine in any major way. He liked things being the normal way.

So why the hell was he in a club? A place that went so far against the normal?

It had been Hirugami’s idea, he said that the team needed to bond more. Kageyama knew it was just a thinly veiled excuse to get drunk on the team’s card.

It was awful— the drinking.

Conversations were bad enough while sober, small talk, social cues being a forge in language, and alcohol just made him feel worse about them. The script was thrown across the room and given to an AI generator that made something worse for him to spit back out.

The pounding music, early 2000s rap, split his head with each drum beat feeling like it was played against his skull. He could smell everything, the foreigners easily able to be picked out from the crowd. The buttons on his navy blue dress shirt had started choking him early so it was now half undone, which he hated. Shirts were meant to have only one, or two, buttons undone depending on the level of formality of the event attending. How many were appropriate for a club? At four buttons down the curve of the underside of his pecs could be seen.

He felt out of place, out of his element, and like a child sitting at the grown-ups' table for the first time and trying to seem mature.

“Tobio!” Nicolas shouted at him from across the booth. “When are you going to bring them around again?”

His face scrunched up. “Why?”

“Because if you’re not going to make a move I am!” Nicolas’ laugh was grating and sharp. “They used to live not far from my parents. A shame it took until now to meet.”

“I thought you were working things out with Maria?” Kageyama had stopped bringing you around after one too many comments on how he was in love with you and afraid to make a move. Something Nicolas harped on him for and took every opportunity to flirt with you in front of him.

“Por que não ambos? Maria doesn’t have to know.” Kageyama hated the smirk that spread across the Brazilian's face. He knew that Nicolas was teasing him, just like he knew Nicolas wasn’t interested in you in the slightest, but it always drove him up the wall.

Wakatoshi cut in, voice steady and flat, as always. As much as Kageyama struggled with conversations he knew Wakatoshi would be right there with him. “I believe we have discussed many times that Kageyama-san has stated he is waiting for a better opportunity to discuss his feelings with them.”

“That’s what he said last week and three months ago and then six months ago.” Sokolov chimed into the conversation now, monkey-like as he usually was, followed by Heiwajima.

“You really should talk to them about it. Either way, you need closure to get past your emotional constipation.”

Kageyama wanted to crawl into a hole. It was bad enough having to figure out his feelings but having them discussed in front of him made him want to jump off the side of Tokyo Tower. His feelings were complicated. Tangled and messy, blending into each other. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to separate them let alone tell you about them.

“Guuys chill, chill,” Hirugami was back with another round of drinks. “Tobio will get to it when pigs fly.” The team busted out laughing. It was humiliating no matter how many times they all poked at him about it. The only way that he’d ever get them to stop was to confess to you.

“Fuck you guys.” He was grumpy now, grumbling into his drink as he took a swig.

The chorus all said they just wanted the best for him, that there was no way you didn’t feel the same way, that it was all in good faith, all stuff to make them feel better about teasing him. He hated being teased.

Maybe if he just told you they’d finally leave him alone about it. You might get distant for a bit but he had faith that you could be friends again down the road.

“If I tell them tonight will you guys leave me alone about it?”

Nicolas’ sly look managed to get worse. “You tell them tonight and I’ll give you ten thousand yen.”

“Deal.”

Slipping his phone out of his front pocket and pulling up your contact information had never felt so stressful. He didn’t need the money, he just wanted to be left alone about this.

To: Best Brazilian

Can you meet me outside Playa Del Sol?

From: Best Brazilian

You’re at a club?

To: Best Brazilian

I wasn’t my idrea

Typing was hard. The heat of all the bodies in the room made his hand slippery.

From: Best Brazilian

Lucky you, I’m just down the street at a gig

>You think you’d be fine to hang out for that? Local band

To: Best Brazilian

As long as it’s not Sean Paul

From: Best Brazilian

Kk see you in 10

Kageyama was, as usual, grateful for your friendship as he excused himself from the group and headed outside to wait for you. More often than not you served as a refuge for him. One of the few people in the world who truly understood him. You didn’t question his mannerisms and need for routine.

Once he had asked if you thought he was weird, as flawed as he felt, and you had looked at him as if the question was stupid and gave a simple ‘no.’

Meeting you had been a deviation from the norm in the best way. Hinata had been visiting and when they were out they bumped into you, surprised since you had been a manager at one of Hinata’s favorite jazz clubs back in Brazil.

Kageyama got lost in the conversation as Hinata and you bounced between English, Portuguese, and Japanese when speaking. You had corrected and steered the conversation to Japanese, seeing Kageyama’s confusion.

Your Japanese was clunky back then, and your mouth still struggling with the syllables at times. More than that, your understanding of pitch accent back then was abysmal.

But that meeting had changed his world, shifted its axis.

Eventually, Hinata’s two-month vacation ended and he left, and Kageyama expected you to leave his orbit too. But you didn’t, you stayed around. It’s been three years and you were still around. And it's been a year since he realised he loved you.

When the night air had started to sink in, sweat from the club finally drying, he saw you round the corner.

Every time he saw you he thought he’d get used to how beautiful you were but he never could. You were bright as the sun, warming him, the rays of your light brushing across his skin promised growth, comfort, and shelter.

Your braids had been half pulled back in some sort of half-updo, two ponytails at the top of your head. He has watched you do them the other week. Or he had been watching before you made him help you since he was sitting there. He didn’t know how to braid at all, but you made him learn. Told him your continued friendship was dependent on it.

He was glad you made him learn though. It gave him an excuse to be in your space, close to you, for hours on end. To touch you without worrying if the amount of contact was normal or not.

“Tobio!” His name always sounded so perfect coming from your glossed lips. There was a twinkle in your eyes. You had done your makeup for “special events” as you had once explained it to him. Instead of a normal cat eye, you had graphic black eyeliner. He never understood why you wore makeup but he knew that it was something you enjoyed doing.

He stumbled a bit as he moved towards you, wetting his lips with his tongue as he said your name.

“Whoa careful there big guy! How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Your arm grasped his bicep, his heart stuttering at the contact.

“Three double vodka cranberries and one beer.”

Your brows raised. “Rough time in there huh?”

“You have no idea.” Kageyama launched into recounting what had happened.

One of his favourite things about you was how you didn’t press on topics he didn’t want to talk about. You left the conversation shift onto the gig you dragged him to and about the band. His second favourite thing about you was your willingness to unabashedly talk about your interests. Your job as an A&R at Sony meant you were always talking to him about a new band or artist. Before meeting you he wouldn’t consider himself someone who cared about music much. It was just something to help him keep pace while running. He didn’t understand why people liked it. But by watching you he started to dissect the reasons.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, no grand realisation listening to a recommendation from you. It was a gradual shift. He started listening to more things, trying to pick out ones you’d like and he could send them to you. It was only after Wakatoshi had pointed out he was humming one day that he clocked the change went beyond just you.

When you got to the venue, you flashed your Employee ID at security and pulled Kageyama in behind you. It was just as dimly lit as the club but the smaller venue made it less obstructive. You had dragged him here before for a folk singer-songwriting you signed after the show. He had no idea what he was about to listen to but he knew if it was you, it’d be good.

You led him to the middle of the standing-room area. You preferred a more central location so you could observe the artist’s dynamics and stage presence. While he would normally want to be on the outskirts, he didn’t mind being in the middle. It was crowded though so you were stood in front of him. Someone walked past and knocked you back against him.

“Sorry!” You knew that he didn’t like physical contact much, so you created space as soon as you could. It pained him.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s you.” When you smiled up at him, he felt like he was going to short-circuit. “Who are we discovering today?”

Another person bumped you into him, shifting your balance and almost causing you to fall. He wrapped his arms around you to stabilise you before he even knew what he was doing.

You muttered under your breath something about expecting better from the crowd here. “You remember Hozier?”

He knew who Hozier was. You had forced him to listen to Hozier’s entire discography one day. He liked Hozier. In another world maybe he would be as good with his words as the singer was. He could write you poems and sonnets, tell you all the little things about you that made him feel right. As much as he might try now, he couldn’t so he hoped that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Yes. You made me listen to his entire discography.” His throat felt dry. “I don’t believe I understood all the metaphors but he has a good voice.”

“Well, imagine Hozier if he was Japanese. And he blended traditional instruments, taiko drums and all that, with a raspy voice and great lyricism.”

“I see.” His gaze shifted, watching you adjust in his arms. He wondered if he should release you if he was supposed to have let go three seconds ago or held on longer. Now he was scared to move and make it weirder by moving.

“Sorry, should I let you go?” He was nervous, anxiety creeping, edging him out of the buzz he had from drinking earlier and into harsh sobriety.

“No, it’s okay. I’m kinda cold and you’re really warm.”

“Okay.”

The conversation between the two of you died down and Kageyama wanted to make a clone of himself and shake it around. What the hell was he doing? Under the dim lights, the first few chords starting to play, cradling you in his arms, he felt so nervous.

The opening band started to fill the room with an instrumental. Their first two songs went by quickly enough at least. You would sway along, occasionally bobbing your head to the beat. Your eyes were focused on them as they performed. Someone might look over and think you were a long-time fan of the opening act, enraptured by their performance, but Kageyama knew you. You were appraising them, seeing if they had potential.

As their set drug on, he found himself watching you more than the band. Your brows would twitch, pulling together in the middle for a split second, every time they did something you considered to be a technical miss. You had told him that bands were like a team of volleyball players.

When you explained it you said that singers were like aces. The powerhouse that made a team stand apart from their opponents. Drums were the setter. They set the tempo, and the flow, of the song Guitars were like hitters, driving down the point. Keys or synths were liberos, not always on the track but essential for making a good song, and basses were middle blockers, getting a perfect read and keeping the team grounded. So far it seemed like the band was winning their set.

He liked watching you like this, seeing you the most in your element. It hurt his heart, made it tight in his chest from how your eyes darted across the stage. It felt like ripping off a bandage. Diving without a kneepad and your skin tearing on the polished floor of the court. Like hand sanitiser in a superficial wound. Painful, but knowing that the pain was a sign of growth, of healing.

The lighting changed, hues of pink and red, as the frontman started talking about their next and final song. He was telling the crowd to grab their lovers, pull them close, and sway along with the music. Kageyama nearly choked when you turned to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Well hello lover.” you giggle at the last word, joking about your relationship. While didn’t like the joking nature of it, he wanted it to be real, he liked you calling him it. Your fingernails scratched at the nape of his neck, tangling in the hairs there.

He had had too much to drink and feeling your chest against his own was making the blood rush from his head and straight to his groin. He felt like a teenage boy, unable to keep himself from growing hard. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he swore he could feel your nipples.

His breath hitched as he went to respond, low and raspy in your ear. “Hello.” Kageyama wanted to say something better, more suave and flirtatious, wishing for a second that he could embody the same way with women Nicolas had.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Not enough.” His cheeks were flush, he needed something in this moment. To pull you closer against himself or to push you away so you didn’t catch on to his growing hard-on.

Your heartbeat against his own in the confined space, slower than his rapid one. The music drowned out, turning to background sounds as he stared into your eyes. Eye contact was normally so forced for him, constantly having to remind himself to make it. It felt so much more intense with you like you could see through him. He loved your eye colour and the way the corners of your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

Your lips curled up into a smile as you gazed at him, coated in a shimmery gloss that smelt like vanilla. Your tongue poked out the wet your lips, something you always did when you needed to reapply the lip gloss. He wanted to know what it felt like against his own. If it was as sticky as it looked. If it’d pull into fine strands as you separated.

“What are you staring at so intensely? I feel like you’re dissecting me.”

He felt loose and sappy from the drinks earlier, more willing to take risks.

“You. I’m staring at you.”

“Me?”

His eyes shifted up to meet yours again. “You.” You chuckled a little bit at him before replying.

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you.” The words slipped out of him before he could stop them, once again putting his foot in his mouth. You were going to reject him, tell him off for violating your boundaries. He’d have to text Hinata tomorrow that he fucked up with you and that everything went wrong.

“Kiss me.” The first time you said the words it didn’t compute in his brain.

“Tobio, kiss me.” He stood frozen, short-circuiting, he had been so set on an outcome that a change in path threw him off.

The trance was broken when he felt your lips against his, sticky from the lip gloss as he imagined. You were soft, like a feather brushing across his kiss, gentle and tentative. When you pulled away from him it felt like he could breathe again. You tasted sweet, no doubt partially from the lip gloss but also just you. He wanted more.

Kageyama leaned in, one hand tentatively reaching up to the side of your face to cradle it. His lips met yours again it started with pecks, gentle like you had been, before building in intensity. It felt like Kageyama had been starving for years, the sensation unknown and accepted as just a part of living, but as your mouth opened and his tongue met yours he realised that his hunger, his craving, his desire, had been an aspect of himself so far removed from his understanding until this moment. He understood want and need now that he had tasted you.

The heat of your breath melting with his own made his nerves alight as you parted for air.

“I’m in love with you.” Your forehead met his shoulder and you laughed.

“Tobio I know,” it was like the lights in the room knew to shine down around you giving you a halo. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

“I’m sorry.” You tucked your head under his chin and he let his hands slip down from your waist and into your back pockets, feeling emboldened by your actions.

You swayed with him to the beat of the song as the transition music into the main act’s set began.

“If it’s any consolation I found it cute.” Your lips met the side of his neck and you tilted upwards to his ear. “I’m in love with you too.”

He joined you in shifting side to side, enjoying the moment as you murmured against his skin, voice warmth with honesty. He didn’t understand it all, but he understood you in this moment, the shared feeling of love between you. One old and ancient, but never weathered by time, still steadfast in its stature. Unending, unshifting.

The “Japanese Hozier” stepped out onstage and Kageyama let you turn to face the stage, moving to take his hands off you only to find them being wrapped around your waist again, guided by your hands. He wouldn’t remember the set list, or the singer's performance, too entangled in you and feeling you in all his senses to care about anything else.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had brought him home after the show, still humming some of the songs as you puttered around. He had changed as you made a midnight snack for the two of you. His hair hung in clumped damp strands as he played sudoku on his phone waiting for you to finish up. You hated when he got in your way in the kitchen.

With a plate full of mini pancakes you plopped down on the couch next to him, your makeup removed and hair up. He liked you the most like this, relaxed and human. Sometimes he worried you were an angel sent down from the heavens to make him believe in god but instead drove him to sin.

He took one off the plate when you moved it closer to him. Chewing on it slowly, watching you nibble on yours.

“You wanna talk about it?” His eyes were peeled on your lips.

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

“I’m fine…” you moved and placed the plate on the coffee table. “Good, actually. Great even.”

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” He felt so many things right now it was difficult to verbalise any of them.

You pulled your knees to your chest and faced him. A braid fell into your face and you tucked it behind your ear. Every time he looked at you he understood poetry and prose, songs of admiration, why men would go to war over their lovers. It was nonsensical, to think you could see stars in someone's eyes, but you reflected the lights of the room like a planetarium. He thought that he might die before he found the words to express his thoughts and feelings to you, to get his point across, but he knew with you he didn’t have to. He had never had to.

His hand encompassed your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces, you the last piece needed to complete the puzzle. Simple connection, conjoining of spirits.

Kageyama tugged on your hand, pulling you towards himself, making you come to rest on your shins in between his legs. He kissed the back of your hand, softly, tenderly, still afraid that there was something he was missing. But the ball never dropped, the tower never crumbled, and he led you further forward, your free hand resting at his chest before slithering up the back of his neck.

He couldn’t tell if it was you or him who moved first, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting again. It felt more tentative than the first ones had. Careful and measured, aware of the space, the boundaries, the dynamic you had had. Of how that was shifting, changing, as the pretences you had were changed.

Kageyama dropped your hand in favour of wrapping his around your waist, guiding you to manoeuvre into his lap. Your ass rested against his groin. The longer he kissed you, the more he felt himself growing hard, aided by your hips grinding down on him. Once on a night out with the team, you had danced with him and it was then that he learned of how fluid you were. Tonight you were water, dripping down on him, swirling around him, wetting his skin.

He palmed at the waistband of the sleep shorts you had changed into, desperately wanting to remove them but unwilling to force you into something. You pulled away from kissing him to remove your shorts, left in just your underwear and oversized shirt. Kageyama quickly stripped off his shirt before kissing you again, this time letting it evolve into making out with you.

One of your hands moved to his lower abdomen, brushing against his happy trail, making him shiver. He felt you palm at his length through his sweats, slow and sensually. His dick was bigger than you thought it’d be. Average girth but one or two inches longer than expected.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.” His response was quick, jumping the gun, eager to have you take him in your hand.

When your skin met his Kageyama swore he might cum from it. His emotions were high-strung, making him more sensitive. He whimpered as your thumb crossed over the tip.

Your hands felt like velvet against him, smooth and soft, your touch gentle but firm, supplying the perfect amount of pressure as you began sliding it up and down his shaft. His stomach muscles tightened as you went along, pulling him in on himself. It should be criminal that you made him feel such a way from something so simple, reducing him into a schoolboy being touched for the first time.

He wrapped a hand around your wrist to stop your movements, separating from kissing you to speak.

“I’m going to cum if you do that too much.”

“That’s the goal Tobio.”

“Yes, I know, but I would like to make you cum before I do.”

You gave a small smile, butterflies flitting around in his stomach as you did. “Well, who am I to stop you?”

You crossed your arms as you took off your shirt. When you changed earlier you must not have put on a bra. The curve of your waist he knew already to be temptation incarnate, but the swell of your chest would turn any many into a sinner.

Your nipples were hard as they were exposed to the cool air of your apartment, small silver balls catching the overhead light.

“You have your nipples pierced?”

You cupped your breasts, pinching your nipples. Tobio’s eyes were locked in, focused on the way the silver complimented you. “Yeah, I’ve had them for ages.”

“Can I touch them?” He wanted to pinch at your nipples and feel the cool metal beside them. Your nod was all he needed to do so.

His touch was hesitant at first, afraid of damaging the piercing somehow. When he squeezed down harder on them he could feel the bars going through your nipples. It was interesting to him, the modification, he wondered what made you get them in the first place.

As he pinched and twisted your nipples slightly, a soft whimper snuck out the back of your throat, going straight to his already painfully hard erection.

If you were sensitive to this he wanted to know what it would do to you if he took them into his mouth. It was in the name of science that he did so, leaning forward and wrapping his mouth around your left nipple.

The metal met his tongue, cold and sharp, constructing against the warmth of your chest. He was cautious not to use his teeth as he played with your nipple in his mouth. You gave out small moans and gasps, hips stuttering against his own, as you threw your head back. Ever since you had gotten them pierced your nipples were more sensitive than ever.

Kagayema stared up at you. He wondered how he got so lucky in life. He’d have to go to the shrine on New Year with his mother to thank the gods for letting him have you like this.

He wanted to make you feel more, to know his touch in ways you never had before.

His free hand not ding at your waist trailed down your side, tracing the outline, as he dragged it down to your core. When he met your underwear, the fabric a simple micro-fibre, and slipped past it he was certain that he’d need to go to the shrine every holiday. You were wet, drenched even, allowing his fingers to slip through you easily.

Kageyama was not a virgin, he’d had sex before and he was thorough with it. His thumb met your clot, going over it in slow circles, while his pointer and ring finger started to tease your hole.

When he was able the press both fingers into you and pump them in and out of you, he released your nipple that he had ever so diligently been sucking on to swap for the other one. He bit down it ever so slightly making a shocked gasp and whimper of his name escape you.

“Be gentle jackass!” Your speech airy, escaping as an exhale.

It was cruel the way how you said his name made his dick jerk as if he was going to cum, the muscle in his abdomen flexing tight. He’d be dammed if he came before you though, his teeth grazing over your nipple again, tongue swiping over the bar.

His fingers picked up in speed, pressing against a spot that made you squeak almost. High-pitched and short. Like you hadn’t expected him to hit it.

The pressure building kept building as he did so, making you get lightheaded as it went on. He was so close to making you cum. Like an itch, you scratch just next to it, the edge.

His thumb kept toying with your clit as he kept his pace steady, matching the tempo. You could feel yourself tightening up as he worked your body. The noises in the room turned pornographic as more liquid gushed out of you, lubricating his hand, making it easier for him to thrust his fingers in and out and in again.

Kageyama detached himself from your chest and moved to kiss along the side of your neck and ear.

“You��re so pretty…” he trailed off before biting your neck and sucking hard to leave a hickey.

You came with a start, the orgasm rolling through you as he bit down, his name coming out a broken moan. Your muscle winding right before snapping under the pressure, eyes screwing shut. It made your head spin, feeling your heartbeat in your skull and down to your toes. The force of it made you clamp down so hard on Kageyama’s fingers that as he tried to pull them out, he couldn’t.

A minute passed before he was finally able to slip them out of you as you whined for him to keep them inside. When you finally opened your eyes you were met with Kageyams face being entirely red.

“You okay?” You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

He licked his lips before speaking, trying to wet them. “I just came.”

“Oh.”

Things were still for a second.

“Is there, uh, anything I can do to help?”

“No. Just give me a minute.” This was the most embarrassment he had felt in a long time

“Okay.” You cupped his face with one hand. He turned a kissed your palm “We can stop here if you want.”

He contemplated for a few moments in his head, his boxer briefs now feeling sticky. The sensation was grossing him out no matter how badly he wanted to continue.

“Tobio,” you flicked his forehead “Get out of your head, you’ve got that scrunched-up look on your face.”

He grumbled against your palm as he spoke. “I like you and I’m embarrassed.”

“Well, I love you and we can always go for a second round.”

He stilled, humming under his breath. “Could we shower first?”

“Of course.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Out of the shower, where a second round had happened, along with telling you about the bet, Kageyama felt unsure of what to do next. It reminded him of leaving a court at the end of a game, his adrenaline high and heart pumping. The adjustment to reality was strange and foreign. He was sure this must have been how you felt after a concert ended. Lost, unsure what to do after as he cuddled with you in your bed.

“What happens next?”

You laughed and it shook your body as you lay on top of him, tracing patterns on his chest.

“You buy me breakfast in the morning.”

“And after that?”

“What about after that?”

“Well,” you started. “We keep doing what we’ve always done. But when we go out to eat we don’t call it hanging out, we call it a date. When we sleep at the other’s place, we sleep in the same bed. Only the little things change between us, the big things stay the same and we get to kiss now. When an interviewer asks if you’ve got a girlfriend, you get to say yes.”

“You’re my girlfriend?”

“Well, I thought that was the point of the confession, well along with winning a bet, unless you don't want me to be?”

“No, I do.”

“Good.”

It was silent for a moment as he intertwined his free hand in your own, bringing it closer to his mouth so he could kiss it. You settled further into him, filling out the space where he was the most empty both physically and metaphorically, humming ‘Like Real People Do’.

A Venmo notification cut through the peace.

Nicolas Romero sent you ¥10,000

“Atta boy Tobio”

#uzuri writes #haikyuu #hq #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagine smut #smut #haikyuu x reader smut #kageyama #kagayeama x you #kageyama tobio x you #kage

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pparacxosm · 1 month ago

Text

hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

#challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig angst #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig fluff #i mean barely #if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a fic about having sex with patrick zweig during christmas season #i’d have two nickels #which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice right?#bitchy coworker deirdre #toby the cat #shania twain is team tashi #and i can’t believe this is the first time i’m tagging this but #bob dylan is team tashi

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sanjisblackasswife · 2 years ago

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So.... Hello! I'm not Very good at english since it's not my language but here we Go. I wanna to say i really love your art (from fanarts to your write style) and i Hope you have a good day today. Anyway i don't know If your ask are ope but How the Monsters trio Will react with they being your First in everthing! (Like First Kiss, First love, First s*x, etc) you can do nsfw-ish If you wanted

aww thank u!:) I am not going to go into grave detail because I am already doing a “First time” series with them but i like this request💓imma do it moreso where you’re THEIRS if thats alright

Being the Monster Trio’s First (NSFW-ish)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Mentions of sex

I am half sleep and typing this all in one go so mb for my spelling errors im just making up for lost time not posting consistently because school and coms☹️

Being Luffy’s First:

Crush: Being his crush is no different from being his best friend, he isn’t a very romantic guy if he likes you he will just tell you, “Y/N I think about you a lot, and I also think you may have a Lust DF power because when I think of you i get hard.” Bless him he is very blunt. BUT he does mean what he says so..be nice?

Kiss: Probably the most anticlimactic thing ever. Luffy already licks your face, hugs, and touches you a lot so when he starts running at you after a fight to see if you’re okay BAM. His lips smack into yours like a bowling ball and honestly. It’s cute. Completely uncoordinated, damn near sucked your bottom lip off, but…there was just something so addictive and attractive to his kiss that made you want more

Love: Very odd in his case. He just thought he liked you a lot. The signs were evident though, when you tell him he doesn’t deny it persay he moreso brushes it off because being in love is so new to him. However being his first love is something you can’t forget. He reminds you everyday why you’re important. Why he loves you. And why he fell in love with you.

Sexual Encounter: It was fun! You both were inexperienced. He didn’t know what hole to enter, you were shocked by how long he can stretch his dick. You both even spent the night laughing more than actually having sex, but once it came down to business it was a learning experience for you both. He was so attentive to make sure you were okay you felt yourself crying a little afterwards at how gentle he was with you.

Being Zoro’s First:

crush: He’s actually more of an asshole to you Not even on purpose he just doesn’t want to admit his feelings towards you. You’re beautiful, sweet, and charming and dammit he hates that he has feelings and how you always mess them up when you’re around him! He feels so powerless so please be gentle with him…or put him on blast. It maybe attractive to the mf.

Kiss: Awkward, awkward, awkward. He isn’t the rizzmaster okay. Yes he is pretty and he knows it but he is crap to flirting. absolutely crap. He was so hot in the face when you did the first move and kissed him he was a stuttering mess and pulled you back in for another kiss to prevent you from laughing at him. His kisses wasn’t BAD but …just practice with him. Yeah it was awkward but seeing your face so close and personal, smelling your scent. He couldn’t get enough.

Love: DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT Absolutely ridiculous how in denial he was. Everytime someone even said the word love he’d get so mad because that word applied to you in so many ways. He fell for you and he couldn’t do anything about it. You were the one opponent he could not beat and honestly, he didn’t want to. He fell for you and he fell so hard that it actually makes him nervous to be around you. He doesn’t know whether he loves you or hates you now for being so irresistible to him. Eventually he comes to terms with it and once it does and you feel the same way. Good luck getting rid of him.

Sexual Encounter: You taught him everything. He didn’t know his way from the clit to your ass. It took a lot of trial and error, sex wasn’t really NEW to him. He has seen porn but it’s completely different from films and pictures so sometimes he would back down when making out got too far, eventually he needed that release one late night while cuddling you and even though he could have went to the bathroom you stopped him and …helped him out. Let’s just say Zoro is so grateful he didn’t pussy out this go round!

Being Sanji’s First:

Crush: Sanji is an interesting guy because any woman that knows Sanji knows he is a mixture of a flirt and just having amazing manners for women. You however was just above the usual women he served to. Being his crush was an experience because you seen a side to Sanji most women don’t get to see. You seen him stand up straighter, sly comments that made your heart melt, and even kept his cool…too cool in fact. He really was Mr. Prince for you.

Kiss: The first kiss he planned it out. He knew his feelings about you and that you felt the same so he needed to plan it just right not just for him, but for you as well. The kiss was so soft and delicate you almost didn’t feel it. And that was because he shy’ed away for a moment, scared his sudden bold move would have you smack him, Luckily, he didn’t have to worry feeling your hands cup his cheek to kiss him back. He still touches his lips when he thinks about that time you kissed him.

Love: I mean man…you really are a blessed woman because out of all of the others he has seen and been with he chose you and only you. it’s insane really. He tries in his entire will to not mess this opportunity to find true love up. You being his first love he watches his mouth and actions around you more, He tries his hardest not to ruin the view you have of him and it shows. If you can just reassure him you love him for him and not who he thinks he needs to be. Sanji needs the confirmation that you love him almost as much as he loves you.

Sexual Encounter: LORD—- okay. okay. Just like Zoro trial and error HOWEVER. Much longer and worse. He really is still a pervert no matter how much in love he is with you so you have to take it very slow. Once you both are okay to be naked in front of each other he is back to being a shy boy so you constantly kiss and praise him, telling him how good he is for you, how well he is doing for his first time. You were so kind and patient with him, it never fails to leave a chill down his spine (in a good way) when he remembers that night of love making with you, and now that he has more experience he does nothing but reciprocate the same feelings back to you in bed.

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badomensbaby · 3 months ago

Text

buzz cut baby. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend, luke, returns home one night with a surprise. your reaction, however, wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. safe sane and consensual, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, established relationship, masturbation, flirting / teasing.

words: 3,910

a/n: i hate that i have friends because what the fuck! why do i do this to myself? anyway, i love buzz cut luke. enjoy!

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

You’ve always adored Luke’s curls.

Honestly, they’re probably what drew you to Luke in the first place all those years ago. Initially, anyway.

It was some influencer party in the hills that your best friend dragged you to as a plus one, citing there would be hot guys and a pool and live music from a top-charting band, that you’d be stupid to decline. That shutting yourself away following your breakup wasn’t the best way to cope.

And, in a way, you’ll really never be able to thank her for that. If you would’ve fought harder, resisted just the tiniest bit more, you would have never seen those bouncy, bleached curls and dark roots in the kitchen, messing around with a keg he swore harbored a personal vendetta against him.

His curls might’ve been the reason you noticed him, but everything that followed was Luke just being himself. Stupidly charming but awkward and fumbly, especially when you offered to help and probably got way too close.

You didn’t know him, not really, and finding out two hours later that you were the reason the band’s frontman was late to play their short set for everyone in attendance was a smack in the face. For all you knew, you were locking lips and clenching your thighs around the long, long fingers of some Hollywood wannabe.

He wasn’t, though, he was Luke fucking Hemmings. And he had your cum on the edges of his lips while he sang about falling in love for the first time.

That night was so unlike you. You weren’t fond of hookups, only long-term relationships that seemed to fail for one reason or another, but that didn’t entirely derail you.

You didn’t know Luke but that night changed the course of both of your lives for the better, you’d like to think.

It’s six-thirty in the evening when your phone rings on the island. Interrupting your jam session, aided by the scent of the roasted chicken you’ve had in the oven the last hour and a half, a picture of Luke post-concert with his tongue dragging across your cheek flashing on your screen.

“Hi, handsome,” You greet him, a smile tugging at your lips. He’s been at the studio since seven, planning the second half of his upcoming tour and reserving hotels with his team. You’ll never understand how he does it.

“Hi honey,” He drawls softly, a sigh of relief following but there’s a hint of something in his voice that straightens your shoulders and furrows your brows. “What’s my perfect girl up to?”

“Just making dinner,” You say, leaning your backside against the island while you peek once more through the oven window. “How’s work? You almost finished?”

Luke hums in confirmation. “On my way home, actually. And..” He tapers off, the sound of his car chirping faintly in the background as he unlocks it. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“For me?” You feel heat rise instantly to your cheeks. Luke’s always giving you little surprises, likely since he’ll be kicking off the second part of his tour in just about two months means he’s feeling a bit guilty. He had done that during his first round, as well as the band’s tour last year. Luke always hates leaving you.

“For you,” He hums again. The warmth seeping through your phone’s speaker speaks something else entirely though, a more lustful tilt to his voice. “I’ll be home in thirty. Think you can wait in the bedroom for me, pretty?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. Fifteen minutes until the chicken is done. “I think I can make that work,” You tease lightly, as if you’d ever think about saying no. Time spent with Luke is always appreciated, as you never really know when he’ll be swept away on another tour or some fashion show abroad. “Drive safe. I love you.”

“Always. I love you.” He says before promptly hanging up.

For the next fifteen minutes, you clean up best you can around the kitchen. Not that you had left it a disaster but you couldn’t stand to see a single dish in the sink. Once the chicken had been taken out and covered to keep warm while Luke was giving you your surprise, you trek upstairs with warmth pooling in your stomach and excitement riddling your veins.

Though the unspoken promise of something intimate had been shared, you still weren’t sure how far exactly you should go. You settle for keeping your current outfit on, a simple sundress Luke had gotten for you the summer before — a baby blue satin fabric with small daisies printed on it, back propped against the headboard and a pillow in your lap as you wasted away the remaining minutes until Luke’s arrival scrolling through Instagram.

Your toes tingle and your thighs involuntarily clench when you hear the front door fall shut. When Luke’s voice calls out a sing-songy, “Honey, I’m home!” that echoes up the staircase into your bedroom. You toss your phone carelessly aside and sit up, cheeks warm and fingers drumming excitedly on the pillow still in your lap.

“In here!” You call back.

The sound of Luke’s shoes thump on the staircase, slow and calculated steps that make the warmth in your stomach ignite into a full on flame. Rising to your chest and resulting in your breath speeding up. He stops just outside of the cracked bedroom door. “Cover your eyes for me, would you, doll?”

It isn’t an unusual request, given your bedroom dynamic. So, you comply, placing both hands over your eyes. “Alright, I’m not peeking I swear.” You say.

The door creaks lightly. “Keep ‘em closed,” You hear him say, a bit closer now. “You’re excited, huh? You’re blushing all over, baby.”

“I like your surprises,” You say honestly, softly, producing a light chuckle from your boyfriend. Your heart rate doubles from the titillation that fills the room. “Is it that pretty see-through set you saw me looking at the other week? I wanted to save that for your birthday, but—“

“Open.” Luke interrupts you lowly.

You quickly remove your hands, blinking rapidly from the change to the bright room.

It definitely isn’t that pretty lingerie set.

A loud, sharp gasp falls from your mouth. You reel back, eyes widened, and goosebumps trail every surface of your flushed skin.

Long gone are the blonde ringlets and dark roots that curled around the tips of Luke’s ears. The curls that you often found your fingers sinking into for comfort, or for pleasure, the curls you’d wash on the bad days and style on the good ones.

“You’re bald.” You blurt in a panic.

Your brain tries, tries so hard to make sense but there’s a big piece of the puzzle missing. Something that’s been such a heavy, big part of Luke for so long. The thing you noticed first about him. Gone. Shaved down and smothered in bleach.

Luke raises one amused brow but the undertone of his own panic is evident. A nervous chuckle escapes him. “I’m not bald. I just shaved my head,” He says. “Do you.. not like it?”

“I.. don’t know,” You answer honestly in a breath. “I.. your curls.. why did you—?” Slowly, you climb off of the bed, hesitantly approaching your boyfriend standing still near the dresser. “What am I supposed to hold on to while you fuck me now?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Luke’s shoulders deflate, tension dissipating from them. “Y/N, I’ve talked about shaving my head before. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, babe. My ends were dead.”

“Yeah, but—! I thought you were joking!” You splutter, cheeks hot and furiously pink. “What the hell am I supposed to pull on now, your ears? I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Y/N,” Luke steps toward you, hands hesitantly reaching for your hips to make contact. You let him but your chest continues rising and falling quickly while your eyes roam his short, short hair. “Getting rid of my curls doesn’t mean I’ve gotten rid of my ability to fuck you. What’s going inside your head?”

“It’s — a lot,” You say. “I wasn’t expecting it, like at all,” You reach a hand up to graze the fuzzy top of Luke’s head. It feels weird, the short hairs tickling the palm of your hand. “I’m serious though, Luke. Sex won’t be the same now.”

“That isn’t true,” Luke tugs the corner of his lip between his teeth, a habit still exhibited often despite the lip ring being long gone. “Baby, you know that isn’t true. C’mon, you don’t think I look like some bad boy from one of your romance novels?”

A smile threatens your lips but you stifle it, pursing them. You’re meant to be mad, your brain just can’t compute the sudden change, even if it was the best decision for his bleach-fried curls. You adored them.

“Shut up,” You huff. “Don’t try to get me on your side.”

“Why? I’m having fun over here,” Luke’s fingers drum on your hips, teasing and threatening to pinch the fabric of your dress between his fingertips. “You’re really this upset about not being able to pull on my hair when I fuck you?”

When he says it like that, you feel stupid. But yes, you are, because it wasn’t something just for you. Luke loved getting his curls tugged while he ate you out, or fucked you, even from behind. He liked the pain, the urgency of it. This isn’t just about you.

“You like — liked — it too,” Your pink lips jut into a pout. “Maybe I’m being unreasonable but yes— I’m a little upset.”

“Alright,” He hums, digging his fingers momentarily into your hips, thumbing the prominent bones there. He knows you’re sensitive. You think maybe he might part from you, your breaths bated as you hang on to his every movement. “I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.”

You swallow harshly. “Prove what to me?”

“That I can fuck you so well my curls will be the last thing on your mind,” He says, tongue trailing on the inside of his lower lip before clicking off the roof of his mouth. “How many orgasms will it take, huh? I’m thinking three.”

“Oh,” You breathe out. “I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”

“Oh, really?” A crooked grin tugs at Luke’s lips, brows raised curiously. “Four, maybe? I bet if I fuck you stupid long enough you’ll cum without a fucking touch.”

Good Lord.

You can’t trust yourself to respond. Luke isn’t a vulgar person often, and most of the time your bedroom affairs fluctuate depending on either of your mood. One night you could be draped over the mattress with Luke’s tongue tracing his own name on your heat and another riding him with slow, slow tilts of your hips as the sun comes up. It’s never the same experience twice.

But this time — you have a feeling tonight will blow every other night out of the water.

“Guess I should start off with an apology,” He mutters, almost missable between your ears, words lagged and not understood before Luke’s dropping to his knees before you. Wide, soft blue eyes with inky, dark lashes blinking up at you. Ringed fingers still clasping your hips.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s silently asking for permission, as he does often, and you nod. Your tongue is so tied you’re afraid nothing good will escape your mouth if you were to make an attempt to respond verbally. Luke’s hands slowly slide along the fabric loosely clung to your thighs, speed consistent as he grabs hold of the hem and brings it upward.

With one hand balled around the fabric of your dress, resting just below your stomach, you feel Luke’s warm fingers trace the material of your underwear. Teasing you. Taunting you. All the while your handsome boyfriend keeps his eyes locked on yours, a startled breath is knocked out of you when he begins mouthing at your clothed heat. Teeth threatening your covered clit.

He’s always been impatient, and that sentiment proves right once again as he tugs the material to the side and wastes no time tasting you. Wedging himself between your thighs even as they rumble, even if the position isn’t the most desirable. His tongue traces every inch sincerely, writing his apology in the form of circles and figure eights and capturing your clit between his lips so suddenly it makes your knees threaten to buckle.

You feel it in the way he moans at the simplest taste of you, the I’m sorry he hadn’t said aloud. You feel it in the way his fingers eagerly slide alongside his tongue and fill you, keeping you steady despite the desperation to fall apart right there.

“Luke,” You whimper helplessly, his eyes threatening to fall away from yours and flutter closed in pure bliss. He loves this just as much as you do, if not more. This man was made to eat pussy. You’d bet your life on it. “God-“

He takes your strained whines and moans and ragged breaths endearingly, curling his fingers to reach the perfect spot that pulls a broken moan from deep within you. Every shake of your thighs, every wave of pleasure that builds in the pit of your stomach and threatens to crash over you, he eagerly takes it in stride. Luke knows you won’t last long but surely he’s counting on it.

His mouth retreats, fingers still curled inside and finding every spot that makes you whimper. Luke looks fucking wrecked already, and if you thought you were in for it before, the sight of Luke spitting directly onto your clit nearly makes you cum on the spot. It’s demeaning and dirty in the best way, before eye contact is fully broken and Luke dives back in like he’ll never taste you again.

It’s mainly his eagerness that turns you on the most. The desire he possesses to pleasure you, to worship you. You feel it when Luke begins to suck on your clit again, the dam threatening to break and drown you both. Without a thought, your hand flies to his head, grasping the back of it and holding him against you. Orgasm building and building, prickling the base of your spin and the tips of your toes, stomach tightening as he works his fingers and tongue in some kind of foreplay crescendo.

The violins and cellos that resemble moans from the man with his tongue buried inside of you and the ones spilling from your lips build until you’re letting go. It feels insatiable. And you’re absolutely blubbering just as much as you rock through it, Luke’s fingers slowing and tongue working to lap every remnant of your release in earnest.

Your mind feels hazy, post-orgasm, knees weak as Luke’s arm slithers around your backside to keep you upright. You spare a glance at him, when the bleariness fades from your vision, to see his lips glistening beneath the bedroom lights. Tongue dancing around every inch of his mouth to capture your taste and savor it. “I don’t know if I accept your apology yet.” You huff between broken breaths, thumb idly swaying back and forth across the side of his head.

A look of challenge flashes in Luke’s eyes. “I figured,” He says, thumb swiping the top of his lip before dragging his tongue along the digit. Luke slowly rises to his feet. “Let’s get you more comfortable, hm?”

You nod, despite the lack of explanation as to what more comfortable really means, as you’re being handled rather briskly and bent over the edge of your bed. A small oh escapes you.

“Get those knees up, doll. I can’t be doing all the work here,” Luke says, tapping your thighs. Sluggishly, you do as he says, now on your hands and knees, ankles just barely hanging off the bed’s edge. “Hm.”

Your dress is rucked up once more, now pooling around your lower back, underwear still pulled to the side and a low whistle sounds from behind you. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?” Luke groans lowly. “I swear to God, need a picture of your pussy in my wallet.”

You can’t help but moan. Luke’s belt clanks as he unfastens it, clattering to the floor, jeans sliding down his legs. You spare a glance, to see the material gathered at his mid-thigh. He hadn’t taken them off entirely. And for some reason, you find it hot how needy he is for it.

“Maybe I’ll take a picture,” He continues, as you feel the tip of his cock drag slowly through your wetness, slicking himself. Preparing himself to utterly destroy you as promised. “After I’ve filled you up. Huh? How ‘bout that? A picture of my pretty girl’s pretty pussy full of my cum.”

Your arms wobble, sending your chest directly into the mattress. Only further aiding the ease of Luke entering you, slick and warm and thick as he slides in so effortlessly with a low hiss. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes— God, oh my—“ You mutter against the sheets, turning your head so that your cheek is flat against the soft material. Luke buries himself to the hilt, one hand fastened on your hip while the other is splayed and slowly traveling up your lower back to grab the fabric of your dress. Holding you in place. “Luke, please.”

“Since you’re begging so nicely, my perfect girl,” He says, pulling back only to bury himself inside you once more. It’s so wet and slick and obscene, the sound bouncing off of your bedroom walls alongside his low grunts and your sharp breaths. The angle alone is enough to make you cum, combined with the sensitivity from your orgasm. Luke continues the slow motions, withdrawing his cock only to sink back in. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Too slow,” You grumble. “Faster. Please— for fucksake.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Gagging for it,” He sighs in faux-annoyance, but you know he’s just as desperate to fill you, to claim you and leave you a mess. “As you wish.”

The curled fist against the middle of your back presses harder, pushing your chest flush with the bed with no room for movement. Fingernails sink into the soft flesh of your thighs as Luke’s cock withdraws slowly, one final time, before thrusting so harshly a broken moan is pulled from your throat. No mercy is evident in the way he fucks you, like it’s all you’re meant for, the tip of his cock nudging that spot just barely.

Tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

“God baby, this pussy was made just for me. So fucking warm and wet,” Luke grits out between harsh exhales through his nose. “Taking my cock so well.”

“Luke,” You reach out desperately, fumbling to grab the sheets between your fingers as your body rocks from his thrusts. He’s been intense like this before, long ago, but you’d be a fucking liar if you said you hadn’t longed for it on the occasion. “Fuck, you feel so good. Please— please don’t stop.”

“I’d be an idiot to stop,” Luke says. “Christ, Y/N, you’re fucking soaked. It’s so fucking hot.”

A sudden wave of something hits you full force. Something more powerful than an average orgasm. Your thighs quiver so harshly that they cramp, Luke’s cock nudging the perfect spot dead on and the only sounds escaping you are desperate pleas and whines that can’t be deciphered. Your head feels like jello, holding on to something that’s begging to be free. So, you do.

“Oh, fuck—“

The pleasure is almost blinding. Your body feels so warm, on fire practically, and Luke’s thrusts stutter. “Did you just—“

He doesn’t need to ask. You did, you both know it. The way your release floods your thighs, Luke’s cock and dampens the sheets. It’s only happened twice in the time you two have been together, and squirting definitely isn’t something you’ve practiced.

“Oh fuck, Y/N-“ Luke whines. Broken and breathy, nails digging into your hip so harshly for dear life as he buries himself inside you fully one last time, panting your name on an endless loop as he comes undone. “Fuck.”

After a moment, Luke slowly retracts, and the sound of knees hitting the bedroom floor is unmistakable. You’re in no state to move, vision speckled and blurred, while you somehow manage to keep yourself upright. You aren’t sure if minutes pass or seconds, but you jump slightly when Luke’s hands softly clasp the back of your thighs.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Luke says weakly. “Holy shit, Y/N. What a fucking masterpiece.”

No doubt he’s taken a photo or two. Or three, or ten. Luke’s just sentimental like that.

You slowly attempt to rise on shaky arms, but Luke presses his thumbs into your skin with a tut. “Hold on, baby,” He says. The words for what sit on the tip of your tongue but Luke’s actions prevent you from asking, as a sudden warmth meets your most sensitive spot.

Is he—?

Fuck.

The tip of Luke’s nose ghosts the soft skin between your holes, as his tongue works to clean the mess you and he had made together. Catching every last bit, with hungry little groans. All you can do is sit and relish in it, in Luke’s desperation to taste himself inside you once more, that you don’t really register a slickness that isn’t due to your boyfriend’s current activity.

Weakly, you spare a glance between your legs to catch sight of Luke’s arm furiously working. He’s getting off, you realize. To tasting his own cum inside you.

Luke groans weakly against your pussy, lips quivering and he’s likely finished all over himself. The warmth that floods your stomach is preposterous. Luke backs off.

“You were that desperate?” You ask, finally turning onto your side to see Luke, pink-cheeked kneeling beside the bed. Eyes wide and glossy as they meet yours. “You got off to eating me out? After cumming inside me?”

“Well, I—“ Luke clears his throat. “M’fucking weak for it, you know that. After I took a picture I just— fuck off.” He turns away, clearly embarrassed.

“You’re cute,” You laugh softly, thoroughly exhausted and sweaty and way too warm than is desirable right now. “I accept your apology, by the way.”

“Figured,” Luke says. “You didn’t have time to think about my curls,” Reminded once more of the short hair that decorates Luke’s head, your lips part to defend yourself but Luke holds up a silencing finger. “Don’t even, Y/N. You know how long I’ve been dying to make you squirt like that—“

“Luke Robert Hemmings!” You gasp.

“Just saying! More important things happening than my hair. I need to remember what I did so I can make you do that again-“

“That’s enough out of you, Slim Shady,” You shake your head, cheeks a roaring pink much like Luke’s. His jaw drops from the nickname, slinking back, cock half massed and hanging out of his boxers. “You heard me.”

Luke’s eyes narrow. Before you know it, he’s reaching for your ankles and a squeal escapes you.

You’re definitely in for a long night.

You may have always adored Luke’s curls, but you love him just the same without them.

#5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #5sos x reader #luke hemmings smut #5sos smut #what the fuck #i'm not sorry #buzz cut baby

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cowgurrrl · 10 months ago

Text

I Believe In You

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: A bet is made [3.0k]

Warnings: so many kisses I stopped counting, Joel talking about his past, parental death, slight angst (???) but lots of comfort (!!!), so many pet names, so much flirting, these two MAKE ME SICK

You thought getting back in the car would be awkward or silently suffocating you with tension. You thought he'd disappear when you finally found the strength to pull away from his stained lips or that he'd panic the way you had started to panic. He doesn't.

When you look at him, he just smiles and caresses your chin gently. You're both slow to disentangle from each other, but the night's humidity warrants it. Still, he doesn't move very far once his hands are to himself again. You feel better or, at least, less crazy. Joel is somehow really got at making your shitty moments feel less shitty. "Do you wanna go home, or can I take you for some ice cream?" He asks, his voice a little hoarse, and you smile. Your lipstick is stuck to his mouth, but he doesn't seem to mind. He seems proud of it. When you reach out to smooth some of it away, he lets you get most of it before he presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb. Smug, you think to yourself.

"I think ice cream sounds great." You say. He grabs the hand you used to wipe away the lipstick, interlocks your fingers, and escorts you to the passenger side to open the door for you. He doesn't let go until you're settled in the seat, and even then, he leans against the door, just looking at you. There's an adorably giddy twinkle in his eyes and a smear of lipstick on his chin. You have to kiss him one more time to fight the fuzzy feeling between your temples. You really meant for it to be quick so you could get ice cream, but he chases your lips and kisses you again.

"I like kissin' you," he hums against your lips, and you laugh.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. We should've done this sooner."

"You're a mess." You tease as you push him away. He stares at you fondly for another second or two before finally closing the door and jogging around to the other side to start the car. It takes a whole two red lights before he finally builds up the courage to rest a hand on your thigh, casually drumming the beat of an old country song into the fabric of your dress as he drives.

The Sonic he pulls into is pretty dead, with only the tired workers and high school students filling the space. The neon lights of the signs buzz and crackle outside your window as you half-lean across Joel to look at the menu, even though you already know what you want. You order a cookie dough blast, and he orders a mint chocolate chip shake, which you make a face at. He catches you and furrows his eyebrows at you as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

"What's that look for?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"You think you know someone."

"D'you have a problem with my order?"

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream is your go-to order? Seriously?" You ask, and he chuckles as he pays. You think about arguing with him about paying for you, but you can't imagine he'd take any money you offered, so you just go back to not not flirting with him.

"Is this gonna be a deal-breaker for ya?"

"It just might be." Your smile betrays your words, and his hand again finds a place on your leg. Now that the dam is broken, it seems like his favorite thing is to have you close enough to touch, and you're not gonna be one to get in the way of that. You talk until your ice cream rolls its way to the truck, and then you enjoy the cold treats quietly. That is until you catch sight of one of the stray, fat cats lingering in the parking lot. You gasp and get Joel's attention, but he tries to act as excited as you feel.

"I'm gonna go get one." You threaten, and Joel laughs.

"They'll scratch you."

"No, they won't. Cats love me," you point at a particular plump orange one. "I'd snag that one and take it home. Name it Tubs or somethin'."

"You'd be walkin' home with Tubs." He says, and you turn back to look at him, your jaw dropping slightly at him. He smirks at the reaction and takes a sip of his shake.

"What? You don't like cats?"

"'M allergic." He says, and you suck your teeth as you sink back into the seat.

"That sucks."

"Tell me bout it. Sarah used to leave milk out on the porch for the neighborhood cats to try and convince one of 'em to come live with us. Even told her second-grade teacher bout her little plan," he says. "Then, she had to tell 'em all bout how Daddy's allergy broke her heart."

"I think it's heartbreaking, and I'm an adult." You say, and he laughs, shaking his head at you. You trade stories back and forth between bites, and once your styrofoam cups are empty, you slide your uncomfortable heels off and stretch out across the bench seat. Joel doesn't hesitate to pull your legs across his lap and trace happy little circles into your calves as you talk.

It's always been easy to talk to Joel, but in the privacy of his truck, it feels like it's second nature. He's a good listener, nodding and asking questions along the way, and tells his own stories without hesitation. You could probably sit there for hours and listen to him talk, especially as the nights get darker and his accent gets a little thicker. But you think his laugh is what gets you the most. That big, hearty, throwing-your-head-back kinda laugh that makes your heart sing.

"I can't believe that!" He laughs, and you shake your head, smiling.

"What? That college is expensive, or that I ran a semi-successful tattoo business out of my apartment for a few months?" You ask, and he pinches your skin playfully, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of his hands on you.

"I know college is expensive, smartass. I just can't believe you did that."

"Better believe it, maverick. There are some really successful adults out there with my shitty tattoos on them."

"Were they really shitty, or are you tryna be modest again?" He asks, seeing right through you, and you squint at him. He copies the eagle-eyed stare, and you push at him a little, only a little annoyed at how good he is at reading you.

"I guess we'll never know," you shrug. "C'mon, your turn. What were you like in college?"

"I didn't go to college."

"Okay, what were you like during that time?"

"In high school, I was kinda pain in the ass. Showin' up late, not doin' my work, breakin' rules, makin' bad decisions."

"A bad boy. I bet the girls musta loved you."

"Somethin' like that." He laughs.

"What changed?" You ask, and he takes a deep breath. A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his jaw flexes as he thinks. The air in the truck seems to shift in seconds. You're about to take back the question and tell him he doesn't have to answer, or you can talk about something else, but he pushes forward.

"My dad died the first week of my senior year," he shakes his head, and you get a glimpse of the grieving seventeen-year-old who's probably always been just below the surface, but you couldn't see. He seems so small and so scared. Nothing like the man in front of you now. You put your hand over his without thinking. "It was a freak accident. Heart attack while he was workin'. There wasn't anythin' anyone could've done. My mom took over his contracting company and did her best but was strugglin' too. Tommy wasn't even a teenager yet, so I took over a lot of the day-to-day carin' for him, takin' him to school, gettin' groceries, homework, and all that. When I graduated, I took the company over from my mom and basically had to start over, and I've been doin' it ever since."

"I'm so sorry, Joel." The words feel like trying to put a bandaid on a bullet hole. You would think after so many centuries of people losing loved ones, we'd find something better to say to each other. Joel swallows thickly and shakes his head. He keeps his eyes glued to your hands and clears his throat of sudden emotion.

"'S alright. 'S been a few years." He mumbles, the fatherless seventeen-year-old vanishing and being replaced by the man who's been a father for longer than his dad was.

"Still doesn't make it easier."

"No, it doesn't," he says. "I did think about goin' to college. I thought that once Tommy got through and settled, maybe I could go. But he enlisted right outta high school, and we had Sarah, and it just wasn't in the cards for me."

"That's okay." You say, and he nods. You've never asked Ellie about her or Sarah's mother. The most you know is that she was a ward of the state before being adopted, and that's only because it's in her paperwork. It's not your place to ask about her, but now, you can't help the wonder brewing in the back of your mind. We had Sarah, he said. When did 'we' turn into 'I' and why?

"I don't regret it… havin' her so young. It was just hard. I was a kid, and she was so goddamn small and perfect, and I wasn't. Tommy was overseas. There'd be weeks where we didn't hear from him, and we were so fuckin' scared. Mom hasn't been all there since Dad died, and I can't even blame her," he says as his thumb taps against yours. "But I'd do it all over again if it meant I got to be that little girl's dad."

"You're a good dad," you say, and he scoffs.

"Doesn't feel like it most days." He says. You sit up and look him in the eyes so he knows how genuine you are.

"I'm serious, Joel. You're a good dad. Do you know how many parents don't even respond to my emails, let alone show up to discuss solutions with me? In my entire career, I haven't met a parent so involved and selfless. It's refreshing," you say. "And you're a good son. And a good brother. You should be really proud of yourself," he looks at you with heavy, emotional eyes and you double down. "I mean it."

He takes a second to process your words, seemingly turning them over like rocks in his mind. When was the last time someone granted him the kindness of knowing how wanted he is? How important he is? How necessary he is? It might not be your responsibility, but you think it'd be okay if you took on a little bit of that mission. If only to get him to talk better of himself.

"Thank you," he says, devastating tears welling in his eyes. "I mean it." You nod, and he squeezes your hand tightly like he's looking for grounding. You kiss his cheek, jaw, nose, everything to calm him down, and he kisses you in return.

This kiss is different than the first one. Where that one was fire and impatience, this one is soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world. Your hand lands on his chest, and your fingers finally get to memorize the chain that's been taunting you all night. Kissing him— feeling the scratch of his beard, the heaviness of his hands, the almost hungry press of his lips— is addicting. He tastes like the mint chocolate chip shake you teased him for and your lipstick. Surprisingly, he's the one to break the kiss this time but tucks you under his arm before you can miss him too much.

You cuddle into him and grab his hand to play with his fingers and count the freckles, scars, and marks on the bumps and valleys on his knuckles. You go back to a comfortable silence. He kisses your temple, jaw, and shoulder every few minutes like he forgets what your skin tastes like and desperately needs another hit. Whatever might be left in your cups has long since melted, and the cats have moved from one end of the parking lot to the other. You don't want the night to end. You don't want the morning light to reveal all your obligations and rules again. You want to sit in this deserted Sonic and talk about nothing with him.

"So, if college wasn't in the cards for you, what is? What's the next thing?" You finally ask after letting the question simmer in your head for a while.

"Besides gettin' my kids through school?" He asks against your temple, and you laugh.

"Yeah. In a perfect world where you could do anything you wanted, what's the first thing you'd want to do? Not what you think you should or have to do. What do you want to do? Professionally or just in life." You poke his forearm to drive your point home. You thought it would take him a minute to think about his options, but he's quick with the answer.

"I'd want to expand my dad's business. Maybe open up another department of homemade tables and nice chairs and stuff like that. Make it really worth somethin'." He says dreamily, and you smile.

"Sounds nice," you say, and he hums. "What's stopping you?"

"Money. We have enough to do day-to-day operations and make a profit, but we don't have enough to take big leaps like the one I'm thinkin'."

"So, apply for money." You say, and he scoffs.

"Right. Easy."

"I'm serious. There's gotta be loans or grants out there for small business owners. Especially ones that are as dedicated as you."

"I don't know. Aren't those things kinda based on luck?" He asks.

"And you don't think the Millers are due some luck?" You counter, and he sighs. "You can admit I'm right sometimes. It's okay."

"Alright, simmer down there, sweetheart. I didn't say all that," he says. "Your turn. Perfect world, what's the first thing you'd want to do?"

"Get my work in a gallery and get people with way more money than me to buy my art so I can keep making more. In an absolutely perfect world, I'd be able to make things people really connect with and care about." You answer equally as fast as he did.

"What's stoppin' you?" He asks.

"Nobody's taking my work. They keep saying they want something with more emotion or more of a story, and I just don't have time to make art like that right now. I know I could. It'd just be a lot."

"What are you makin' now?"

"Shitty commissions that I don't really care about. They're just something to pay bills. Or if it's not shitty commissions, it's just shitty art."

"Wow," he scoffs, and you turn to look at him, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Are you this mean to your students? 'Cause if you are, I think I've gotta report you to someone." He says, and you slap his arm.

"No, c'mon. It's just, I don't know! It's different!"

"You just don't think you deserve the same grace you give them 'cause you think you have to have everythin' figured out."

"Damn, Miller!" You exclaim at his effortless analysis. If it wasn't so spot-on and unexpected, you might be embarrassed. He bows his head a little and smirks.

"You can say I'm right sometimes. It's okay." He echoes, and you roll your eyes. You adopt a deep voice and mimic him, making him laugh and swear that he "doesn't sound like that." He gets pensive again like he did when he started talking about his dad, and you sit up, waiting for whatever he might throw your way. "I have an idea," he says, and you smile. "How bout we make a deal? I'll apply for whatever fundin' is available, and you make those pieces and submit them to galleries, and we'll see who gets what. Either way, we both do somethin' that pushes us further."

"What? Like a bet?"

"If that helps you get motivated, sure." He says, and you hum.

"What do I get if I win?" You ask.

"Something to lord over me forever?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find plenty of those."

"Alright, if you win, I'll... do whatever classroom renovations you need or want for free for a whole school year." He says. You'd be lying if you said the idea wasn't a good one. You'd get to upgrade your classroom and stop things from falling apart while getting to watch Joel work. And it's free? It's too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"Alright, and what do you get if you win?" You ask even though you have an idea of what he's going to say.

"I want to take you out on a date. A real date. Not one these… what'd you call 'em?"

"Not dates?"

"Yeah," he says. "If I win, you have to let me take you on a real nice date. We'll get all dressed up, and I'll take you somewhere much fancier than fuckin' Sonic. I'd even make sure Ellie has no idea it's happenin' if it'll make you feel better." It sounds like a dream. You'd be stupid to say no.

"I think I can manage that." You agree, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you offer him your hand. "You've got yourself a bet, Miller. I hope you like climbing on tables."

"Gettin' cocky already?" He asks, squeezing your hand, and you shrug. "Alright, princess, it's on."

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