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lefteagleblizzard · 1 month ago

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𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Trapped in the freezing sanatorium, Mike notices your body trembling from the cold and takes matters into his own hands-literally. His touch starts out innocent, a way to warm you up, but soon it turns into something far more heated.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Wolfie being a good boy. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Note: I played the original game years ago, and now that I'm playing the remake, my crush on Mike has come back. He's such a good character with amazing development. I never expected to like him this much. I'm near chapter 7 of the remake, and I'm honestly loving it.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Words counts: 3000

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

The cold of the sanatorium was oppressive. It seemed to leech the warmth from the very walls, seeping into your skin and bones, making every breath feel like you were inhaling shards of ice. As you and Mike rummaged through the mess of papers and debris in the dim, decaying room, the chill became impossible to ignore.

You had been at this for what felt like hours. Searching for anything, any clue, any scrap of information that could help you make sense of the nightmare you and your friends had stumbled into.

You wanted to focus. You needed to. But the cold was starting to weaken you. Your muscles ached from the effort of trying to stay warm, and despite your best attempts to keep it together, your hands were trembling as you shuffled through the scattered papers. The torn, thin jacket you'd found earlier did little to protect you, barely covering your torso, let alone insulating you from the freezing air.

Snowflakes continued to drift in from the broken windows, scattering across the dusty floor.

The place felt like a tomb. The smell of decay hung in the air, making every breath feel heavy, cold, and full of death.

Mike tried to stay focused, but even as his eyes scanned the scattered papers on the floor, his attention was pulled to you. You were over by the corner of the room, crouched low beside an old table, sifting through stacks of yellowed documents, your movements deliberate but slow. The jacket clung to you awkwardly, barely covering your arms and torso.

Even from across the room, he could hear your teeth chattering slightly, despite how hard you were trying to suppress it.

You always did that, pushing yourself even when it was clear you were struggling. Mike admired that about you, but it was also something that worried him. He knew you were trying to stay strong for him and the rest of the group, but the last thing Mike wanted was for you to get hurt or worse.

His thoughts raced, that protective instinct flaring up again. You didn't deserve this. You deserved to be somewhere warm, safe... with him.

He had been feeling that way for months now, ever since that night after he broke up with Emily. That night had changed everything for him. You were the one who stayed with him, sitting by his side, listening to him vent as he struggled to process the end of his long-term relationship.

You didn't just offer hollow platitudes; you gave him the kind of comfort and understanding he never knew he needed. He realized then, somewhere between the midnight conversation and the quiet moments of silence, that you were different. You weren't just his friend; you were the one person who made him feel like himself again.

After that night, he found himself constantly thinking about you. How easy it was to talk to you, how you made him laugh even when he felt like shit.

He'd find excuses to see you, call you up for help with college work, or invite you out for something casual. He always assumed you'd catch on quickly to his flirting, but you never did. Either he was terrible at flirting with a guy like you, or you were just completely oblivious.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his own jacket, which was far thicker and more insulated than the pathetic excuse you were wearing.

He held it out toward you.

"Here," he said simply. "Take it"

You shook your head immediately. "No. I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

Mike narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're freezing, man. You look like you're about to turn into an ice cube."

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out weak and unconvincing. "It's really not that bad. I can handle the cold. And it'd be selfish of me to take your jacket. There’s no way you're any warmer than I am."

With the simple tank top he was wearing underneath, now all dirty with mud and snow, it became even harder for you to stop staring at him. His muscular and strong arms drew your attention.

Mike sighed, holding the jacket out stubbornly towards you. "You're not fine. You're shaking like a leaf." He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over your arm, feeling the coldness of your skin even through the thin fabric of your jacket. "Just take it."

But you shook your head again, more firmly this time. "It wouldn't be fair," you murmured, looking down at the papers you were holding. "You need it just as much as I do. I can handle the cold. We've been through worse than this, right?"

Why couldn't you just let him take care of you for once?

"Come on," he tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "After everything we've been through tonight, hypothermia is the least of my worries. I'm not letting you freeze out here, not when I can do something about it."

You glanced up at him, your eyes softening for a moment, and for a second, Mike thought you might actually take the jacket. But then you shook your head again.

"I'll be fine, Mike."

Mike sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're stubborn.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to divert the conversation as you continued sorting through the papers. "I've been called worse."

Finally, with a deep sigh, Mike relented, shoving his jacket back on with a grumble.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the creak of old floorboards beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of paper. Wolfie, the wolf Mike had somehow managed to befriend, lay beside you, his fur brushing against your leg as he occasionally shifted.

Every so often, you'd reach down to scratch behind Wolfie's ears. His fur was soft under your fingertips.

You gripped the edges of the papers in your hand, hoping that somehow, just focusing on the task in front of you would make it better.

It didn't.

It was then that you noticed Mike shifting beside you and before you could react, his body was pressing up against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm but gentle hold. His warmth hit you immediately, and you couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped your lips at the sudden contrast.

"Mike?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stiffened in surprise at the closeness.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "If you won't take my jacket, I'll just have to warm you up myself." he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Your heart started to race, not just from the unexpected contact, but from the undeniable heat that surged through your body as Mike's lips brushed against the side of your neck. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold this time.

His lips moved slowly, deliberately, trailing soft kisses down the length of your neck, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. Your body was leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he was offering.

This wasn't the Mike you were used to. This was something far more intimate, more personal.

"Mike... I don't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You don't what?" he asked softly, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest on your chest, pulling you even closer against him. "You don't want this?"

Of course you wanted it. More than anything, really. You'd been harboring feelings for Mike for so long, feelings you'd kept hidden, thinking there was no way he'd ever see you as anything more than a friend, a study partner, a background presence in his life.

But now, with his body pressed against yours and his lips trailing fire down your neck, it was clear that Mike had been seeing you in a very different light for a while.

"I didn't think..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you felt like this about me."

He hadn't planned on this happening, not exactly. But as he held you in his arms, feeling the heat of your body against his, he couldn't deny how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to you. For years, he had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, thinking it wasn't something you'd ever want. You were smart, focused, always so kind.

He pressed closer, his lips trailing lower along your collarbone, his fingers gently digging into your waist. The torn jacket you were wearing slid down slightly, giving him better access to your skin, and he took full advantage of it, kissing his way down your neck with slow, deliberate movements.

Mike's lips paused against your skin, and he pulled back, his expression soft but intense. "You really didn't notice, did you?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been trying to get you to see it for months. I thought you'd pick up on it, but... guess I'm not as smooth as I thought."

You blinked at him, your mind reeling. "You've... been trying to tell me?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've been dropping hints since we stayed up all night after Emily and I broke up. You were there for me, man. And ever since then I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I didn't think you'd ever feel like that about me," you confessed, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Mike smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulled you a little closer. "I noticed the way you looked at me," he said quietly, his breath warm against your skin. "All those times you'd stare at me, thinking I didn't see. You were so fucking adorable, but it drove me crazy."

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by the confession. Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. "You're not that good at hiding it, you know."

Before you could respond, Mike kissed you. His lips hungry, filled with all the emotions he hadn't been able to express before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

You responded almost immediately, your lips parting under his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Mike deepened the kiss, his hands slipping beneath your jacket, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips, your waist, your chest. His tongue dipped past your lips.

After a long moment, Mike pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and rough, "You're okay with this, right?"

You didn't even hesitate this time. You nodded, breathless.

Mike's grin widened, and without another word, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time. His hands moved up your sides, tugging at the edges of your jacket as he pressed you against the wall.

You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as the heat between you both grew.

Mike's lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and back to your neck, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your breath coming in shallow gasps as he kissed his way down to your collarbone, his grip on your waist tightening.

You wanted more, needed more, and judging by the way Mike was holding you with his erection pressing insistently against you, he felt the same.

He pulled back slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at Wolfie, who had been lying quietly in the corner of the room.

He bent down, ruffling the fur of the wolf who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "Go on, buddy," Mike whispered. "Follow me for a second."

The wolf trotted after Mike as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone for a few moments, heart still racing. You could hear him talking softly to Wolfie just outside the door, something about how you were "the guy" he'd told the wolf about before.

When Mike came back into the room, locking the door behind him, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken even more.

Without wasting another second, Mike crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a deep, hungry kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire, and you couldn't help but melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with just as much need.

Mike's hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

He broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Then, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripping you even tighter, pressing you against the nearest wall as his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there.

His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, lowering them to expose just what was needed with an almost frantic urgency, before he gripped your ass, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive intensity as he lifted you slightly, pressing his body against your.

"Relax," Mike whispered, his voice low and commanding as his fingers trailed down, teasingly brushing against your entrance. "Let me take care of you."

He teased you for a moment, his fingers gently exploring before he slowly pushed one inside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly.

He moved his finger slowly at first, watching your face for every reaction, but as you relaxed into his touch, he added another finger, stretching you carefully.

Mike's other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender.

By the time Mike pulled his fingers out of you, you were trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him.

You heard the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants, and then you felt the tip of his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You could barely nod, your entire body trembling with need. Mike lined himself up, his hands gripping your hips firmly, and then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you, filled you completely. He moved slowly at first, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you could do was moan softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"You're perfect," Mike groaned as he began to move, his hips moving with slow, deliberate motions. "You feel so fucking good."

Mike's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your chest, cupping your face as he kissed you hungrily. His cock filled you completely, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his thrusts.

The more his pace picked up, the more his movements became rougher, more desperate. He kissed you again, biting at your lips, your neck, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust.

"Fuck," Mike groaned, his voice low and husky. His soft grunts filling the cold room as he moved inside you.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as his thrusts became faster, harder. You could feel the heat spreading through your body, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the edge.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, Mike groaned loudly, his hands gripping you tightly as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. The sensation sent you over the edge as well, and you cried out as your own orgasm ripped through you, your voice muffled against his neck.

After a few moments of catching your breath and letting the weight of everything settle in, Mike pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips. You could see the satisfied smile tugging at his lips, that playful, cocky expression you had grown so used to over the years. He gave you a wink before straightening up, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.

You followed suit, your body still buzzing with the aftermath. There was something so surreal about it all. Being here, with Mike Munroe, of all people. You had known him for years, but you had never imagined things would end up like this.

Once you were both dressed and more or less presentable, Mike walked over to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"Ready to face Wolfie again? He might be a little upset that we kicked him out." He glanced back at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before swinging the door open.

Outside, Wolfie was sprawled out across the floor, his furry body taking up most of the tight hallway. The wolf's ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to glance at the two of you. His golden eyes scanned you two and then, with what could only be described as a huff, he plopped his head back down onto the floor, letting out a long sigh as if he had been deeply offended by the delay.

"Is he pouting?" you asked, incredulous.

Mike smirked, clearly amused by the wolf's behavior. "What? You jealous, buddy?" he teased as he crouched down beside Wolfie. The wolf, still looking somewhat begrudging, turned his head away, as if refusing to acknowledge Mike.

Mike reached out, scratching Wolfie behind the ears, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. "Come on, don't be mad. I was just doing my part to keep him warm. You know how cold it is here."

You watched as Wolfie's resolve began to crumble under Mike's touch, his tail thumping softly against the floor as Mike scratched behind his ears. Mike chuckled, his cocky grin growing wider. "See? I warmed him up real good. All thanks to me."

Wolfie responded with a soft growl. He finally turned his head back toward Mike and he ruffled his fur, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

Mike stood up, shooting you a wink as he slung his arm around your shoulder. "Damn right, I did." He leaned in to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.

Together, you and Mike walked down the hallway, Wolfie trotting along beside you. And as Mike gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, you couldn't help but feel grateful that, through all the chaos and terror of the night, you had found someone worth fighting for.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

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writingwisterias · 12 days ago

Note

Hello! Can you write a little drabble of Leon saving his best friend(crush) from her crazy ex? Protective Leon for the winnn

I sure can! I hope you enjoy it, thank you for the request- it's a little bit longer than a drabble because I got carried away :)

Leon Kennedy x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship, Crazy Ex, Friends - Lovers, Abusive relationships, Wounds, light violence, Protective Leon, Abuse (Not from Leon), (Partner is a Boyfriend) Please take warning when reading Under the cut! My Dms are open if there's a tag you think I've missed or need someone to talk to :)

Leon grumbled as he opened the door to his apartment, his muscles aching from his last mission. He almost gave up and chose to sleep on the couch but after deciding to give his back some release, he stumbled to the bedroom, allowing the soft comfort of his bed to envelope him as he flopped on it. He groaned in relief, finally shutting his eyes to let the jet lag catch up and fall into a long sleep. Only for his phone to ring in his pocket. The vibrations were angry against his leg, a constant reminder that duty calls. He pried the thing from where it was trapped against his thigh and the bed. He flipped it open bringing the speaker to his ear before grumbling out "Agent Kennedy?"

If you were in dire need of his help you would have laughed or made a joke at how formal he sounded; instead, a whimper left your lips. You brought your hand over your mouth stifling the noise in case you woke up your Ex who had now passed out on the sofa. Broken glass and furniture littered the room, your arm having small scraps where some had caught you in the ordeal. You didn't mean to anger him, you were just asking what he wanted for dinner which distracted him and caused him to lose focus on his game. Apparently that resulted in a full-blown tantrum, he threw anything he could at you whilst spitting insults in your face. You cleared your throat before speaking again, your voice barely above a whisper - half worried that the phone wouldn't even pick it up. "Leon, can you come and get me, please? I need help"

Leon shot up immediately, any weariness that lingered on his body gone at the sound of your voice. "Hey, where are you? I'm on my way" He said, checking his pockets for his keys before leaving his house. He opted for the bike, choosing speed to get there faster. "I'm at his house, he just...I don't know Leon, he just got mad. I need to leave whilst he's asleep" You whimpered. The fear in your voice broke his heart, his brain already raking through all the roads to get there faster. "Wait for me outside okay? I'm on the bike so I'll be there as fast as I can"

You tried to go outside, but the creaking of the front room woke him. Leon could hear the arguments when he pulled up outside, the front door cracked open ever so slightly. Without hesitation he barged in, his footsteps noisy as the glass crunched beneath his boots. You couldn't tell if the sight of him terrified you or gave you relief. You knew he would come, he always did your Leon. Perhaps this time he would stay, chose you to talk about everything he went through instead of pushing you away. You got tired of waiting. Waiting for him to decide what to do, what he wanted. The two of you got into an argument a few months ago, he was drunk and begging for your forgiveness. Perhaps you should have accepted his offer, his promises of self-improvement. Then maybe you wouldn't be trapped here, against the wall with the breath of your supposed lover on your neck as his dirty hands pinned you against the wall. Did he not notice the tears that trickled down your cheeks? The way your frame was shaking?

Leon acted before he thought it through, dragging him away by the collar of his shirt. He stumbled to the ground with a loud thud, his body a heap against the couch. "Back off" Leon growled, his body stiff as he stood in front of you daring the man you claimed to love to fight. His eyes were piercing, and his brows lowered as he stared. It was almost terrifying but in a beautiful way. You looked at the small wrinkles on his face, the slight stubble that had grown in over his time away. He smelled of gunpowder, you could feel the heat from him as he moved back shielding you as the dickhead rose again. His steps were swayed as he moved towards Leon, his fist clenched as he prepared to swing but Leon was faster. One hit and he thumped to the floor again now unconscious and with a black eye.

Leon turned to you, his hands gentle as they landed on your biceps. His eyes softened as he looked you over, taking into account all the small cuts and bruises that now littered your skin. Instead of speaking, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you holding you close. Your body slumped against him as you began to cry, your hands desperately clutching at him. You could hear his coos as he tried to calm you down. "I've got you"

"He won't hurt you anymore, I've got you now"

Upon returning to his place, he sat you on the sofa before leaving to find a medical kit. You scanned the room spotting the duffle bag abandoned at the door along with all of his other gear. Guilt ate at your chest as you realised he had just returned from another grueling mission. Leon walked back in, his browns pinched together in concentration and concern...the two looked so similar you often found it hard to tell the difference. "I'm sorry I called you..you look like you just got back" you mumbled looking at your hands instead of him. You felt the sofa dip as he sat down, the medical supplies laid out on the table. His touch was feather like as he gently grasped your hand, pulling it into his lap forcing you to look at him. "How long has he been like this?"

His voice cracked as he spoke the words, his own guilt at letting a petty argument get in the way. He should have checked on you, messaged you, begged you to talk to him but then maybe that would have made things worse, for that was why your ex was angry in the first place. The two of you had always been close, meeting in the mess of Raccoon City you shared trauma allowing you to rely on each other. Everything Leon went through was so you and Sherry didn't have to, and you turned him away after Spain because your partner was jealous.

"A few months, I thought he would change...this was the worst"

The tears threatened to spill from your waterline as you held his gaze. Apologies ready to spill from your lips the more you looked at him. Leon was angry you didn't call him, angry you were going through all of this to add onto the shit the world had already thrown at you. Yet your kindness never wavered, never changed. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, you can stay here"

He returned his attention to the small cuts, making sure they were clean or putting witch hazel on the bruises to help them heal. His touch was never firm, only showing how caring he was. Leon looked at you when he finished, unspoken words and emotions held in his gaze again. You felt your heart flutter as you looked at him. "Leon..."

He silenced the rest of your sentence with a kiss, a quick one, almost as if he hadn't meant to do it. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean...I mean I did...but-"

You cut him off with another kiss, this time your fingers weaved into his blond strands. The events of the day melted into passion as he forced his love, promises of devotion into the kiss. Promises of a better future

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x you

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puckinghischier · 2 months ago

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Heard you were in the mood for some yapping, so here I am lol! That Luke hugging blurb was everything! My supervisor decided that they weren't ruining my life enough, and now ask me to do something and have me completely redo it when I'm finished because they cannot decide on an aesthetic they want. So my daydreams are currently in a "stay at home girlfriend" era lol (please don't judge). Should you decide to quit and give yourself a few months Luke would be the happiest person ever. He gets all day every day with his sweet girl, his favorite person, his bestest friend. He gets pumped at every home game knowing you're there supporting, gets lunches with you to dissect practice or what you've been reading. You try to argue that since he's taken over all the bills, he won't buy you any gifts. He lasts two weeks before caving and buying you something "just 'cause."

“luke!” you screech from the kitchen, causing your boyfriend to come running, socked feet sliding on the hardwood floor.

“what? is everything okay? what’s wrong?” he rushes out, frantic eyes scanning you for any sign of a crisis.

when they fall on the large, open box on the island you’re standing behind, he knows he’s been busted.

“care to explain?” you cock an eyebrow at him, gesturing to the cardboard box.

luke rubs the back of his neck with his hand, thinking about how to drop the news without you blowing up.

“well…it’s a bag,” he starts slowly, walking towards you.

scoffing, you roll your eyes. “yeah, i can see that it’s a bag. care to explain why there’s a two thousand dollar designer purse in our apartment right now??”

when luke saw the handbag online the other day, he knew it was something you’d love.

you always talk about how much you’d love to have a good, quality purse, and he couldn’t think of anything better quality than designer.

with you having finally agreed to his offer of taking some time away from work, he was on cloud nine always having you around. he loved seeing you in his jersey at every home game (and several road games, too), and he loves how you meet him at the rink most days so the two of you can catch up over lunch or brunch, after morning skates.

one of the things he didn’t love about you not working, however, is the fact you told him no gifts for the time being.

luke has never been someone to spend his money on himself. he allowed himself a few frivolous purchases when he signed his rookie contract, but he really only spends his money on things he needs.

for the first few months of your relationship, luke refrained from buying you anything too crazy. a twenty for coffee here, a fancy dinner there, but nothing like what he started buying you once you knew he wasn’t just throwing his wealth at you.

he started showering you with random pieces of jewelry and trips and shoes and literally anything else he saw that he wanted to buy for you.

you told him to stop, once, loving how thoughtful he was and how well he knew how to pick out a gift for you, but you didn’t want him blowing through all of his contract money on you.

at first, he listened. the gifts stopped and you basked in your victory. but then, the gifts changed from physical gifts to trips, concert tickets, experiences.

as long as luke was able to experience the ‘gifts’ with you, you didn’t care to reap the benefits, because you could convince yourself he wasn’t spending his money on you. you were just a tag along on plans he wanted to do himself.

“you did say you wanted a good bag to use, so i thought i’d surprise you,” luke shrugged, hoping if he doesn’t make it a big deal, you won’t think it is one.

“yeah, i was thinking something along the lines of a tote bag, maybe a leather backpack, not this,” you hold the bag up, refusing to take it out of its protective packaging.

“well, this is good quality. and it’ll last you a long time, so really it’s something you specifically talked about needing,” luke defends himself.

groaning, you start pacing in frustration. “luke, we agreed when i took time off that the money you were spending on me had to stop. you’re already funding my existence right now, so there’s no reason for you to spend any more money on me than is absolutely necessary.”

luke walks over towards you, stopping your pacing. “honeybee, calm down. i was just trying to be nice. you seemed a little down lately so i wanted to surprise you with a little pick me up.”

you take a deep breath, calming yourself down. you’re not trying to be a bitch, because you do like the bag, you just don’t want luke wasting money on you now that you’re not contributing to any of the bills.

“luke, a ‘little pick me up’ is a coffee, or some ice cream. not a handbag that costs more than what i used to make in a month,” you place your hands on luke’s forearms, his hands resting on your shoulders while he’s crouched down to be eye-level with you.

“well, in all fairness they were grossly underpaying you at your old job,” luke ignores the point of your statement, earning another roll of your eyes.

“luke,” you warn.

luke stands tall again, letting out a sigh of defeat.

“you’re right. i should have asked you first. i’m sorry,” he starts, looking up at the ceiling. “but i’m not sorry that i bought you something nice that you genuinely need, even if you think it was too expensive,” he finishes, looking back down into your eyes.

you let out your own defeated sigh. the bag is really nice. and you couldn’t have picked out a more gorgeous one if you tried.

“just…don’t go so swipe happy next time. if you want to do something nice for no reason again, candy will work just fine,” you step back from luke, grabbing the bag again, allowing yourself to actually unbox it this time.

“no promises,” luke winks at you, walking around the island so he can see the awe on your face as you inspect the bag, knowing the matching wallet is already set to be delivered later this week.

#i don’t know if i like this but here it is #alliyaps #luke hughes #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #hockey #new jersey devils #nhl

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devotedfem · 3 months ago

Text

→ Kitty Gang

Synopsis: Kitty gang Jimin thought you were the cutest detective to ever exist. You really think you can caught him? He was just playing mind games with you, after all, you're his little mouse, the prey who's being played before being swallowed whole.

Park Jimin x f. reader

Genre: criminal au | yander-ish

Tags: criminal Jimin, detective reader, chasing, violence, yandere Jimin, fierce reader, slutty Jimin, power play, running from the law.

From the series masterlist; The chasing.

You groaned tired of the chase, the government doesn't pay you good enough to deal with this headache named Park Jimin, or kitty gang for the people of the streets.

At first it was thrilling, this sick game of cat and mouse. You were craving the feeling of putting that criminal behind the bars, that narcissistic cunt that think he's better than everyone else, and you almost fell by his angelic and "innocent" appearance when you met him for the first time, alone in a warehouse where he had hostage your coworker, but when you saw his sadistic smile and glinted eyes while torturing your friend, you knew he was a psycho who hides behind a pretty face.

It's been six months since the first time you met him, and since he killed your coworker, thence you swear to catch that sicko and put him in his place. You never failed a target, until him.

He always led you to fake clues, and you always took the bait, to your annoyance. And you were getting tired of him, of his baits and his arrogant smirks as if he was so above you. You hate him.

"..Y/n.." Jimin singsong somewhere in the dark. You couldn't find him, and you felt his piercing gaze on you.

"Why are you hiding Jimin-ssi? Are you afraid of me?" You mocked him, squinting your eyes to try to see better in the dark.

An airy chuckle sound very close to you, so close to your back.

You freeze in your place, your hand on your pistol. You won't turn back, yet.

"My dear y/n, you're the one who should be afraid." A hot whisper in your ear made you jump, ready to point your weapon at him, but he stopped you by grabbing your arms with one of his hands, while the other wrapped tightly around your neck.

This was the first time he got so close to you, and you can't help but feel a little afraid. This was unpredictable, this was new. And you didn't like it at all.

"Are you finally going to kill me?" Your voice sounded strangled by his grip, but you won't let him know that you're afraid. And if this is your last night alive, then so it be, but you won't go without a fight.

The grip around your neck tighten a little making you whimper, and Jimin's hot breath brushed your cheek, the front of his body is now all over your back.

"Watch your mouth detective, you're in no place to talk back to me. It's time you know your place," he warned lowly, with his lips brushing your jaw and cheek.

Your heart beat was wild against your ribcage, the adrenaline running hot in your veins. You didn't know what was happening, or what will happen to you, but you were feeling scared, trapped, angry and aroused, all at the same time.

"What do you want from me? Are you enjoying this? I bet you are sicko," you spat the last word. And you knew you hit a nerve.

The next thing you know, is that your back was crashed roughly against the wall, with Jimin's body pinning yours to it. You can feel his fury bursting from his body, wrapping you both. His breath was agitated and hot against your face, and you were drinking in it, dizzy from everything.

But then cold fear freeze your body when you felt both of your wrists being handcuffed, widening your eyes with anxiety.

Jimin grabbed your jaw roughly to make you look up at him, and that sadistic smile showed in his face.

"I think it's time for your punishment detective, I've been too soft on you," your breath hitch with fear at his words, "you know how good i'm with torturing people, you could ask your friend if he were still alive," he mocked cruelly, and your gaze blurred by your tears.

"Oh, don't cry my y/n, i promise to be nice to you. After all, your punishment will be special," he whispered the last word, like a mischievous oath.

You were so fucked up.

@demonshauntingthedoves

#bts jimin #bangtan fanfic #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere x reader #yandere jimin #x reader #bts imagines #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin x oc #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #yandere x you #yandere kpop #jimin scenarios #jimin oneshot #fanfic

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lilywastaken · 2 years ago

Text

⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't — your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #ghost ansgt #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #cw pregnancy #— ménage

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munsonluhvr · 22 days ago

Text

WAY BACK [Part 1]

synopsis: older/adult!Steve harrington x adult!reader. it's been nearly twenty years since you and your high-school sweetheart, Steve Harrington, broke up. As you've seemingly moved on, living your life, Steve has been stuck in 1986, the year of your breakup, and has mulled over every idea to get you back to him. When Steve stumbles across your MySpace page, posting that you're back in town, a series of events leads you to the reality of your relationship with Steve and if your love for each other is still viable after all these years. warnings: brief mention of sex, potentially more detailed in the future (tbd) and cursing. author's note: YOU GUYSSS, I'M BACK. I'm so SO sorry for my lengthy hiatus but I went through quite the rollercoaster this summer and then started my last semester of graduate school... however, I've finally been able to begin writing again and look forward to writing out this storyline as well as finish/wrap up other installments of other fics I've started but haven't finished <3 but! for now! I'm quite happy to present to you this y2k (my fav era) fic for you... ☆ part 2 coming soon...

[ Twenty Years Ago, 1986 ]

Steve runs his fingers through your hair, the sun reflecting off of your locks of hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers smoothly. You smiles faintly, glancing quickly at him before turning her eyes back to the pond that sits in front of them. You watch closely, yet slightly distracted by Steve’s gentle touches, as two swans dance across the water, as if they’re playing a game of tag. The skin on the side of your face, the apples of your cheeks, ignite as Steve’s blunt fingertips drag up and down. Your stomach is in knots, tense with anticipation of his next move. Steve is lost in his own thoughts, wondering how he got to lucky to be sitting with you, the heat of the sun keeping them warm against the chilly spring weather. All he could think about is how he wouldn’t let himself screw this up.

You and Steve stand against the glowing lights of her porch, moths darting around them in the night’s sky. You stand close, chests almost touching, the only thing between you is the warm summer air that is thick and heavy – but this doesn’t keep you two apart, not nearly. Steve’s hand is on your wrist, this fingers gripping lightly around you. His lips itch for yours, his mouth needy to taste you, to know you beyond the boundaries he does now. His fingers begin to trail up your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His hand moves until he reaches your cheek, cupping his hand around your face. Your eyes watch as his eyes meet yours, drawing you in until you are fully consumed. You think about all the times you’ve laid across your bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if Steve is thinking about you too – this is your salvation. Steve leans in closer, trying his best to ignore his heart beating against his chest, the blood rushing through his head. Your knees get weak, threatening to let you crumble against his touch, right on your front porch. ‘Kiss me,’ you thinks, ‘Consume me until there’s nothing left.’ Steve leans in as if he heard you, taking his confidence to push his mouth into yours, gently, letting your lips blend into one.

“Bunny!” You squeal, your tongue sticking out between your lips to catch the ice cream that’s smeared across your mouth. He smiles, hearing the softness of your voice say the sweet nickname you gave him months ago. ‘This is heaven Steve thinks, feeling the coldness of his own ice cream dribbling down his cone and across his fingers. He doesn’t even mind the way his fingers will feel sticky in a few minutes, all he can do is watch your teeth flash between your plush lips, the way your cheeks begin to tint pink from laughter and the sun that shines down on where you sit on the curb in front of the ice cream shop. Steve watches as you look off into the distance, your eyes watching cars pass you by. Steve closes his eyes for a minute, his mind flashing to a few nights ago when you had spent time at his house in the evening. In his memory, you’re underneath him, the warmth of your skin drawing him closer and closer to you, the soft breaths that escape from your mouth. You are laid across his bed, in your underwear and a tank top, your arms circling around his shoulders, your legs fastening themselves around his waist, bringing him lower to your body. You lift your head, maneuvering to fit yourself into the crook of his neck, leaving light, gentle kisses in the process. Even now, in the current moment, Steve could feel the same intense burning in his loins that he had for you, the way he wanted to immerse himself in you and never pull away. Steve let’s his eyes open, and he returns to watching you watch the cars and contently lap away at your ice cream cone. He reaches out, unable contain the urge, and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheek bone.

You and Steve stand on opposite sides of his bed in his room, the tension between you thick. You bites back tears, willing for a time machine to appear to allow this to end. Your fingertips dig into your palm, your frustration beginning to show. Steve clenches his jaw, not knowing how to best remedy this situation. “Talk to me, y/n.” Steve pleads, his mind whirling to a halt. He watches as you paces back and forth, your face in her hands. You whimper, missing the feeling of Steve’s arms around you already. You drops your hands from your face, wrapping them around yourself. “This isn’t going to work, Steve.” You whispers, your voice trembling with sadness. Steve’s room tilts, feeling as if he’s losing his balance. It’s then that he manages to get you to look at him and he notices the tears that collect in your eyes and the way they threaten to spill.

[ Now, 2006 ]

Steve sits in his leather cushioned reclining chair, using the lever on the side to kick out the footrest. He sighs as it goes back, his body relaxing for the first time that day. He chuckles to himself, thinking about what his father might say about possessing a reclining chair. He can almost hear his late father’s voice in the back of his mind, the overbearing deepness of his tone, the way he’d shake his head at his son owning something middle American owned – something he'd never be caught dead with in his own living room, not if he had anything to say about it.

Steve shakes off the thought of his father and reaches over to his side table to collect the tv remote. He pushes the buttons until the tv flicks on, the colors of the gameshow that pops on filling the dimness of the room. Every night, Steve looks forward to numbing his brain with senseless tv programming, allowing himself to escape just for a little while until work calls him back into the real world in the morning. His life has quieted down throughout the years, going from his late teens and early twenties fighting monsters to spending most of his days alone. His friends have dispersed throughout the country, growing up and taking adult jobs, beginning their own lives – while Steve is still stuck in Hawkins, growing older every day.

Steve gets bored of Wheel of Fortune and presses the remote button to flip through channels. He passes a Western themed movie, CNN, One Tree Hill, and he keeps clicking, finding nothing is appealing enough to watch, not enough to keep his mind occupied and distracted. Steve continues to click, and he passes an obscure romance movie, skips it, then backtracks, pressing the back button to return to the movie. He watches, the characters, male and female, are close, their lips nearly touching, their hands on each other’s faces. They whisper to each other, their eyelashes fluttering, their breath labored. Steve’s jaw clenches, and he begins to remember all too well.

The memory of you is something Steve keeps hidden in his mind, most are thoughts he hardly has the stomach to touch and revisit. Steve learned early on in his life, because of you, that you can do anything and everything you can to move on, but the feeling of unfinished business will hold you back in time.

Steve watches the movie intensely, losing himself momentarily. He watches the way the male character is drawn in by the female character, the way you can tell he’s losing himself in her minute by minute, second by second. He swallows, the memory of you beginning to creep forward in his brain. You are the only person Steve has witnessed himself get lost in, even twenty years later. He shakes his head, leaning over to pick up his beer that sits on his side table where the remote once sat. He takes several swigs, determined to will his brain into another direction.

Steve leans back in his chair, noticing how his body has gone from relaxed to tense – the thought of you always has that effect. He stirs in his seat for several moments longer, blinking his thoughts away. His jaw clenches, and then all at once, he closes his eyes, leaning his head back and allows all the memories to flood back into his mind. It’s a sort of self-harm, really, Steve is sure of it. Thinking of you is his guilty pleasure, something he knows he shouldn’t be doing but does it anyway. Thinking of you is an action that feels good in the moment but hurts like hell afterwards.

Oh, what Steve would do to be 19 again, holding your frame in between his arms. Steve remembers it all too well, the feeling of excitement bubbling in his stomach still as he remembers the thrill of sneaking into your bedroom or pulling you close to him, letting his lips decorate your face with soft kisses. The feeling he had with you, pure love, is something he’s never been able to replicate with anyone else, and trust, he’s tried.

Steve has never been able to fully understand what drove you two apart, he was confident he would make you his wife someday. But overtime, it seemed you were slipping from his grip minute by minute, month by month, until it, seemingly, was too much for you to bear. It is true that Steve has attempted to replicate what he had with you but with other women. It ended with boredom or dissatisfaction; every girl was not you. Steve had been through too many women, it was getting embarrassing at his ripe age of forty, and he got tired of fucking women while imagining it was you underneath him or on top of him, and, subsequently, the women got bored with Steve trying to turn them into you. Every single one of his girlfriends pitied him, wishing for his own sake, and to spare every other female in Hawkins, that Steve would find his way back to you.

It has been decades since Steve has seen you, the last real conversation being the night you broke up. He would catch glimpses of you for the next few years when you’d come back to town from college, visiting your parents or friends in Hawkins. Though, now it’s been over ten years since he’s seen you last – but he’s been keeping tabs on you.

Steve is truly grateful for technological advancements, MySpace being a platform he thanks the heavens above each time he logs on and types your name in. Looking you up online is something he tries to do less and less every time, but he unabashedly fails, and it is no less than a weekly occurrence that he’s scrolling through your personalized page. Lucky for Steve, you’re quite active on MySpace, posting music clips and occasionally pictures, allowing Steve into what is now your life. It feels strange to Steve, seeing what you’re like now and how you’re so different then the 19- or 20-year-old version of yourself. He listens and then relistens to the music clips you post and when they’re romantic songs, he can’t help but wonder if the words are about him to you.

Checking up on you through MySpace hasn’t always been pleasant. Steve has taken several punches to the gut when you’ve updated your profile, ‘In a Relationship,’ yet you never posted any more details than that.

Steve’s fingers tingle and he can’t help but stand up abruptly from his chair and walk over to his desk where his large, clunky computer sits. He’s in auto-mode, his fingers already informed on what to do. Before he knows it, your profile is stretched across his computer screen.

Your profile picture flashes up: a curious smile on your mouth as you stand amongst friends, arms slung around them, a beer in one of your hands. He scrolls down with his mouth, fingers jittery as Steve notices you’ve posted since the last time he’s looked.

“Glad to be back home, been a long time coming!” The caption reads, accompanied by a photo of you standing in Hawkins’ town square, hands up in the air above your head, a big smile on your face. Posted: 3 hours ago.

Steve gulps, all his breath catching in his throat. “Fuck,” Steve whispers to himself, putting a hand to his forehead. Steve scrolls back up quickly, unable to face a current picture of you. In Hawkins. Right now. Steve clicks the search bar, hitting enter to refresh the page. It takes a second, but your MySpace page reloads, a brand-new picture popping up this time. Steve jams his pointer finger onto the mouse cursor, scrolling down to see the new post.

“Look who I’m with at Hawkins Bar and Billiards…” A picture with Nancy and Jonathan Byers, the three of your heads crammed into a small picture, grins on your faces. Posted 13 seconds ago.

Steve suddenly feels like passing out, his large house suddenly feeling small and suffocating. Steve’s hands clench as he fights back the urge to get in his car and go to Hawkins Bar, it’s only a three-minute drive from his house in which he frequents often. What would he even say to you? It’s been so long, he’s not even sure what he would have to stay.

Steve sits for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip as he thinks. What would seeing you do to him after thinking about you for the last twenty years and virtually checking up on you for the last ten years? What would you think of him after twenty years? He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm in his mind.

After several more minute of contemplation, Steve recognizing that he’d spend the rest of the night thinking about what you’re doing or what you’re talking about, he decided he’d swing by the bar. Just because he was going to leave the house doesn’t mean he’d actually have to go in or walk up to you. He could do a drive-by, attempting to see you through the window, or go in and sit at another table, just checking up on you to make sure you’re doing okay. In all honestly, Steve doesn’t know what he was going to do, all he wants is to be near you once again.

Standing up from his seat, he dashes towards his front door, grabbing his car keys and coat off the miniature hangers besides the door. Steve opens the front door, the rush of crisp autumn air blowing him back slightly. He slips his coat on, tightening it around his frame as he walks towards his car. His fingers jitter with excitement? Nerves? Steve is too frazzled to analyze his movements or feelings as he normally does.

Once he gets into his car, Steve turns the ignition on, letting it rubble. With precision, he backs his vehicle up, beginning to point it towards the bar.

Steve’s stomach is in knots, as he drives towards the bar, unsure of what he’s going to be met with once he arrives. Does he go in? Stay outside? Go up to you or stay away? Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel, digging his thumb into his temple as he rubs away at the brewing headache.

The ride over to the bar is quick, only down a few blocks from where he lives. In any other circumstance, Steve appreciates his home being in close proximity to the bar but now he wishes it was on the other side of town to allow for him to process just what in the hell he was doing.

He approaches the bar, slowing his BMW down to attempt to peer into the glass windows of the bar, though he can’t catch a glimpse of you from the road. He puts his blinker on, turning into the parking lot that abuts the bar. He scans the parking lot looking for a spot while wondering which car is yours. He smiles to himself thinking about how knowing you wanted a Volkswagen beetle was one of the first facts he logged away about you in his brain. At 19, he foolishly thought he would buy you a brand new one for one of your birthdays when you and he were married and had established careers. He always could imagine the way your face would light up when he would hand you the keys. His heart breaks, now, thinking about how he was never able to do that for you.

He turns his car off, taking one last deep breath before he opens his car door. As he gets out of his car, he thinks how foolish he is to be here, potentially going up to you, for what? To rekindle a two-decade old flame that might not be mutual? In that moment, Steve thinks it’s best for him to go home but something inside of him pushes his feet towards the bar’s entrance and suddenly his hand is on the door handle.

He gulps once, twice, and he pushes the door inwards, and he steps inside.

The bar isn’t particularly packed tonight, though Steve thinks he can hide himself away in a corner behind other groups of people if he chooses to do so. Though, without warning, Steve’s eyes land on yours, yours on his. The pit in Steve’s stomach expands and he’s positive he’s going to puke. You look just as you did, as if no time has passed and you’re both still 19, nearly 20.

Your face shows that you know it’s Steve and he wishes he could jump into your mind, even for a moment, and know exactly what you’re thinking. Does he still look the same? Do you want to kiss him like he wants to kiss you? To taste your mouth and see if it’s still the intoxicating flavor he was addicted to way back.

Steve is tempted to turn on his heel, high tailing it out to his car where he would speed the short drive back home. But he’s stuck in time, frozen, as if he were a deer in the headlights, in where he stands.

He watches as your mouth opens and closes, your eyes widening by the second. Who looks like Nancy is sitting in front of you, back to Steve, completely unaware that he’s walked in, and this is the first time you and Steve have seen each other in almost 20 years. Nancy is talking quickly, unaware your attention is focused elsewhere but she must say something intriguing as you let your eyes go from Steve back to Nancy.

Steve inhales, feeling like he can move now that your gaze is off of him, and he darts to the back of the bar and seats himself at a high-table, contemplating what he is to do now.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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charliehoennam · 6 months ago

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forever home

a/n: i rewatched the office and it was that episode where jim buys pam a house 🥰

pairing: william miller x f!reader

warnings: none (i think. i suck with tags, sorry), just fluff, not proofread so sorry for any typos

It's almost 11 p.m.

You're sat on the couch, trying to keep your tired eyes open as you watch a rerun of Hell's Kitchen.

With Gordon Ramsey's yelling and cursing in the background, you lift your phone once more to check for any new messages but there aren't any. You open up the chat with Will on the messaging app and reread his last text.

"Having one for the road. Be home in 20. Love you 💚"

You don't want to be one of those nagging fianceés, but the urge to text or call him is just bubbling inside. That was almost an hour ago and you're starting to get worried.

What if something happened to him on the drive home? What if he got into a fight at the bar?

It would be a surprise, but it wouldn't be the first time. Despite the progress he's had through therapy, you know how he can be impatient at times and a little hot-headed too. And maybe a little cocky too, although he would only let that side shine through at Benny's matches.

The trust you have in each other is the one of the main foundations that you've built your relationship on. Opportunities like these are essential to remind, not only you, but also himself of how far he's come.

You remind yourself of that when you hear a car pulling into the condo's parking lot downstairs. It takes all of your willpower to refrain from racing to the window to make sure it's really him. Truthfully, you just want to know if he's alright.

Will's tired legs slowly his heavy body up the single flight of stairs that led up to your small and shared condo apartment. His arms are so sore that he can barely hold the keys in his hand as he unlocks the door. He's never felt so tired, even on his deployments.

For the past 3 months, Will and his team have been working on a new house. He'd gotten into the business of buying and flipping houses which has been working out really well for him.

He loved being able to work with his hands and there is something just so gratifying to him about seeing something come together so beautifully after lots of sweat, work and a little bit of blood whenever he's accidently hurt himself. Will was usually very cautious, but accidents can happen to anyone.

You always supported him and his career since he'd expressed his desire to get into the business. You're thankful he did. Will's really good at what he does and he genuinely loves being so handy.

One of the other perks is getting to watch him in action. There's something so attractive about watching your fiancé slam a sledgehammer to a wall. Will knows you like watching him too, so he'll flaunt his muscles off whenever you come around to bring him some materials or sweet treats for the team.

However, this specific project has really been taking up most of his time and you just cannot wait until it's done and sold.

As usual, Will and the guys get together every Friday night to catch up, watch a game and shoot the shit. It's their own way of making sure everyone - particularly Tom ever since the divorce - are still hanging in there.

Opening the front door to the apartment, he steps inside and locks the door with a tired sigh before near the open plan kitchen to set his wallet and keys on the breakfast counter.

"Hey, baby. Sorry I'm late. Tom got a little carried away with the beers and I had to give him a ride."

"It's alright, honey," you yawn. "Did the guys get home alright?"

You look over the back of the couch and watch him kick off his dusty work boots at the door. His work jeans are tattered, splattered with dried old paint and wood varnish. The faded tan jacket is peeled off his body and hung up on a hook.

A mental note is made in your mind to convince him to buy new clothes when you go out the next time, although you know that'd be a bit of hassle since he's too stubborn to waste money on himself. It's nothing a batting of eyelashes can't handle.

"Yeah, sweetheart. The other guys just had a couple beers, but you know Tom," he struts over as he shares with you, bending down to kiss you hello and plops himself on the couch beside you, manspreading his legs as a arm drapes of your lap, hand stroking your thigh. "He's really going through it."

"I can imagine. You been talking to him?"

"I have, yeah. Invited him to the support group, but you know how he can be."

You nod adjusting to lean closer and thread your fingers through his hair. His blonde eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, instantly melting under your touch.

"Yeah, I know, baby. But don't give up. You never know. He might just show up one day."

"I know, sweetheart," he smiles before opening his eyes as his head turns to face you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh. "How was your day, beautiful?"

"Just the same ol'. Made your favorite for dinner though" you smile watching the exhaustion in his eyes slowly fade.

"Pesto chicken alfredo pasta?"

His blue gleam with hope. His pretty pink lips stretch into a wide smile behind the golden whiskers of his beard. You chuckle at how happy he gets when it comes to food.

You know it stems from the lack of indulgence during his deployments. Will's no fussy eater, but when he's home, he indulges when he can to make up for the barely edible chow he and the guys had to eat. Although tasteless and sometimes expired, Will never had any problems with it because he knew the purpose wasn't to be good, but to keep him alive.

That's why he quickly back up on his feet and striding towards the kitchen to heat a plate up for himself, leaving you to snicker at his excitement. If there's one thing that the Miller brothers share, it's their appetite for food.

"How's the house coming along?"

"We finally fucking finished, babe," he grins plating the cold food. "It looks so good though. I cannot wait for you to see it. You are going to love it." Of course. He built it with you and your tastes in mind. "Tomorrow, I'm taking you to see it."

"Really?" you grin.

Your opinion is very important to Will and he always comes to you when he's got doubts and is in need of a feminine point of view, so it's not exactly uncommon for him to bring you to his projects for a look-around.

The next morning, you find yourself in his car listening to No Excuses by Alice In Chains.

With nothing else to do, you sing along to the song as Will drives steadily

“Can I please take this thing off?” you ask adjusting the blindfold he’s got on you. “I don’t want cops pulling us over thinking you’re kidnapping me.”

“Baby, no one’s gonna pull us over” he chuckles at the thought. “We’re almost there.”

You try to focus on the sounds beyond the car in an attempt to locate where you are, but the catchy tune playing from the stereo makes it impossible. The only thing you know for certain is that you’re not in the city. The familiar salty scent strikes you as clear as day.

“Are we at the beach?” your voice fills with excitement.

“You’ll see soon enough. We’re here. I’m gonna help you out of the car, hold on.”

You can hear the smile he’s got plastered on his face. Will finds it cleverly adorable how you figured part of his surprise out already. it's not enough to ruin it though.

Just as promised, he opens the car door and takes your hand to carefully help you out of the car with kind instructions. You hold onto his hand as you settle on the stony driveway. Although from a distance, you can still hear the ocean waves quietly splashing on the shore.

"Take a look," he grins anxiously untying your blindfold.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright light of the blue sky but, once it does, you freeze in awe of the house before you.

The mediterranean-style house is simple but large and elegant. Red Italian tiles and cream-colored paint exude a rustic and mysteriously familiar feeling that makes you feel at home.

Colorful flowers strategically planted grow in the grassy front lawn. Behind it, potted flowers sit on the low wall that encloses the small garden along the gated pathway to the door.

You and Will had talked about buying a house for a long time. Little did you know, Will had made a list in his precise mind of every little detail that you desired in your forever home.

"Will, this house is beautiful. You might have finally outdone yourself!"

He chuckles filled with relief and joy as he listens to you swoon over every small and carefully thought out detail of the exterior.

"C'mon, let's take a look."

He takes your hand and leads you up the pathwalk to unlock the door. You step inside the empty home and marvel at the space.

"Wow... It looks small from outside, but it's pretty big huh?"

"I thought so too. I kinda liked that about it."

"I love it! It's like a little illusion and then, you come in and it's just so much space," you grin roaming around each room slowly to take everything in.

"Do you like the windows?"

"Yeah, they're lovely. They really add to the mediterranean/contemporary vibe you got going on here. Can we see the kitchen? You know how much I love kitchens," you giggle excitedly.

"Of course. It's right over here."

"The floorplan is really nice and open too, huh? Oh, the sink! You installed the farmhouse sink! Undermount, too! The owners will love that."

Will smiles as he gazes at you, watching your reaction lovingly as you wander around the house and notice every tiny detail that Will spent countless hours pondering over to ensure you would have the house of your dreams.

The project cost him a pretty penny, but every single cent and drop of sweat he had spent investing into this home was certainly worth to see your eyes light up with every nook and cranny.

He led you to the backyard compete with a pool and beautiful stones and bright green plants that made it feel like your own little personal lagoon, with a wooden pathway that leads to a private gateway to the beach behind the house.

In truth, you feel like you're in paradise. You could spend every day in this house without the urge to leave it.

"So? What do you think?" he smiles holding your hips.

"I think this is your masterpiece, babe" you grin holding his strong biceps. "Do you have any buyers yet? I bet this will be the most expensive house you've sold yet."

"Actually, someone's already bought the place... This is ours."

You stare up at him in shock.

"A-Are you serious? You bought this place for us?"

"Mhm," he nods with a shit-eating grin. "The farmhouse sink, the red italian rooftop tiles, the little garden... It's everything that was on your list."

As tears fill your eyes, you hug him tightly and sniffle as your arms tighten around him. You want to thank him, but you're too speechless to say anything although your reaction says everything he needs to know.

You think back to all the long pillow talks you've had, where he'd casually asked you about little bits and pieces he should add to the project. You would have never guessed the project he'd been working on was your new home together.

The mere fact that Will had gone through so much trouble to make this house perfect to every desire makes your swell. Being designed by the love of your life is the finaal cherry on top.

"Thank you, Will," you mumble still stunned as you stare at your new backyard.

"Welcome home, babe."

#william miller #william miller x reader #william miller x you #william miller x y/n #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #will miller x y/n #will ironhead miller #will ironhead miller x reader #will ironhead miller x you #will ironhead miller x y/n #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fanfic #charlie hunnam

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leafofkudzu · 3 months ago

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Greetings and salutations from a summer in full swing, everyone! I hope the season is treating you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is this Saturday, and the festival gods have blessed us with the perfect venue for yet another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield! That's right, finally the cards have aligned for us to visit one of my favorite locations in game - the Labyrinthine Cliffs!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

No picture needed because the Labyrinthine Cliffs are unforgettable! When the Festival of the Four Winds started on Tuesday everyone should have got an invitation to the festival grounds, and if you didn't you likely have an old one lying around, or can find a portal to the locations from just about any major location you can think of! Head to the Cliffs and look for my tag down by the water - there's a good chance I'll be on the NPC boat that cruises around, or lounging on the beach awaiting the next treasure hunt with everyone!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account and may swap characters a few times, but a safe bet is to either /squadjoin or whisper Teekzi for an invite - just don't be surprised if you get a response from a different character name!

Closing Words:

As is clearly evidenced by this post being in the right format, I did mostly cobble my computer back together after last month's implosion! I wanted to wait until the Festival was announced in order to confirm that it would be active for this month, and then IRL got in the way again (but in a pleasant way this time don't worry), so I'm a smidge delayed. But we got there! Thank you for rolling with my weird Situations these past few months - hosting these events is a joy I will continue to prioritize as long as you all continue to come by and make them awesome! Keep being kind to each other, and I'll see you all on Saturday! ♥

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #i still haven't reinstalled reshade so i had to edit the screenshot the old fashioned way lol #anyway labyrinthine cliffs enjoyers rise up we're gonna do the treasure hunt whenever it comes up too #i'd feel bad scaling it up and not contributing lol #obnoxious tourist simulator #vsartparty #📢🎨

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stormz369 · 10 days ago

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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 17

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: racist microagressions, boundary crossing, and people in positions of power being scum, cursing wc: 2.4k

A/N: chapter concept was suggested by @scared-reader 👻 so if you like it thank them for the inspiring ask in the comments! (and feel free to submit your own if you've got an idea for me, you never know what's going to set off the unhinged writing monster in my soul 😅 )

Chapter Selection

Damian was at my apartment again. He'd come over after school, and the look on his face suggested there was something weighing him down. I got him set up at the table to do his homework, knowing he wouldn't be ready to talk until he felt his responsibilities were complete, and ordered pizza. While he worked, I made my grandmother's brownies.

An hour later we were sitting on the floor in front of my tv, eating pizza and brownies, drinking soda, and playing mindless video games. Between rounds, Damian finally spoke up; “... There's an art show for our parents at my school next week … Father couldn't make it last year, something came up at work.”

I frowned a bit; “That sucks! ... Well, I'm sure he'll make it this year, yeah?”

“... Probably not. It's a busy time of year for him...”

“That's not fair…”

“It is what it is.” On the surface he sounded nonchalant about it, but after months of getting to know each other I was starting to catch the subtleties of his mannerisms and tones. And when he said ‘it is what it is' I heard, clear as day, the ache of unexpressed sorrow; the kind of sorrow that makes you feel selfish and cruel for caring at all over something so seemingly trivial.

“... Well, I know I'm not a parent, but I am an adult in your life who loves … your art. Think they'd let me come?”

“... You want to come?” he didn't even try to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Of course, if you're ok with it. … I remember how disappointing it was when my parents didn't come to my after school stuff. … Felt like I was the only kid in the room without an adult gushing over my work. I knew they were proud of me, they were just busy, but … I wanted my interests to be their priority for just a few hours. It hurt, seeing everyone else's adults make time for them when mine couldn't, and I don't want you to have to go through that too. So if you're comfortable with it I would be honored to get to go to your art show!”

Damian blinked a few times, looking down into his lap, and nodded. “... Ok. … Yeah, you … you can come. … It's Friday after school, from 4-6.” His voice came out a bit sharper than usual, like he was fighting to get the words out at all.

I smiled gently, pulling out my phone. “It's going right in my calendar. Will you already be there?” He nodded. “Perfect, … can Jace come too, or should I take the bus?”

Damian considered for a minute. “.... I suppose Todd can come. … It would be difficult to use the city bus to get to my school…”

I nodded. “Thanks kiddo.”

He opened his mouth, frowning slightly; “... I … why do you keep calling me that?”

I cringed slightly; “Sorry Damian, I keep forgetting you don't like it. I like to give people affectionate nicknames, it’s sort of second nature at this point I guess. I'll do better, I promise.”

“... No, it … it's ok, you don't have to stop. … I'm still not Dami though.”

I grinned, nodding. “You got it, kiddo.” Right, only Jon gets to call him Dami.

He nodded once, smiling a little.

Tears filled my eyes. The lump in my throat made it incredibly difficult to speak, but I had to say something; he was staring up at me with those big, guarded eyes, waiting for my response. “... Damian, it's-”

“Perfect…” Jason's arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his chest.

Damian's section of the art show was filled with portraits of his family and friends. And right in the center, on one of the biggest canvases I'd seen outside of a museum, was a painting of the three of us on my couch; me and Damian facing each other with Jason in the middle, his hand on my knees, just like the time they'd spent the night. The casual intimacy of our poses and easy smiles on our faces were like a dream for the future, laid bare in front of us.

It wasn't as easy as the painting made it look, not yet, but maybe someday it would be.

I nodded, agreeing with Jason; “it's beautiful~ you're so talented! … is … is that really how you see me?”

Damian hadn't made me smaller; I was still round and soft in his painting, but instead of feeling insecure the portrait made me feel beautiful. The delicate, sweeping brush strokes that made up my body exuded warmth and tenderness. I wasn't entirely sure if it was my love for him that he'd seen and captured in the paint, or his own affection for me, but it was there on the canvas for all to see.

He tilted his head; “... I don't understand? That is what you look like.”

“Yeah, but … Damian, in a culture that teaches women that being big is bad, making a fat girl feel beautiful in her fatness is like the artistic equivalent of finding Bigfoot - there are people who say they have, but who actually believes them?” I smiled softly, looking into his confused eyes; “you’ve made me feel beautiful, Damian. … Thank you.”

Jason hugged me tighter, kissing my shoulder; “... good job, demon brat~”

Damian flushed a bit, obviously pleased, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but before he could, a tall woman came up behind him. She smiled warmly, looking at me; “ah, you must be the panther tamer!”

Damian's entire demeanor changed in an instant, closing in on himself. I frowned, looking up at her; “excuse me? … Who are you?”

The woman ruffled Damian's hair, either not noticing or not caring about his grimace or minuscule flinch as she made contact; “I’m Mrs. Webster, Damian's math teacher! It's a miracle; ever since you've come into his life, our little wild cat here has finally retracted his claws! Finally dropping some of those nasty habits of his. I don't know what you're doing with him, but keep up the good work!”

“... So you did just say what I thought you said. … Ok, bet.” I pushed Jason's arms off me and stepped forward until she stumbled back, making sure I ended up between her and Damian. “First of all; don't ever touch him again. Anyone with two brain cells can tell he doesn't like it.”

She stuttered, stepping back more; “ah! It was just a hair ruffle-”

“Don't. Ever. Touch him. Secondly, he is a person, he's not a wild animal that needs to be tamed. What on earth makes you think that's an appropriate thing to say about one of your students?”

“Hey now! I just meant that his behavior has gotten better, it's a compliment!”

I continued to walk toward her, slowly backing her into a corner. “Shut. The fuck. Up. You were not complimenting him; you were othering him. He is a child in a foreign country with foreign, often contradictory culture; since coming here he has had to relearn everything about how life works and what's expected of him, and he has had to do it using English, one of the most obnoxious languages to learn, and probably the fourth or even fifth one he knows. He is expected to gracefully fold himself into an American household, go to an American school, and follow American customs; nothing in his life would have prepared him for any of that, but he has done it all, and he's done it while living under intense media scrutiny because of his family name. And on top of all that, he's also making all these life changes during one of the hardest parts of a person's development. He works hard every single day to navigate this life, often doing things he hates because they're expected of him, all for your comfort. Is it so much to ask that his teachers treat him with some basic fucking respect?”

She frowned, trying to interrupt me; “I was just-”

“No, I'm talking, that means you shut your mouth. That boy, that brilliant, brave, kind young man was ripped from the life he knew, the good and the bad in it, sent away from his family and friends, to a supposed land of freedom and safety, and when he gets here he has to deal with mediocre minds like yours calling him an animal and praising the people who care about him for their ‘good work' with him? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I have done no work here; it is not work to meet him where he's at. It is not work to love that boy in whatever ways he's ready to accept. And it is certainly not work to treat him with respect. That is the bare fucking minimum. It is a joy and a pleasure to get to know him; he is a remarkable young man. On his worst day he is a better person than you are on your best. He is compassionate, and patient, and he is a good kid. How fucking dare you talk about him like there's something wrong with him being just the way he is? Who the hell do you think you are? What kind of racist shit-”

“Hey now! I am not racist!”

The side of my fist made contact with the stone wall above her head. I took a deep breath, growling softly; “tell yourself whatever you need to. But you are going to keep a few things in mind going forward. Number one; anything you say or do to Damian will get back to me. Number two;” I smirked, chuckling darkly; “I am not afraid of jail time. So, for everyone's best interest; you will respect his boundaries, and you will think before you open your ignorant mouth. Because if I find out that you or anyone in this school has more inconsiderate, racist ass bullshit to say about my kid, I will be back. And from that day on, you will not know a moment of peace. Have I made myself clear, Mrs. Webster?”

She nodded quickly, eyes wide with fear, and I gave her the most condescending smirk I could before spinning on my heel to return to my boys. I only made it a few steps before Damian ran straight into me, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. His face buried into my chest, and his shoulders were shaking. I was almost pushed back by the force of him throwing himself at me, but I managed to stay standing. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, one hand gently cupping his head, the other stroking his back.

We stood like that for a long while. I wasn't going to pull away first; this was the first time I'd seen Damian initiate physical contact with anyone, and I was not about to give him any reason to believe it had to stop before he was ready. He could have as much as he wanted for as long as he wanted it.

I looked up at Jason over Damian's head; I thought he looked a bit proud, leaning against the wall to watch us. He gestured to me that he was heading out of the room but would be back soon and I nodded, just continuing to hold the shaking boy in my arms. I ran my fingers through his hair gently, hoping it would soothe him, “... I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Damian…”

He shook his head, slowly releasing me. He didn't look up, but I could tell from the wet spot above my heart that he had been crying. “... Can we go home?”

“Yeah, kiddo. Let's get you home.”

“No, I mean … your home?”

“Oh, yeah, you can spend the night at mine. You can spend the whole weekend if you want. … I'll tell your dad for you, if you want?”

He nodded, slowly taking my hand. “... Can we stop at the manor, so I can get a few things and feed my pets?”

“Of course we can.” I smiled softly, gently squeezing his hand, and led him out of the auditorium to find Jason.

Jay met us at the front office. “You're being swapped into Mr. Desantis's math class, Damian.”

Damian nodded, staring at the floor in front of him. “... Thank you.”

Jason nodded, looking at our hands; “... We ready to go?”

“Yeah. We're gonna stop at the manor so Damian can get some stuff, and then we'll all head home.”

Jason nodded, letting us lead the way. He walked behind Damian and over a bit, so the youngest Wayne was flanked by us. Damian watched his feet as we made our way to the car, smiling just a little. “... Are you really going to return if I tell you my teachers are still saying those things about me?”

I stopped next to the car, falling to one knee in front of him, and gently squeezed Damian's hands. His vibrant green eyes slowly met mine, and I had to bite back the rage boiling in my chest; he looked so fragile, like he expected me to say ‘no, you don't deserve it, take care of yourself'. “... Damian, if anyone says or does anything to make you feel inferior, I want you to tell them that you are not required to accept their mistreatment, and walk away. Then you call me. If I don't pick up it'll be because I'm still asleep or at work, you text me and then you call Jay, he will come get me, and we will come for you. Ok?”

“... You'd leave work?”

“... I feel like that's not as impressive as the fact that I'm willing to lose sleep over this, but yes; you are more important than work. I can easily get another job, what I can't and won't do is make you face their shit alone.”

He nodded slowly. “... Father said I'm not supposed to misbehave at school … We have the public eye on us…”

Jay growled softly; “I am certain that he didn't mean for you to accept that kind of bullshit from inferior minds. And if he did, he can take it up with me. You do not have to accept their cruelty. Not ever.”

Damian looked up at Jason slowly, nodding. “... Really?”

“Really.”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open): @jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men

#fanfic #fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc #jason todd #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #first person pov #wayne family adventures #no y/n #damian wayne #multi chapter fic

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whenthebirdsings · 2 months ago

Text

the stranger in spring [ch. 1 and 2]

| MINORS DNI |

pairing: gojo x reader, gojo x you

tags: dubcon, drug use, stalking, mind control, mindbreak, very kinky and very explicit, dirty talk, degradation, yandere, possessiveness, jealousy, very toxic, god complex. literally, sadomasochism, dom/sub, daddy kink

word count: 12k+ (it won't be this long every chapter, this is just bc i'm combining two in one post.)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58426777/chapters/148825717

It started, like many things, with a hello.

You’d been on vacation with your friends at the time. Slipping from one bar to another when you caught the blue-eyed stranger sneaking glances at you. His gaze lingering too long on the curve of your hips, hungrily taking in every bit of exposed skin and dipping to places it shouldn’t. A predator eyeing up its prey, waiting to pounce.

It was painfully obvious, but in his defense — you don’t think he was trying to be subtle. The way he’d bat his silver eyelashes at you and flash you a smile from time to time made his intentions more than clear. It didn’t help that he leered at you like he wanted you to make note of him. Brazenly drinking you in up and down, unblinking as his stare never left your lips.

Still, you played it safe. Played it coy. Pretended you didn’t notice him ogling as you engaged in boring conversations with your friends. It was only a month after your break up so admittedly, you were a little lonely — and the man was terribly, terribly attractive — but you didn’t want to make it too easy. Playing a game of push and pull, appraising him when you thought he wouldn’t notice and looking away just at the right time.

But you made sure your eyes stuck to his skin; made sure he felt the heat in them so that he would know. And he did — an eyebrow raised, the curl of his lips amused. The clock ticked close to midnight, and he still hadn’t ordered anything to drink. Seemingly only there to wait it out, to see how long it would take before your friends would depart, one by one.

And then, one by one, they did. Stepping out the door, leaving you to fend for yourself — or, well, maybe that wasn’t fully fair. Considering you were the one who reassured them you’d be fine. They told you to take care and to be careful, but you weren’t really listening. Eyes discerning the stranger’s every movement instead; catching his anticipation, the smile scratching his face when the last of them finally exited the bar.

True enough, he was quick to slip into your booth once he was sure there would be no other interruptions.

“Hi there, stranger,” he said, voice smooth like honey — and you acted like you weren’t expecting him coming as you stared up at him in surprise. “You alone?”

Well, the surprise was half-true.

You knew he was tall, but didn’t notice how tall he was until he was looming over you. Body too big, arms too long. Like this, you felt like a cornered rabbit peering up a hungry wolf. Yet the size difference only made you more excited than put off. A chill down the base of your spine as his gaze brushed past your collarbone.

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink?” you said instead of answering his question. Fingers feathering over your glass — a hint if nothing else. You spared a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the time, the hands landing on twelve. It was midnight, and you had spent the entire night playing cat and mouse that you might as well be direct.

His eyebrows shot up, but it didn’t seem like he was caught off guard. Interested if anything — like he wasn’t already, but now more so. He didn’t say much else, merely called over the bartender with a flick of a wrist. A wave, like he was used to people being at his beck and call.

“So what do you want?” he asked, warm but not overtly friendly. Leaning in but not too close; a distance just right to pull you in but not scare you off. “I recommend their margarita. One of their best, I think.”

“So says the gentleman,” you laughed. You honestly didn’t care much about the choice of drink; you didn’t have any favorites, or anything that tugged at disgust. Alcohol never stood out much to you anyway. But it got you what you wanted, at the right time, the right price. Not that you were usually the one paying. “Margarita it is. On the rocks.”

He nodded — and with another jerk of his wrist, ushered the bartender away.

“Is that just a thing for you?” you quipped, mirth in the crinkle of your eyes as you studied him from behind your glass. “Like, do you just snap your fingers and people bend to your will?”

He didn’t answer at once. There was a roll of his shoulder, a tilt of his head as he looked you over. You felt oddly exposed — walls pried apart and forced down under his gaze as he seemed to look through you instead of at you. Flecks of blue assessing every line of your face; the roundness of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, your supple lips. Then, back to your eyes. Where he seemed to stare too long, like a hole threatening to swallow you whole.

“That would depend,” he answered, leer lowering to your slender neck now. His fingers twitched, itching to touch, to hold, to choke you out of air. But still, he leaned back. Composed if not smug in the upturn of his chin.

You blinked. “On what?”

“Well.” He paused, let the silence sit seemingly because he liked to keep you waiting — liked you on bated breath, hanging on to his every word. “On whether or not you like men who can snap their fingers and bend people to their will.”

“Very smooth,” you said, dry and sarcastic, though you couldn’t suppress the flush from warming your cheeks.

You didn’t know what it was — if it was the drinks you had prior or the intensity of his stare as he took you in. Like you were precious; gold made to be appreciated, to be beholdened. A toy he could ruin with the tip of his fingers. He reveled in you like he’d known you for eons too long, even when it had only been five minutes.

Either way, red traveled from your face and upwards still to the shell of your ear. Your hand scratching them, nervous and self-conscious as you sounded an exaggerated cough to make yourself seem less fidgety. Not that it helped much, his amusement only intensifying as he broke into a laugh.

“Worth the sarcasm,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes half-heartedly. But then the chuckles died down, leaving in its wake only tense disquietude as the air around you simmered. You squirmed — and pretended not to notice his foot angling close, boot kicking the bone of your ankle. “Seriously though, it’s just because one of my friends owns this bar. So the staff here see me as a familiar face.”

“Ah, so you just have connections,” you sighed, feigned disappointment as a joking lilt lined your voice. Still, there was a tremble — shyness underlying even if you tried to curb it. He seemed to perceive it; lips twitching as though to reign in another laugh. “And here I thought I landed a handsome rich man. Tsk.”

“Well, I am that, too,” he admitted. With his tone, you couldn’t tell if it was arrogance or coy posturing. Or boredom, really, if you listened close enough.

“You’re from this area then, I assume?” you asked, changing the subject as you felt everything around you shift. Awkward, like you’d stepped on a mine you shouldn’t have. “If you are, I’d like a tour. I don’t know the surroundings here very well, and I could use a…” Your eyes raked past his neck to pause at his long fingers. A moment of self-indulgence as you wondered how they would feel on you before you blinked the thought away, “friend. To guide me around.”

Want pooled in your belly, tight and spreading like fire under your skin. He waited for your permission before going for your hand — thumb ghosting over your knuckles, fingers only mildly slipping into empty spaces. It spurred you on; the heat of his palm on your skin. Blood roaring in your ears now as your body shuddered. It’s just the cold, you told yourself. Even though you could feel every fiber of your being teeming with desire from his unwavering stare.

“Not a local,” he replied, a laugh in his tune as he noted the flutter of your eyes. Lashes heavy on flushed cheeks, heady even before your margarita even arrived. “But I do know this place like the back of my hand.” He squeezed yours, as though for emphasis. Nails sending goosebumps up your arms as he grazed them along the length of your fingers. Apperceiving, savouring every callous, every shake — as slight as it were. “So yeah, I guess I could be a friend. To guide you around.”

There was a double meaning in his words, but you didn’t really mind. You knew he caught onto your drift even without a cue. Not that he needed any — you seemed just about ready to climb into his lap even though he hadn’t done much. It was the alcohol. The loneliness you weren’t used to after the break up. You were sure of it.

Or, well, you weren’t, really. Although you had meant to seduce him into bed tonight, you didn’t think you’d be this easy. But he made it easy. Terrifyingly so. A fog in your brain every time his eyes skipped past your face — hungry, hungry and hungry as though you’d been starved and deprived too long.

He snapped his fingers again, and that was when you looked up just in time to see the bartender coming by with your drink.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, thanking the bartender before turning to look at the stranger again. He seemed to watch you with a strange look in his eye; expecting, calculated almost in the way blue glinted in dimmed lighting. But you couldn’t tell because it was brief, gone like it was never there. “So, uh, I guess you’re just visiting your friend. The one who owns this bar?”

“Mm-hmm,” he affirmed. Smile too warm, too friendly. Yet for some reason, it reeled you in instead of pushing you off. “And I guess you’re just visiting too? Or are you here to see a partner or something?”

You almost scoffed at that.

“Me? Partner? Nah,” you said, shrugging him off with a wave. An odd tightness settling in your chest. “I broke up with him, like, a month ago. I’m just here on vacation with friends. They,” you paused, frowning now as confusion snuck into mind. It usually wouldn’t take you this short of a time to warm up to someone, but he made it feel effortless. Comfortable, even though it shouldn’t be, “wanted to help me get over him, I guess. Or whatever, I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted me to have fun instead of sitting around moping in my apartment.”

“Ah,” he sounded, recognition flitting past his features. He was carefully woven by the gods, you remember thinking. Every part of his face perfectly sculpted; lines too immaculate, polished and faultless. Like he was God himself. “Well.” His lips drew into a grin, wolfish and playful. “I guess you wouldn’t be here talking to me if you were already with someone.”

“Exactly,” you snorted. Tense shoulders slouching as he watched you down your glass of margarita in only a few gulps. You didn’t even notice he had ordered another one until he passed you a second glass. Pushing it to your knuckles, smiling as you accepted it. Ever so grateful, ever so obedient. “I mean. I guess open relationships are a thing. Not really my thing though.”

“Understandable.” He nodded, his grin widening behind his hand as he took in the sight of you hurriedly swallowing one glass after another. His eyes flashed, dark and dangerous — but you didn’t notice. Too preoccupied with the brush of his other hand over your wrist. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine either. It’s… annoying. And I’m jealous and possessive.”

“I’m greedy,” you admitted, a little too soon, a little too loud. Your eyes almost slid close as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Very much so.”

“I can tell — hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I think it’s attractive that you know how to drink,” he laughed. Throwing his arms up in defense as you pouted at him in return. Disappointment poured over you at the lost of warmth around your fingers when he pulled away— gaps between them empty again, almost unbearably so. But you ignored it. Maintained eye contact instead as he leaned back into his seat. Sinking into cushion.

“My name is Gojo Satoru,” he supplied, head slanted slightly to the side. “You can call me Satoru. Or, well, you can call me a lot of names, really.”

Your lips pulled into a smile, teasing as you batted your eyelashes at him seductively. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“You’re gonna have to stay around and find out,” the man — no, Satoru answered. His attention briefly gone as he tugged at a loose strand around his sleeve. “What about you? What should I call you?”

You pressed your lips together. Tight and unwilling. The taste of the margarita sat heavy on your tongue, too sweet and too sour all at once.

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable enough to give out my name yet,” you said. Lied through your teeth. It was odd, how reluctant you were to let slip such a thing when you already told him about your break up and the reason for your visit. But a name had a weight to it, a certain sentiment you weren’t sure was okay for you to just hand out to strangers just like that.

You didn’t think you were going to see him after tonight anyway. But he was fun to be around — and he was good-looking. Too good-looking for his own good actually. You highly doubted a guy like him didn’t have a crowd of people wrapped around his finger. He looked like he was used to drowning in attention, like his daily life consisted of people just falling to their feet for him simply because he breathed in their direction. Not that you blamed them. The man was a sight to gaze at; ethereal beauty personified.

But the thought only served to make you more wary — to be only one of many. You didn’t want to be one of the people grasping for an ounce of his affection, for the briefest of a glance. He looked like he’d brush you off anyway; outside of sex, you’d be nothing but dust. Flakes of dried skin lingering too long on his clothes before he’d shake you off sooner or later. And you’ve gone through enough share of disappointment to know better than to expect anything more.

This was safer, you decided. Gave you more peace of mind. You might get too attached if you weren’t careful enough.

“Fair enough.” He nodded. Fortunately, he didn’t push on. Not that you would have stayed if he did. “As long as you know mine, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I don’t know yours.”

So long as you know what to scream, the mischievous grin on his face seemed to whisper. The words are left unsaid, but you could hear them in the way he crooned, sweet and soft. In the way lust flickered in his gaze, a touch of something feral in blue as he spared himself an indulgent glance at your cleavage. Coming from other men, you would have ran out the door in an instant. Coming from him though — oddly enough, your feet rooted you on the spot even though a sliver of fear caused you to shiver. It was like something had compelled you to stay, and so you did.

Maybe he’s that hot, you laughed at yourself as you shrugged off the feeling. The irony was not lost on you — especially when you remember chastising your friend just an hour ago about not letting attractive men off the hook just because they were attractive. Maybe you weren’t so immune to them, after all. At least not with this one.

“But I am curious,” he said, breaking you out of reverie as you blinked to look up at him. He gently shoved a third glass of margarita into your hands — and your fingers clenched around it so quickly it felt like instinct. Muscle memory. “What do you do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You grew sheepish. “I work a boring corporate job,” you replied, a sigh in your voice. “It’s nothing interesting. At least not interesting enough that I can just snap my fingers and people will bend to my will.”

A laugh rumbled through his chest. Even so, he made no move to give you any details concerning his work life. You didn’t probe; you suppose it was only fair, seeing as he had already given you his name and you denied him yours.

“I figured as much,” he said, smug confidence in the way he threw his head back. “I like playing this guessing game when I see strangers I’m interested in. You know, like, guess where they’re from, what their line of work is, if they’re single — stuff like that,” he explained when your features drew into bewilderment.

“Oh,” you sounded. Brows furrowing into a deep frown. “Oh my god, do I come across that boring?”

Satoru blinked. “What — oh, god, no.” So he said, but his tone lacked the apologetic trace that usually coupled this line of sentence. Instead, amusement underlaid his tenor; the smallest of a laugh like he found you entertaining. Better than boring, you suppose. “I just meant you look… pent up, is all.”

“Oh! Oh,” you sounded, again, with a tint of embarrassment this time as the emphasis in his words settled in too quickly, too heavily. Already, your cheeks burned with shame, your skin prickling as a breath caught in your throat. “Well, I guess you’re not that far off with that one. Between work and the break up and stuff, I’ve been… tense — to put it in simpler terms anyway.”

“I can help with that,” he laughed, a purr in his offer. Tempting, drawing you in like moth to fire as he leaned in a little too close. In this proximity, you could catch a whiff of his cologne; an echo of vanilla, of something sweet you could almost taste on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find it in you to tell him off as he grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I can definitely help with that. If you need me to.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Time seemed to still, your world seeming to stop in its spin. He was so close you only had to move in an inch closer to claim his lips, so close you could see the dip in flesh, the flecks of something sharp in blue.

“Maybe. If you’re lucky,” you said. Tried to come off as coy if not more. Only to fail miserably as you almost stuttered mid-way through, your voice hushed into an entranced whisper, into a gasp too loud. But then he pulled away; a sense of loss along your jawline — and you were relieved and disappointed all at once.

“If I’m lucky,” he echoed. Laughed it out like he already knew he was going to be. Yet he didn’t allow you time to unpack that as he ordered another batch of margarita for you. “Here’s another guess: you like watching romcoms, you spend too much time on shopping apps, and you read a lot of smut online.”

“It’s still literary art,” you argued, defensive, too used to your friends making fun of your taste in fiction. But then it dawned on you that he hit everything on the bullseye — very uncannily so. Like he had been watching you even before tonight, lurking in the shadows, in the crack of your room where you didn’t notice. You frowned, dread creeping into your skin this time. “I — wait, what?”

He was unperturbed; not even a move misplaced.

“It’s just an educated guess,” he reassured you, calm. Too calm even. There was a pause as he waited for your doubt to settle. Sighing then laughing when he realized it wouldn’t. “Relax. I only made that guess because I do the same thing. I mean, I think it’s pretty common. Technically.”

You contemplated that for a moment. A question built at the back of your throat — but then he brushed his fingers together; a snap, and your brain muddled. Mind an empty scape again as you forgot what you were even going to ask.

“Oh,” you said instead. You seemed to be saying that a lot tonight. “I guess that makes sense. There’s stuff like fandoms and all that online, after all.” There was a tentative, thoughtful sip as you brought your glass to your lips. Tilting it a little, margarita sliding down your throat. “Do you… perchance… listen to whimper audios too?”

Embarrassment rushed to your face as he snorted out a laugh.

“No, I don’t,” he managed in between breathless wheezing and loud chuckles, “but I’m not surprised you’re into them. Of course you are.”

You didn’t notice the knowing lilt in his voice. More distracted with your own shame as it burned at your sides.

“Stop,” you whined, a hand rubbing at your face. Like that would erase the flush on your cheeks. “Jesus, you sound like my friends.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he reassured you. Or tried to anyway, because he couldn’t temper his laughter even if he tried. Some of it escaping him regardless, in between words, between syllables too breathy. You realized it wasn’t the right time — but he sounded pretty like that. All breathy, letters chopped between sharp gasps. “I mean, I get the appeal. It’s just that I personally would rather hearing them live, you know?”

His gaze drifted to your lips. You licked at them, wetting them either out of the urge to garner his attention or to alleviate your nerves. Maybe it was both.

The foot around your ankle trailed upwards, kissing your flushed knee now as leather teased sensitive skin. It was warm — too warm. So hot you felt like you were burning from arousal. Slick gathering between your legs as he stopped in between them. Pausing, lingering just a little too close to the hemline of your skirt. He could shove it closer and you wouldn’t complain if he touched want and wetness, if he stroked you too hard, too fast. Made you come all over his shoe.

Your toes curled at the thought — but you wisely kept it to yourself. Clearing your throat again as you reached for another glass. “Right,” you said, soft.

He passed it to you. Fingers feathering over yours, nails a graze on your knuckles. “Right,” he said back, not as soft.

Despite everything — yourself especially — you found that you got along just fine with Satoru. He made it easy; had a witty remark to everything. It helped that he was snarky too, responding in kind when you acted as such. Fire to fire, bite to bite. Looking back, maybe you clicked a little too well even.

Not that you were aware of the fact at the time. Too busy having fun, too immersed in the small talk, in Satoru as he carried himself almost flawlessly every step of the way. Graceful, enticing. Like a siren calling your name as he beckoned you closer. With each second, you found that he bridged the gap between you. Shoulder to shoulder, fingers on fingers. His lips, a breath too close on the shell of your ear.

It was spring when you met Satoru, when you looked too deep into his eyes and it was too late.

“My hotel is to the right,” Satoru said as the red light turned yellow. In a few seconds, it would be green again and you would have to move. “Or we can go straight to your friend’s place. Whichever you choose. I had a great night either way.”

He pointed at the direction in which you had showed him earlier. You eyed him as green clawed at his complexion, as something foreign sat on his face. Your mind addled with lust and a little bit too much of alcohol as he lowered the handbrake and changed gears again.

You didn’t say anything in response. Simply reached over instead to place your hand on a part of the steering wheel that was left untouched. It was almost on purpose, calculated to a fault — but you paid no heed to that thought as you swerved the car to the right. Too quickly, too eagerly. But it was loud enough— your answer: a yes to everything that would come next.

Satoru only smiled at you. Something flashed in his gaze, but it was too dark for you to pinpoint what. “Okay then.” He nodded, pinky finger looping around yours. “As you wish, milady.”

You couldn’t remember the last time Satoru let you breathe.

He didn’t ease up even when you clawed at his shirt, not even when your legs quivered and threatened to give out. Lips capturing yours and tongue dipping in between even before you managed to inhale, even before you could heave out a protest as he pushed you against the door. Caging you in, pinning you between him and wooden surface as he shoved between your legs. The tent in his pants rubbing against the wet patch on your underwear — grinding, hips rolling back and forth in a way that made your knees buckle and clouded your vision in stars.

“Wait —" you panted as he finally let go to grant you a short reprieve. Lips attacking your neck this time as he peppered the skin there with hot, open-mouthed kisses, as he lapped at a bead of sweat down your pulse. It was loud, your heartbeat — fast against the tip of his tongue as he sucked in once unmarred flesh.

“No more waiting,” he huffed, impatient as his hands caressed every nook and cranny, every curve he wanted to taste, to kiss, to mark as his and only his. There was something there in his voice; something poignant and longing, wistful and pained.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on that because Satoru was already dipping his fingers under your skirt. Looking for skin to taint, slick to touch. Desperate in the way he scratched at your inner thighs before hooking around the waistband of your panties. Pulling them up to give you friction and letting go once you cried out, seemingly satisfied before swallowing your whines. You dripped to your knees, and he laughed at you — breath like wispy feathers on your collarbone as his lips mapped a trail lower.

“How do you feel about,” Satoru husked against you as his tongue swirled around your nipple through fabric, “me talking down to you and calling you names? Just asking to make sure.”

You moaned, throwing your head back and slumping against the door as he flicked left and right, then up and down before taking the sensitive nub into his mouth. Sucking, nipping through your dress as you twitched and tugged at his hair to keep yourself anchored. The air felt like ice on your skin as he wrapped your leg around his waist. His other hand sliding to feel for slippery flesh, for your swollen clit as it throbbed under his fingertips.

“I like it,” you managed a laugh in between low mewls and sharp gasps. Heart stuttering in your chest as he snapped his fingers on sensitive bundle of nerves. Pressing firm before pinching hard — an incessant jerk of his wrist as he traced along your entrance and teased at your clit. “But of course you’re into that. Of course you like degrading.”

“Shut up,” he laughed. But then the sound dropped a notch lower; a whisper, a growl low and dangerous as he sunk two fingers into tight warmth. “Sluts don’t talk without permission. You don’t even get to think. Just go dumb for me and moan like a pretty little whore.”

His words sent a renewed rush of heat in your loins. Your brain short-circuiting, a half-whimper caught in your throat as he buried knuckle-deep. Spreading his fingers apart and stretching your walls before curling just right. Angling to stroke at your g-spot, to slam against it mercilessly even as you collapsed to his chest from the wave of pleasure.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he praised as you scratched at the expanse of his back through his shirt. His hand keeping you up and against the door as he gave you one rough thrust after another and you threatened to sink to your knees. “Not so sarcastic now that I’ve got two fingers inside that tight little cunt, huh? You’re so fucking wet — so fucking wet it looks like you’ve been waiting for this. Am I right? Hm? You’ve been waiting, aching for me to finger fuck you like this the whole night. Right? Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re a fucking slut.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears; your body startling as everything became too much all too soon. But Satoru was relentless, no mercy spared for your sake as he kept rutting into you even when you gushed around him. Turned on instead of deterred from the feeling of you spurting to his wrist. Your protests falling on deaf ears as your walls greedily clamped down on his fingers and sucked them in.

“I don’t hear an answer,” he said, condescendingly sweet as he quickened his pace and kissed your tears away when they finally streamed free. Everything was too loud — the sound of his palm slapping against your pussy, the squelching noises circling in the room. Your own heartbeat; little pitter-patters too quick in your ears. “What, stupid whore brain can’t think of one? Need me to tell you what to say? Really? You’re that hopeless? That useless of a fucktoy?”

You shuddered, the knot in your belly reaching a fevered pitch as your eyes almost fluttered close. But you kept them on him, on his face as he demanded your attention with a cold glare.

“N-no,” you whimpered, melting as his free hand found your clit. Cruel as it fondled sensitive flesh without even a pause, without even loosening up at least a little. Letting you feel the full weight and pressure of his fingers as he stroked too hard, too fast.

He raised an eyebrow at you, almost disappointed. “No?”

“No — I mean, yes. Yes, you’re right,” you sobbed, sweat matting your hair to your forehead as he slanted his lips over yours, “I’m a slut. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night. Been thinking about it — about you the entire car ride.”

“Bitch in heat,” he growled, and you almost came undone right then and there. A bowstring almost pulling taut before keeping it together at the last minute as you gasped, screamed out a pathetic half-attempt of his name into the air. He looked down then — down at the sight of him disappearing into your cunt, at the sight of you leaking to his arm. He stared; reveling in the way you pried open and took him in. “Such a pretty pussy on the filthiest fucking slut. Look at you taking my fingers so well. Spreading your legs so wide for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Satoru, fuck —” you tried, only to break into a string of moans as he stuttered before doubling down. The wet noises rising in tandem with his speeding rhythm and brute force as he threatened to snap you in half.

You didn’t even have time to take in a breath. You had an inkling that he would be intense, but this? This was something else entirely. Satoru worked you to the fullest; playing you like a craft, one calculated, brutal thrust after another. At the same time, he was like a madman — a predator finally coming upon fresh meat as he added another finger. Acting only on the instinct to break and destroy everything he touched as he fucked his fingers into you so hard you felt the air punched out of your lungs. The stretch was a little painful, but the pleasure came quick. Overriding everything else as his scent encompassed your every sense.

“Do you do this a lot?” he suddenly asked, lips slipping past your chin to kiss along the curve of your neck. “Fucking strangers you just met, I mean.”

For a moment, you wondered why he was so curious. But the thought dwindled, fading into nothingness, into euphoria as Satoru rocked against your g-spot especially harsh. Your back arching as your nails clawed at his neck, at his arms, at anything you could grasp for some semblance of solace.

“No,” you managed, trembling violently. “Not often. Just when I’m — ah, stressed. And needing some relief.”

Jealousy seemed to cross his face for a fleeting second before it dissipated again. Leaving you to ponder if it was even there to begin with as your hips shook before going limp. Body flushing, twitching uncontrollably as he placed kisses along your hairline. The sight was forgotten with every brush of his fingers, every feather of his lips over warm skin. You didn’t even notice the possessiveness in the way he dug his teeth into you as he slapped against flesh even harder now. Breakneck speed that rendered you breathless as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“We better make you feel good then,” he rasped, dipping his tongue into your mouth again. “Better make the most of it if you don’t do this that often.”

You couldn’t force out a reply. Not that you needed to because Satoru was quick to lavish your nipple with attention again; tongue circling around before licking fast. Lips wrapping around it — steady suctions and eager kisses as you strained against fabric. He rolled your clit in circles before tugging hard, groaning as you pushed your breasts into his face, as you shivered before bucking your hips.

Everything felt like it was stuttering on its axis as Satoru kissed his way down, past your supple mounds, your stomach as it flexed under his touch. His teeth catching the hemline of your skirt once he reached where you wanted him to be — breath hot, lips even hotter. He leaned in, and everything inside you collapsed. You made a stranged noise, hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in white as his mouth met soft flesh, wet on his tongue.

“Satoru,” you keened, dazed smile on your lips as he gave you a tentative lick before sucking you in. One suck needier than the last as he panted, breathing too loud, too fast against your clit.

You weren’t used to being this sensitive, this receptive. Yet Satoru knew just which spots he had to love to pull it out of you, which cracks he had to pry to force it out of you. So you rode his hand and face with reckless abandon, mouth to clit, tips of his fingers to your g-spot. He pulled away only slightly to hover his tongue over your slit — the only form of attention he was willing to grant you coming in the shape of his saliva dripping down from his tongue and to your entrance. Dirty as it slithered in between your vulva lips and to his fingers, warm as it seeped into your walls.

“Atta girl, that’s it. Such a good fucking slut. Pretty little sex toy.” His eyes fluttered, words slurring and muffled into you as he slurped you up like a man starved and possessed. Chasing after you even when you pushed at his head and flinched away. “Make yourself useful and bounce on my fucking face. Use me to get that pussy off. Make that pussy come for me, I know you can make that pussy come for me —"

You exhaled, the sound loud, hips pausing before setting a swifter pace. Frenzied, drunk in the way you clung to his every word, in the way you squeezed around him like a vice. Satoru made a weird sound against your clit — something akin to a growl and a gasp as you wet his cheeks. It was a mistake to peer down at him because the sight that greeted you was too hot for your already crippling sanity. His cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, hair sticking to various parts of his face as you spurted all over him and dribbled down his chin.

The spring in your belly coiled tightly, threatening to release. Satoru seemed to sense it as he noticed your legs twitching around him before pressing firm and locking him in place. Smothering him under the weight of your hips as you sank down fully on his tongue. Your body stiffening before going still.

“Squirt for me,” he cooed, voice that sweet condescension again. “Be a good bitch and squirt into my mouth. Come down my fucking throat.”

That did it for you. There was one last swipe of his tongue on your clit as he shoved his fingers as hard as he could into your core. You barely caught on to the savage curse he let out as you shattered all over him, climax rushing out of you in powerful bursts as he kept fucking his fingers into your abused hole. Dutifully drinking you up and leaving no drop wasted as he helped you ride out your high.

For a moment, everything slowed. Your mind a puddle as you tried to collect any remnant of reason left behind. If there was even any. But then you felt it — constant friction, full pressure that was never gone. Satoru kept going even after you finished, lapping at sensitive skin even as you slumped around his shoulders, digits pistoning in and out of you still even as your vision cut to black.

“Too much,” you cried, choking on a sob as you tried to wrench yourself free. Yet to no avail as Satoru sucked you in, ruthless as he flicked his tongue on you even while you were still lodged in his mouth.

He let go with a wet pop. “I don’t fucking care,” he growled, eyes glaring at you as they peeked from behind your skirt. Fabric curtaining his cheeks, the slick on flushed skin still visible. “You’re gonna come until I’m done. And I’m not fucking done.”

Not by a long shot, it would appear. Because he forced one orgasm after another out of you even when you begged him not to, even when you threatened to pass out from the overstimulation. But he slapped you awake every time, a sting on your cheek with every smack of his palm across your face, delicious pain that you leaned into as you grew wetter with each strike.

Everything blurred. Blending into a mess too tangled to make sense as you lost count on how many times he pushed you over the edge.

I’m sorry, you whispered at some point.

No, at another.

Stop, and another.

Please, you had even pleaded with him. But you never knew if it was for more or less.

You didn’t even know what it said about you that you enjoyed it so much, that you preened under his attention, keened every time he forced you through a wave of torment. You loved it — basked it in even, in this moment in all its glory as he broke you to pieces and put you back together. Rinse and repeat, until you were spent, until you couldn’t say anything more but a cry of his name. A chant, rippling out of you like an endless prayer. And if Satoru liked it too, he let you know with every laugh, every nasty thing he whispered into the apex of your thighs.

“There you go, press your toes into my back,” he groaned, his face too wet at this point. “Pull at my hair, squeeze your thighs around my head. Show me how good I’m making you feel. How good daddy’s making you feel.”

That made your head spin. Your knees buckling before sinking into his shoulders.

“W-what?” was all you could say, eyes wide as electricity jolted through you and a shiver ran down your spine. You liked that.

“Daddy,” you tried, feeling how it rolled off your tongue. It tasted sweet, tasted perfect. Sinful between your lips. And then:

“Daddy,” you mewled again, louder this time as adrenaline filled every cell. Your body on fire despite the fatigue, pussy swollen and aching for more despite the sweat now drying on your skin. Too much and too little all at once. More and less. “Daddy, please — please. You’re so good, so good. So fucking good —”

“Fuck, that’s it. Sloppy fucking slut. Grind that perfect pretty pussy on my tongue. You’re making daddy so proud. Making me so happy,” he grunted, sounding like he was already fucking you as he bucked his hips into the air. Desperate for any friction, anything to wrap around him and milk him dry as he felt you clench around his fingers, felt you push your cunt lower onto his face. Firm — too firm you would have worried you were suffocating him if not for the way he eagerly met you half-way.

All too soon, you felt another fire pooling low in your abdomen. Your screams chopping in half as you lost every bit of yourself in him.

“C’mon, fucking come for me,” he gasped into you. “I know you’re coming. I can feel it. Come. I’ll take care of you, so just come —"

“Daddy, daddy, daddy — Satoru,” you whispered, in reverence, in dazed worship as your eyes glazed over. Then you dissolved into pleasure, into nothing but Satoru as he held your hand throughout it all. Fingers slipping in between, fitting too right as he filled empty spaces.

One thing led to another and you were on the bed now — kissing, tongues stroking and sharing the same air as Satoru was quick to undress you. Tugging down your dress, the feel of fabric sliding to your ankles sending chills down the base of your spine.

“Satoru,” you whimpered as he latched onto one nipple, grazing the edge of his teeth around it before swirling his tongue on sensitive nerve. Flicking, tasting the sweat down your breast before nipping hard.

“Wrong name,” he growled, cock straining against material. Pushing against you as hard lines met want and wetness, rubbing, grinding firm.

“Daddy,” you tried again, eyes fluttering shut as he dipped down to claim your lips again. His fingers caressed your nipples, kneading supple flesh before pinching down. Yours found his belt, urgent as you hurriedly made to unbuckle it.

“So greedy,” he tutted at you, hair soft against your chin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Sniffing you in, then exhaling a contented sigh. “Have I ever told you that you smell good?” He slapped your hands away, pulling down his zipper and then his pants for you because you were too slow. “For a slut anyway.”

Heart pounding in your ears, your gaze dropped to see what was between his legs before he grasped your chin again. Tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him instead of his cock as you felt it throbbed, felt it push against your knee. Wet at the slit, heavy on your skin.

“Not yet,” he told you, and you wanted to cry.

“You won’t even let me look?”

He sounded a laugh, but didn’t let go of your chin. Keeping you still, keeping you eye-to-eye with him as he pressed your foreheads together. “Not yet,” he repeated, a low pant this time as you hiked your leg around his waist. Let your thigh skim past his length before locking him in place.

“Whore,” he spat at you, and you felt fuzzy. Hot all over as he shot you a glare before kissing his way down from your neck to linger on your cleavage. Tongue raking along before dipping in.

You clenched around nothing, your eyes ablazed and your head blank as you stared down at him. He was beautiful, even more so now that he was wrapping his lips around your breast, sucking your nipple in, circling his tongue around. All the while looking you in the eye, sly smile growing on your skin.

“Please,” you mewled, tired of his torture, of his teasing as he kissed his nails along the smooth expanse of your stomach. Letting his fingers only barely brush over you before retracting his hand. Still, his warmth lingered, a tingle on your flesh, fire in your loins. And he laughed.

“Please what?” he huffed, tongue lapping up a line over your collarbone. “Be a good doll for me and use your words.”

You heaved out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Crying out, choking on a sob when he dug his teeth into your shoulder. The pain was instant, but so was the arousal — a rush of heat down your slit as you gushed, stained the sheets.

“Need you,” you managed, shivering violently as he traced fingers over your inner thighs. Those barely there feathers again, scratching rather than touching you in full. You were still sensitive from before, nerves hyper-alert, but he took his time tormenting you. Reveling in the way you twitched, the way you looked up at him like you were already fucked out. “Need you to use me. Make me your pretty little whore.”

“But you already are,” he laughed, voice crooned, sweet but sarcastic. Your eyes brimmed with tears, vision blurring before you blinked them away. But he understood; catching on to the plea left unsaid, the whisper hushed. “You want more. Even after coming so much? Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

There was slight arrogant posturing there, and normally, you would have scoffed. Rolled your eyes at him even. But right now, you were too dizzy to think, feeling like you were floating, on a constant high as he placed his hand around your neck. Squeezing, applying firm pressure that had you choking, wheezing around his fingers.

“Need your cock,” you shuddered out. Dazed smile playing on your lips as you grew light-headed. Drunk on the lack of air, on Satoru as he took you in with sadistic glee, eyes dark, almost panting a little as he grinned, wide and feral. “Need it in my mouth, in my pussy. In all my holes. Need you to stuff me full. Fill me to the brim with cum.”

“That’s filthy, princess,” he chastised you, mock disappointment as he shook his head. But his fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing down harder — and you knew it was the right answer. “You want that? Want me to be fucking filthy with you?”

“Yes,” you keened, leaning in. Nuzzling your nose against the bone of his wrist as he cupped your cheek in his free hand. Loving, if not for the way he looked down at you like you were nothing but a set of holes — if not for his other one still pushing his palm into your pulse. But you managed, forced out the words if only for that glint of approval in blue gaze, like he was proud, like you were making him proud. “Would that be bad? If I want daddy to be filthy with me?”

“Fucking terrible,” Satoru huffed, but his cock bounced against your stomach. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, hot and sticky as it smeared your skin and dribbled into your navel. “Not that I expected anything less. Ask a bitch slut a question, and of course, she responds like one. Doesn’t matter what you would say. Everything that comes out of that mouth is fucking dirty anyway.”

You whined, growing wetter from his words as your walls pulsed — begging, aching to be stretched out. Your hand reached down to stroke your clit, to feel anything other than the slightest brush of his fingers, the briefest ghost of his lips. But he slapped that away too, clicking his tongue at you as you peered up at him in tears, in impatience as your teeth caught your lower lip in between.

“Please, daddy,” you pleaded again, batting your eyelashes at him this time. He hummed in thought, appraising you, tucking tendrils of your hair behind your ear. Again, loving — if not for the way he laughed at you, cold and cruel.

Even so, he didn’t deny you any longer as he crawled up to your face. Hand letting go of your neck, tracing your lips as you took in greedy inhales of air. His knees sunk into the space around your neck, your moan loud and lewd as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Hovered it over your face. Over your mouth that parted open, your tongue that darted out to taste.

But he pulled away. Laughing as you chased after him only to be deprived again.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, ignoring your whining as he slid his palm up and down his shaft. Pre-cum gathering before glistening on his fingers, your skin prickling as your cheeks caught some of it before he slapped you with his cock. Let it rest like this heavy weight on your lips before wiping slick away. “Yeah, this is what you want, huh. Sloppy little slut,” he husked as your tongue went to lick at his veins. Tears streaming down your face when he drew it back again.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you groaned, accusing as you glared up at him. He lifted an eyebrow at that, smug expression faltering if only for a second as his fingers brushed past his tip. Again and again until he was bucking into his hand, faster and harder until he was breathing too loud into cold air.

“I,” he panted, head thrown back and eyes clamping shut as he rubbed a fist around the head of his cock. Rolling in circles whilst his other hand pumped up and down what was left untouched, “have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

So he claimed, but you knew he knew the effect he had on you as he watched your eyes roll every time he lingered too close. Cock only a hair’s breadth away from your face, tip almost bumping into your nose every time he snapped his hips. Your tongue reached out, but he would always pull it out of touching distance. Out of your grasp — your lips that ached to take him in. You didn’t know how long you could take this before losing your sanity.

“Daddy,” you cried, wanting more but not daring to move as he kept you still with a glare. With a tut every time you even tried. “Pleasepleaseplease let me taste you. Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel good, make you cum in my mouth.” You paused, smiling a little as his eyes glazed over, as his breath hitched in his throat. “Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth? Make me swallow every drop? Fuck my face to completion? Choke me on your cock ‘till I drool all the way down to my chest?”

“Fuck,” Satoru gasped, composure fractured as his pace stuttered before doubling down. “Fucking brat, fucking stupid whore —” The way he quivered was violent then, tension pulling taut in his form before he let go. Dropping his cock on your face again. Once again heavy on your cheeks as he leaned in. Propped himself up by his palms against the headboard.

“Look at you. Look at the fucking spit running down your chin. Look at my cock, resting on your pretty face,” he purred, almost slurring through his words as he slid his tip over the trail of your saliva down the edge of your lips. Ignoring your pleas, your whines for more as the full length of him sat on your nose. Flushing from the way you panted against him, the way you leaned into him like you were intoxicated. “Bet you fucking like this too, huh? Like when I fucking slap my cock on your face? When I stain those cheeks with pre-cum? You like this, don’t you? Don’t you —”

A long, drawn out mewl escaped you. Your mind heady as he pulled away only to drop down on you again. One strike after another hard as you drooled for even the slightest inch of him.

“Please, Satoru, please. Just fuck my mouth. Just —” you sobbed, eyes glossy again as the torment drove your damn near crazy. Pushed so far you almost forgot to address him correctly. An apology at the tip of your tongue when it hit you a moment later.

But it didn’t manage to leave. Muffled into a startled gasp as the only warning Satoru gave you was the briefest brush of his tip between your lips before he shoved himself all the way in. Giving you no time to adjust to the sudden intrusion as he drew almost completely out before rocking forth again. Cock pushing against the back of your throat, forcing you to override your gag reflex. But the surprise lasted only briefly, gone the instant he started to move. Replaced with lust, with your fingers as they drifted lower to massage slippery folds.

Your chest burned, and your mouth felt like it was pried open too big — at least more than you were used to. Still, you accomodated. You sucked him in instead of pushing him off as he used you to get off. His pelvis kissing your nose with each thrust, saliva trickling down your chin as he pushed your head further into the bed.

“That’s it, suck me — suck me off, suck my cock,” he rasped, a wild look flitting past his face as he looked down to see you slobbering all over him, smiling before choking on his length. “This is what you begged for, isn’t it, you dirty little slut? Fucking deepthroat me then. Swallow me so fucking deep. That’s so good, so fucking good.”

Any remnant of self-control frayed into nothing as you hollowed your cheeks, your moans vibrations that sent him spiraling as you pressed your fingers into heat. Hooking for that sensitive spot within, matching his pace as you bucked against your hand. Palm slapping against swollen clit, crying out every time his balls hit your chin. His scent was potent; all-encompassing and sinking down on you like hands on your shoulders as you swallowed around him.

“God, you’re so good with your mouth,” he complimented you, affectionate as he pushed your bangs away. “Yeah, you better be fucking good with your mouth if you’re gonna run it like a little bitch. Like my little bitch.”

Your eyes flit shut. You tried your best to take him — you really did. But still, you struggled, wheezing with every brutal flick of his waist. Gagging as he sat fully on your face; rendering you helpless and at his mercy as he fed you more than you could handle. But it egged you on instead of turning you off. Your fingers burying knuckle-deep each time he knocked the air out of you.

“You’re so dirty,” he laughed at you, at the bubble of spit down your chest. Your tongue swirled around him as he made eye contact, tempo faltering before quickening — spurred on by your reddened lips, by your face as it flushed bright red. Your tears, pretty as they cascaded down your skin.

He wiped them away.

“Look at how fucking sloppy you are,” he cooed, mock pity lilting his voice as he brushed off a lock of hair from your lips. Making sure you weren’t disrupted as he engulfed himself in tight warmth again and again. Fucking into your mouth so hard you could barely even breathe. “Look at how perfect you look swallowing all that dick. Listen to you moan around it, listen to you fucking moan like a whore. You like that, huh? Yeah? Moan for me while you gag on my cock then. Make me feel good, make daddy feel good. Make that cock cum.”

And that was all you needed. All he had to give you before you spilled on your fingers. Before you gave him a few hard suctions, pressure too tight around him — and you felt him go still. His mouth wide open, eyes a haze as he shuddered before ramming his cock against the back of your throat one last time. He released; one spurt of warmth after another filling your mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, sated and soothing as he felt you struggle to gulp him down. Your hands coming to push at his thighs before he pried them away, nail by nail, finger by finger. “Just take all of it like a good girl. Take my fucking cum. Take it and swallow.”

So you obliged, humming in delight once every drop trailed down your throat. He tasted bittersweet, hot and lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out with a wet pop.

“Let me look,” he said once he managed to collect himself. Looking disheveled but not as disheveled as you as he tugged at your chin for added emphasis. You complied, obedient and dutiful as ever as you opened your mouth so quickly it was instinct.

“Good girl,” Satoru purred as he noted that you had indeed swallowed all of him. Pushing you down again when you tried to prop yourself up. Laughing at you as you looked up at him with that glare again, that hint of a fight in one eye despite the tears.

“If you dare tease me again,” you warned. But the edge dulled, and you didn’t seem all that intimidating. Especially when your legs shook, when your toes curled as his hand crept its way down. Nails raking your flesh, leaving angry red imprints on once unmarked space.

“Patience,” he reprimanded you, the sound soft and casual. But you caught the sadistic lilt, the briefest of a chuckle in the way his eyes flashed at you. He positioned himself between your legs again, cock hovering over you before playing with your clit. Flicking left and right, up and down until he had you whining again. Until the fight in you left, stripped away.

“You want this?” he asked, his voice low and choppy as he traced along your entrance. Groaning as he felt you pulse, felt your walls try to pull him in. “Want me to fuck you? Need daddy to fucking pump you full?”

“Yes,” your whimper broke free in an instant. “I want you. Want you to fuck me. To breed me stupid.”

“Look at you being such a good fucktoy,” Satoru keened before sinking into you. Inch by inch — slowly like he wanted you to feel every bit of him sliding in, like he wanted you to appreciate every second of it. And you did, crying out his name, tugging at your own nipples for him as he stretched you out beyond anyone else ever had. “Yeah, you were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be my cute little cocksleeve, to be my precious good girl. Made to be mine.”

You couldn’t help but shiver. There was something in his voice that sounded oddly ominous, dangerously sinister in the way he drawled out his words. He sounded way too possessive for someone who just met you tonight — but that thought immediately faded as he sheathed into you balls-deep. Pushing as far as he could, pressing down on the shape of him peeking through your stomach as you struggled to breathe. Struggled to even form a coherent sentence.

Then there was a brush of his thumb over your clit — and you forgot what you were even worried about.

“Fuck, yes,” you mewled, legs digging into his hips as you pulled him closer. Your hands clawing at his neck, fingers tangling into white hair as his lips mapped yours in a bruising kiss. “You’re so good. You feel so good inside me.”

Another laugh bubbled out of him, but it circled the room in quivers — breathless as he touched your forehead with his. “You know just what to say. You always do, don’t you?”

You didn’t notice the wistful look scratching at his face. Nor did you notice the way he hooked his arms possessively around your waist as he pressed you flushed against him. His full weight sinking down on you as he pulled out almost completely only to slam back in. Pace slow only for a few moments before he grew impatient, sanity crippling at the feel of your walls tightening around him, your clit throbbing under his fingertips as he stroked it again and again.

“Yeah, you like that, huh,” he husked on your tongue before drawing apart to drink in your reactions. Your eyes rolling back, your face flushed and wet from either spit or tears. You didn’t know what he was looking at — but whatever it was did the trick because he was giving you these deep and hard thrusts that were so relentless you felt like you were breaking in half. “You like how I fuck that pussy? Like how I pound you into the fucking bed?”

But you couldn’t form out words. Your lips wide open to let out a string of broken whimpers instead — sharp gasps and quick pants that left you too loud as his balls slapped against your ass. You couldn’t even think, but Satoru didn’t seem to mind. Relishing instead in the way your eyes turned glassy, in the way you smiled and laughed like you were in a trance.

“You fuck me so well,” you managed, in between squelching noises too obscene, in between the sound of skin smacking hard against skin. He laughed, rolling his eyes at you like he expected nothing less.

“You look so fucking good with your legs spread,” he grunted, free hand reaching for her throat again as he wrapped it around her neck. Pushing down, choking you out of air as your breasts bounced in tandem with the snap of his hips. Reckless abandon, constant friction as he fucked you with a vengeance, like he hated you and he couldn’t have this any other way.

His eyes dipped to where you were joined, and you felt him swell inside you as he groaned at the sight. “Look at that stranger cock going inside you. In and out, just like that. Pounding deep inside that sloppy fucking cunt just the way you like it. Just the way cocksluts like you like it.”

You were teetering on another edge, that spring in your belly coiling tightly before threatening to release. Still, he kept going — pistoned into you like a man possessed even as you gushed, even as you squeezed around him so tight. Your hands grabbing at his arms, clinging to any part of him for solace as you tried not to lose yourself.

“Daddy,” you choked on a sob. “I’m gonna come. I’m so close, so fucking close. I’m gonna —"

Satoru didn’t say much. He didn’t say anything at all — only feathered his lips over your hairline, soft. But that did you in, your body twitching before going stiff. Warmth spreading all over before exploding out you in a drawn out high. Satoru fucked you through it, cock railing into your hole in a building rhythm. He fucked you even after; laughed at you and slapped your hands away when you tried to shake him off.

“Can’t,” you cried, yanking too hard at his hair as he planted kisses along the line of your jaw. Lips catching your pulse, tongue licking before teeth quickly dug in. “Too — sensitive! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t —”

“You can,” was all he said before he folded your legs over your chest. Rocking into you deeper now, the force of his thrusts brutal, fast as he kept assaulting your battered slit. His hand loosened its hold around your neck if only to reach for one nipple, brushing soft before pinching and tugging hard. “You take it so fucking deep for me, don’t you? Take my cock so fucking well. You even sound good — moan like such a good slut. So fucking pretty, so fucking stupid all for me.”

It was torturous but also delightful: that drag of his length along your walls as he pounded you to pieces. Pounded you to tears and a drooling mess as you couldn’t make sense of anything anymore; your ecstatic cries of his name cacophonic, adrenaline in your veins as want pooled despite the overstimulation.

“Right there!” you screamed, fingers clawing at his back as he shifted ever so slightly to angle himself at your g-spot. “Please keep fucking me. Keep fucking me, keep fucking me —”

“There you go,” he laughed as he watched you try to suck him in — felt you dig the back of your knees into his shoulders to force him deeper. “See? I knew you had it in you. A cheap whore like you? Bet you can take hours of thorough fucking just because you’re addicted to cum. To stranger cocks destroying that tight little pussy.”

His fingers latched on to your clit again, flicking in sync with the roll of his hips as he impaled you again and again on his cock. He didn’t let you rest; didn’t ease up even as he felt you clench around him before shattering all over. Wetting the sheets, his stomach as you squirted — spurting every time he pulled out only to shove back in.

“Guys back home fuck you like this?” he asked, knowing full well you couldn’t answer as you muffled broken, half-attempt at words into the crook of his neck. His fingers incessant as they traced circles into your clit. “No, I don’t think so. You gotta be a good filthy fucking slut to get fucked like this. To spread your legs for a stranger for him to fuck you like this.”

Shame burned your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears as the intensity of it all overwhelmed you and you bit back a moan only to babble something incorrigible. Your body lurching, knees buckling before going limp around his head.

“I can’t think,” you cried out, throwing your arms over your face to hide your expressions before he forcefully pried them away. “Don’t look, I — "

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sound hushed against your lips as he slanted his over them. Nothing else mattered then as you softened — as you felt Satoru slam into you with renewed urgency. Rhythm lost, fevered heat reaching its peak as his stomach flexed and he drew close. Ignoring your sobs, the way your nails dragged painfully across his chest as he chased after his own high. “Just hold out for me a little longer. Just a bit more. I promise, just a bit more —”

Your head lolled into the mattress. “Daddy,” you moaned, tired but terrifyingly sated. Needy to a fault in the way you pulled at white strands. “Come for me, come in me. Please. Want daddy’s cum. Want you to shoot it all the way to the back of my pussy.”

He broke then; a bowstring snapping in half as he collapsed on top of you. Forehead to forehead, lips to lips as he kissed you like you were the air he needed to even breathe.

“Say my name,” he rasped. Eyes fluttering shut. “Say my name over and over again while I come.”

There was a certain weight in his words. A certain emotion you couldn’t understand. But that, too, faded into nothingness. Into Satoru as everything turned to static.

“Satoru,” so you whispered. “Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.” Again and again like it was a prayer. Like he was God, and you were nothing but his devout follower. His body an altar to be kissed as you pressed your lips all over, catching his sweat, his tongue as he shoved it into your mouth.

Satoru let go at the same time you did — warmth flooding your insides and painting them white as you fell off the edge.

“I paid for the room for two days,” Satoru said as you woke up. Sunrise peeking through the blinds and clawing at your face before you groaned, turning to your other side. “You can order room service too if you want. It’s on me.”

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled. One fist rubbing over your eye before you blinked a few times and your vision finally cleared. Satoru slipped out of the bathroom fully dressed, dark sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he looked himself over in the mirror. “Going somewhere?”

Satoru peered at you — or, well, the bite marks around the apex of your thighs first before your face. Features soft before shifting into something unreadable.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, awkward as he scratched the back of his head. “I hate to say it because it makes me sound like an asshole — but, uh, I got stuff to do, so yeah.”

You feigned a gasp, a hand to your chest for added dramatic effect. “So you’re just gonna stick it in then dip? Wow. I really am nothing but a cheap whore for you, huh.”

He squinted at you then. “Aren’t you?” he joked, playing along with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder — only to break character as you threw a pillow at him in retaliation. He dodged it, one step too skilled and graceful. “I’ll still be around town, but I can’t promise I can hang out often. I’m here for work stuff too, so yeah. But I did have fun.”

“Me too,” you said, a smile drawing on your face as he reached over to pat your head. Ruffling your hair before passing you a bottle of water. “You were, uh, scary good.”

Satoru’s response was quick. Coy, smug confidence in the upturn of his chin. “Oh, yeah? Say more.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Refusing to indulge except for a light punch to his shoulder. “Shush, you. I bet you’re used to compliments anyway. Doubt there’s anything I can say that you haven’t heard.”

“Well…” Satoru started, humming as though in agreement. You lifted another pillow in threat, but he pried it out of your grasp, flinging it away before leaning in to kiss you. “Jokes aside though, you were great too. Fucking amazing, in fact.”

“Stop,” you murmured, blushing now as blood rushed to your face. Warmth under your cheeks that he kissed as he brushed his lips over your skin. “You should go. Like, actually. Before I jump you again.”

“Shaking in my boots as we speak, ma’am,” he laughed. Granting you and himself one last press of his lips against yours before sighing, reluctant as he pulled away. “But yeah. I really do have to bounce. You’re fine on your own, right?”

“I’m a big girl,” you answered, mirth in your eyes as you eyed the worry and guilt etched on his face. “And thanks for paying for the room. You didn’t have to, but I could use a break from my friends for a bit. They’ve been kinda… pushy since the break-up.”

“I can imagine,” Satoru chuckled, but didn’t resist as you went to fix his crooked tie. He peppered a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Thanks.”

Then he was gone. Out of your space but not without a fight. Seeming like he was forced to tear himself away from you as he made for the door.

“Take care, Y/N,” he said, sparing you one last glance before clicking the door shut behind him. You didn’t notice what he said until you were gulping down greedy intakes of water. Body sore but sated. One hand to your lips, feeling the warmth left behind from where he lingered.

When did you tell him your name?

But then your hand fell limp. A fog in your brain before that thought, too, was forgotten.

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luvhughes43 · 2 years ago

Text

caught your heart | trevor zegras x reader

luvhughes43 masterlist🌷

part 2 to caught your eye

request: we NEED a part two to caught my eye!! where trevor finds reader after the game!

word count: 0.3k

note: i got so carried away

it was after the game that you caught Trevors eye again. you and your friends had just left the arena, and were walking to your car when you spotted it.

Trevors car was huge and orange, and impossible not to see through the herds of black and grey vehicles. when your eyes locked, he seemed to have paused, making a quick decision. he reparked in his spot he barely even left, and then beelined it to you and your friends.

“is he-” your friend started but you knocked into her side to get her to stop as Trevor stepped right in front of you.

“uh, i um” Trevor stumbled with his words as he reached up to mess with his long flowing hair.

there was a short pause, “we’ll meet you in the car,” your friends spoke up, giggling as they all walked away.

“I just wanted to say that you’re really pretty,” Trevor said finally, causing you to laugh.

“thank you! I think you’re really pretty too” you smiled at Trevor and he smiled back.

“yeah?” he responded, gaining his confidence back rather quickly. “how did you like the game?”

“oh it was great! my first nhl game actually” at your admission, Trevor smirked, clearly pleased that his game was your first.

“well then, you’ll have to come to more” he said, and you hummed in reply.

“Is that trevor zegras!!” you and Trevor both turned at the sound of a group of fans that clearly just spotted him.

hurriedly, Trevor asked “did you want to get out of here?” he didn’t want to ignore his fans, but he did want to keep talking to the cute girl he luckily got the chance to catch up with.

“my friends took my car here so i have to drive them back but, can we meet up sometime soon?” you asked, hoping that he would say yes.

“yeah yeah of course, give me your number?” Trevor pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket, unlocking it and then passing it over to you.

you created a new contact, and passed his phone back over to him.

“call me?” you asked, and Trevor nodded enthusiastically.

after bidding your goodbyes, the both of you then went your separate ways. leaving you to hope that he would reach out to you.

trevorzegras

liked by ynuser, jamie.drysdale, _quinnhughes, and others

trevorzegras life lately🌞🧡

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fanone he has a gf??

jackhughes whos the cutie on the 2nd and 3rd slide?

ynuser 🧡🧡

ynuser

liked by trevorzegras, jamie.drysdale, yourbff, and others

ynuser boyfriend at work🫡🧡

tagged: trevorzegras

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fantwo hes so hot my god

ynuser i was trying so hard to stay respectful at the event😭

trevorzegras please come with me to every work event

ynuser love youuu my z

trevorzegras

liked by ynuser, jackhughes, yourbff, and others

trevorzegras words cant describe this feeling💍🧡

tagged: ynuser

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ynuser i love you so so so much my heart is bursting

yourbff CRYING

yourbff i remember when you saw her for the first time

jackhughes congrats man❤️

jamie.drysdale congradulations guys!

ynuser

liked by trevorzegras, yourbff, jackhughes, and others

ynuser so glad i caught your eye all those years ago... i'll love you forever z! i'm so happy i get to call you my husband❤️

tagged: trevorzegras

trevorzegras and ynuser posted

liked by jamie.drysdale, yourbff, colecaufield, and others

trevorzegras the last couple of months...

ynuser

liked by trevorzegras, jackhughes, yourbff, and others

ynuser dad z🧡

#trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras fluff #trevor zegras fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic #trevor zegras blurb

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mendeshoney · 1 year ago

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hiiii i just want to say thank you for giving us all these stories, like it really makes my day seeing it on my feed. can you please write something about barzy being the readers boyfriend but also bsf so he gets all the tea every time lol

"You are never going to believe what I just found out."

The door closes and locks behind you at the same time that Mat's head whips around, his wireless headset falling from the force of the turn, and his character dies on the screen.

Faintly, you can hear the protests of his teammates through his headphones, and Mat's immediately scrambling, pulling the headset on and rushing out a quick goodbye. He turns off the game and tosses his headset onto the couch beside him, his whole body turning toward you.

"At 'The Debrief?'" Mat asks. If he were a dog, you would swear his ears would be perked all the way up and his tail would be wagging.

You nod, an excited smile on your face as you head to the fridge and grab the already open bottle of champagne, and when Mat sees it, he flies over the back of the couch and scrambles to grab the glasses from the cabinet.

"No fucking way," he says as he moves, just as excited, placing the glasses down on the kitchen counter in front of you.

"Do you want to guess who it involves? Or should I just tell you?" You ask, pouring the champagne in the glass first, and Mat tops it off with the orange juice he grabbed from the fridge.

"Just tell me," Mat insists. "I've been waiting for this since you left."

This had become a tradition between the two of you over the last six months.

Every two weeks, on a Sunday, you and your best friends gather at a bistro or café and catch up on everything going on in the others lives. You'd been friends with them since you were kids, lasting throughout high school and college combined, and now that you're all adults with your own lives, it's the main way to ensure you keep in touch.

Mat had gone to one of them when you first started dating. You forgot that you'd made plans with him on the same Sunday as what you and your friends liked to call "The Debrief," and your friends had been so excited to meet him that they encouraged you to bring him along.

Needless to say, Mat had never had so much fun being involved in gossip in his life.

"You hear things being on the team," he had told you after you'd left that day. "But none of them are that exciting. It's like watching a reality show unfold in real life."

Since then, he'd begged to go with you each time, but you always had to let him down to remind him that "The Debrief" is a closed event, and that he can't always tag along just because. But he'd been so sad about being told he couldn't be involved, you came up with this compromise.

After every day you went to "The Debrief," you'd come home to him and start what he dubbed as "The Mimosa Memo," where you'd summarize what you learned that morning and Mat could still feel like he was involved.

You take a swig of the mimosa, then lean your elbows on the counter and blurt out "Drea's older sister is pregnant."

Mat's mouth drops open, genuine disbelief on his face. "No! Alyssa? Is the dad the married fin tech dude?"

"Yep," you confirm, and Mat groans out loud.

"She's keeping the baby?!" He exclaims, and when you nod, he takes a swig of his own mimosa, shaking his head. "Andrea needs to talk some sense into her."

"Oh, she tried," you admit, recounting your friend's frustrated face. "I don't think I've ever seen Drea so mad before. Lyss even told Drea she was convinced that this would mean he would leave his wife for good."

Mat scoffs. "Yeah, alright."

"That's not even the best part," you insist after taking another sip.

You laugh as Mat's eyeballs bug out again, and he makes a 'hurry up' gesture with his hands. "Spit it out, I'm dying over here!"

"Fin tech bro?" You begin dramatically, feeling excitement when the anticipation is all over Mat's face. "His wife just found out she's pregnant too."

The gasp that leaves Mat's mouth is both vindicating and hilarious, and you can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Does Alyssa know?"

You shake your head. "We just found out at brunch. We Instagram stalked him, found his wife's account, and she posted a picture celebrating the end of her first trimester literally two days after Lyss found out she was pregnant."

Mat shakes his head, completely flabbergasted. He takes another large swig of his mimosa, and sighs, like he's exhausted by the drama that isn't even his. "What did Lyss say when Drea told her?"

You shrug, and Mat stares at you. "Drea said she was going to tell her when she got home."

"Are you kidding me?!" He pouts. "You're telling me I have to wait another two weeks to find out?"

You smirk, hiding behind the rim of your glass. "Guess so."

His nostrils flare, and his shoulders sag. "If Drea texts you before then you have to tell me about it."

You raise a brow at him. Usually he's eager, but not this eager. "Why?"

A slight flush creeps up his cheeks. "No reason."

"Mathew." You deadpan. "What did you do?"

He stares at his glass like it's the most interesting thing the entire world. "I.....may or may not have told a few people a couple of things I learned from 'The Debrief' and 'The Mimosa Memo' and they may or may not also want updates."

You stare at him blankly. "So you told Tito, Tyson, and Ethan."

"And Lianna," he clarifies. "But that's it."

A groan leaves your lips, and you tip back the rest of your mimosa. "See, this is why you're not allowed at 'The Debrief,' you've got loose lips."

"You're the one telling me stuff!"

"I'm allowed to! The rules extend to significant others, but not beyond that!"

Mat frowns. "So if I can't tell the guys about Drea's sister?"

You roll your eyes, pouring more champagne and head straight to your bathroom to run a bubble bath, ignoring Mat's cries of protests as you retreat.

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal x reader #writing challenge #requests

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cloudysonder · 9 months ago

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15! mafia! soukoku getting together before 5 years of tension challenge (IMPOSSIBLE)

ok so I don't think I need another WIP on my plate but i can't stop thinking about them so I'm gonna write a hella long fic outline for a hypothetical fic I might've written in a different timeline

This is a half canon compliant half Chuuya leaves the mafia with Dazai AU, with a focus on their powers + how it affects them

Chuuya struggles with his identity and his agency bc of Arahabaki sharing his body, and combats it by trying to be as kind and giving as possible-- it's a way of proving to himself that these decisions are his, not Arahabaki's, because Arahabaki would never choose to be kind. As a result, he gives himself to others too easily, creating a tension of giving up agency/identity in order to prove that he has agency/identity

he does this with the sheep and then with the port mafia, where he eventually meets dazai

dead apple happens

Chuuya thinks the guy is actually the biggest asshole maybe in the universe, but begrudgingly accepts that his power is very useful and they make a good team (you would have to actually waterboard this out of him)

Dazai deems Chuuya his dog, and when Chuuya gets pissed and keeps pestering him abt how patronizing it is, Dazai responds lightly, as if he's saying that the sky is blue,

"Oh please. You were a dog long before I called you one--" Dazai doesn't even bother having the decency to look at Chuuya before ripping his life apart. "--eager to be on a leash and be taken on walks if it meant that it pissed off the wolf inside you. I just have the manners to actually call it a leash."

it isn't the first nor the last time that chuuya wants to kill him, but he can't deny Dazai's right (he usually is, infuriatingly)

He still hits him with a boulder

they build up trust over multiple months-- Dazai begins to believe in Chuuya's competence and skill (enough to relax on missions, because chuuya will take care of things, chuuya will catch the things I miss, and chuuya will catch me if I fall), and Chuuya will follow whatever order Dazai gives, no questions asked (He never steers chuuya wrong, never betrays him in a way that matters, never hurts him in a way that lasts-- usually people would've by now, but not Dazai-- he just annoys him and pranks him and thrashes him in video games, casually saying things about chuuya that are so on the nose that chuuya doesn't feel seen through, but seen)

chuuya goes on a mission that he's supposed to lead himself, and dazai tags along bc he's "on vacation" (healing from broken bones) and bored and knows that chuuya wouldn't let him get more hurt

there's a critical point in the mission where chuuya has to make a decision-- either to jump into the battle and hurt himself to save his subordinates, even if it means the mission wouldn't be completed successfully, or to let them die, guaranteeing success

He doesn't know what Arahabaki would choose, and he's terrified of choosing the same option it would-- he doesn't want to think that he's slowly turning into Arahabaki, that Chuuya one day will be no longer--

Dazai knows. Dazai always knows.

A warm hand envelops his.

The familiar shiver of No Longer Human blankets over him.

"It's your choice, Chuuya." Dazai is looking directly at him, serious for once. "No one else is here now."

And Chuuya, simple, stupid Chuuya, feels the tension he's known his whole life leave him completely-- and what was left?

Oh.

The sun catches on Dazai's brown hair, beautiful even dusted with concrete powder and dried blood--

Fuck.

His hand is warm, his body is still, so trusting, his eyes are unblinking, so knowing--

And Chuuya falls irreversibly in love.

There's no real hiding it from Dazai (nor is there really a "normal" way that Chuuya can act anymore, knowing that he had the capacity, the capability for love)-- Chuuya tries for a while, but Dazai keeps staring at him with calculating eyes, suspicious and uncomfortable with whatever Chuuya is hiding from him

He pesters Chuuya constantly, making infuriating guesses about crushes (fucking Mori??? Chuuya wanted to kill Dazai for even suggesting it) and Chuuya's had enough of trying to escape who he is (which his feelings are tied to, unfortunately)

So, slowly, he lets himself show the affection he wants to-- a brush of hands, a hold on Dazai that's a little too tight when they lean on each other, a patching up of wounds that's a little gentler, a dinner of crab soup and rice that he took hours to learn how to cook---

Dazai stops pestering Chuuya pretty quickly after that

(He also never pulls away when Chuuya presses in, never comments on it, acts as if he doesn't know and doesn't care, and Chuuya finds some twisted sort of relief in that)

He's also become fiercely protective of Dazai, working thrice as hard so that he never sustains a single injury bigger than a scratch

"Wow---, why's my dog so easily riled up recently?" (they both know why)

Dazai is his to protect, but his in no other way. Chuuya knows that. He turns away when he flirts with pretty girls and gives them his number, and still admonishes him with the same tone he always does when he fucks around with women instead of doing his job

Chuuya genuinely shrugs it off— he doesn't love Dazai for it to be returned— it's just a fact in his life— his hair is red, his eyes are blue, he loves Dazai. Fin. He doesn't need to be in a relationship with him, he doesn't need to own him, he just wants to keep Dazai safe, and make him happy where he can

Dazai, meanwhile, is actually having a conniption— He figured out that Chuuya had a crush on him pretty quickly, but he's the most lost he's ever been in his life

He's never been loved so gently before, so carefully, as if he's a unique existence and intrinsically worthy of love-- Chuuya doesn't use him, doesn't expect anything of him, just keeps giving giving giving giving

Fact: Dazai has always been useful. Fact: Dazai has always been desirable, but in a way that seems dangerous. Fact: Every person who's ever held desire for him seemed to want something in return, as payment for the chore of liking him.

He annoys Chuuya more than anyone he's ever met, and yet Chuuya never treats taking care of him as a chore. He looks into Chuuya's eyes, sees a strange sort of pride, of gratefulness for relying on him, of joy just from the act of indulging him--

He asks nothing of Dazai, nothing, content to hold his hand firmly while Dazai's remains limp, asking nothing nothing nothing, backing off the second Dazai starts to squirm (though, sometimes, Dazai was just adjusting his posture on the couch, he wasn't pulling away— but he'd rather die before he asked the dumb little garden gnome to put his head on his shoulder again)

Dazai has never been more confused in his life. He's only sure of three things: 1) that Chuuya’s affection is genuine, 2) that it is far too good for him, which is a shame because 3) he'll never be able to return it.

Months pass in this limbo state— Chuuya backs off the second Dazai shows Any sign of being uncomfortable (he isn’t, he never was, but he’s confused by the frustration that wells up inside whenever Chuuya mistakes one of his random movements as resistance, pulling away, leaving Dazai oddly lonel—)

They usually don’t get hurt on missions— in all visible aspects, they’re perfect partners; Dazai’s plans don’t fail, and Chuuya never disappoints

But Mori thinks they’ve been a little too full of themselves recently, that they might benefit from a little humility, so he sends them straight into a trap

Chuuya drinks water from a safehouse that Mori arranged to have drugged

His vision goes blurry, fast

He tugs at Dazai, who’s keeping guard, blinking rapidly

“What, slug? Have you forgotten how sleeping works—“

“Dazai,” he chokes out.

Dazai snaps into focus, scanning Chuuya immediately.

“What happened?” Dazai doesn’t understand why panic is rushing through his veins, watching his partner struggle for breath. “Chuuya, breathe—“

“Don’t,” he strangles out, the word barely a whisper. “Don’t drink the water, something’s—“ Chuuya’s body seizes.

“Chuuya!” Dazai grabs him by the shoulders, and he’s surprised by how terribly his own hands are shaking— he can’t lose him, he can’t lose him, not him, not him, he’s never felt this strongly about the possibility of loss before, but he can’t lose Chuuya, he Can’t lose Chuuya, not the warm hands that hold his own, not the soft hair that buries into his neck, not the way his body always seems to fall into his, utterly trusting, not him, please god, not him, not the boy who loves him— he knows he doesn’t love Chuuya back, but he can’t lose Chuuya—

He brings Chuuya to his chest, preparing to make him throw up—

A bullet tears through Dazai’s arm.

Another one, seconds later, through his leg.

Dazai hisses in pain, grabbing his gun from his pocket

He’s not the best sharpshooter in the mafia for nothing— he shoots into the distance and hears both bullets hit their marks— he’s listening for the sound of two bodies falling—

A third gunshot rings from behind, and Dazai isn’t going to be fast enough to dodge it in time, fuck, but he can shift so it hits some non critical part of his body—

Shaking arms shove him to the ground

Dazai thinks the sound of the bullet burying itself into Chuuya’s body is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Chuuya’s warm blood is soaking into his lap, and Dazai’s vision begins to turn red at the edges

He uses more bullets than necessary to kill the last sniper, shooting his hands first, then his legs, his arms, his shoulders— he doesn’t get the mercy of a quick death— he hopes he bleeds, just like Chuuya is now—

The helicopter would come to pick them up at the meeting point in a few hours— he just needed to last until then—

He treats Chuuya’s injuries the best he can, murmuring his name like a prayer, begging begging begging

He ignores his own pain— or, that’s not quite right— he doesn’t even register his own pain— his own wounds are nothing in the face of the possibility of Chuuya’s death, and adrenaline keeps his limp arms moving, his wobbly legs walking

The helicopter picks them up

On board, a doctor patches Chuuya up and assures Dazai the poison wasn’t lethal and that the shot didn’t hit any major organs

Upon hearing (his) Chuuya would be ok, all of Dazai’s muscles relax at once, and he passes out

Chuuya wakes up in the hospital first

Dazai is in a comatose state, recovering— he’d be fine, but it’s the worst he’s been injured since Chuuya was assigned to be his partner

Chuuya waits by his side, holding his hand, running his fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek with his hand

He heard from the doctors that Dazai insisted, hysterically, that the doctors treated Chuuya first, despite his own injuries worsening by the minute

“Fucking asshole,” Chuuya pinches Dazai’s cheek.

He doesn’t wake up

He wakes up a week later, blinking slowly into consciousness

Chuuya is sleeping beside him, resting his cheek in the palm of Dazai’s hand

His eye bags look horrendous, and his face is pale

He nudges him without meaning to

Chuuya wakes up immediately

“Dazai?” He rubs his eyes a few times, as if he was checking he was awake. A few blinks later, Chuuya’s entire face melts. “Fuck, Dazai.”

Dazai isn’t prepared for the armful of Chuuya that barrels into his chest, burying into his neck— oh, Chuuya is warm—

Chuuya begins pressing small kisses into his hair, into the skin between his ears and his neck, eventually moving to kissing him on the apples of his cheeks

Dazai’s heart is doing a weird flop in his chest— he sees Chuuya’s sapphire blue eyes shining with tears, feels his chapped lips against his face, and god, is it pathetic that this feels like the first time he’s ever really been alive?

“You scared the shit out of me—“ Chuuya’s voice is trembling. “Why the fuck would you make them treat me first— I was literally fine, you fucking dumbass bitch, and I heal fast, you know that, you’re the lanky brittle stick— you were in a fucking coma for like a week, do you even know how, how worried I was?”

Frozen as he is, Dazai stumbles out a “why?”

Chuuya glares at him.

“You know why.”

He does. He still doesn’t know why. But Chuuya is peppering kisses all over his face and murmuring reminders to himself about gauze changes and medicine and antibiotics, so Dazai just lets himself stop thinking for once—

He catches Chuuya glancing at his lips, and he waits for a kiss there, but it never comes.

“You missed a spot.”

Chuuya turns bright red (cute cute cute), and looks toward the wall, clearing his throat.

“You should save that kiss for someone you love, mackerel.” Chuuya sighs, the red beginning to leave his cheeks. His eyes lose a bit of light, and Dazai wants to shove his words back in his throat. “I wouldn’t— you’ve already, uh, let me do this much.” He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable, as he untangles himself from Dazai.

Dazai wants to throw something (when did he ask Chuuya to stop, why is Chuuya sitting back in the chair, why is Chuuya holding his own hands instead of his, come back come back come back).

But Dazai doesn’t say anything, and Chuuya starts milling around the hospital room, collecting his medication

Chuuya nurses him back to health

He doesn’t kiss Dazai again

More months pass

Chuuya still asks for nothing from Dazai, and Dazai is weirdly frustrated by it (Oda and Ango are tired of hearing about it— they insist that Dazai has, ew, Feelings for him, to which he responds, like a mature adult, “The only feelings I have for the amoeba are pity and disgust— he’s stupid, it’s all stupid! And I’m a genius, obviously, so this is all below me!” He mutters, under his breath, “Dumb Odasaku, stupid ango, thinking they know better than me”)

They’re at a high end mafia party

Chuuya looks absolutely dashing, as always

Dazai cleaned himself up just to watch Chuuya’s face turn red

Dazai’s fooling around with some girls, playing the games he always plays, and glances out of the corner of his eye

Dazai freezes.

A Port Mafia man is on his knees, his hand cradling Chuuya’s, his lips planted firmly on Chuuya’s knuckles

And Dazai feels like he’s boiling alive— he hasn’t even kissed Chuuya, and this, this GRUNT is DIRTYING his— Chuuya with his fucking disgusting mouth, and Chuuya’s skin is so soft and warm and smooth and Dazai should be the only one in the world who knows how it feels

Dazai storms up to him and snatches Chuuya’s hand away, replacing it with his own. He introduces himself, but his tone and his eyes are deadly.

They sit in a rare moment of silence on the way back

Chuuya looks weirdly happy

Dazai doesn’t want to wipe the look off his face, so he keeps his mouth shut for once, watching the moonlight catch in his partner’s red hair and blue eyes— he’s so beautiful, Dazai thinks, and he tries to burn the image of Chuuya’s smug smile into his retinas

Dazai follows Chuuya home

They fall back into their old childish teasing the second they collapse on the couch, wrestling and yelling between delirious laughter— that’s the thing about Chuuya, Dazai thinks, he makes Dazai feel like the kid he never got to be.

Chuuya wins a round, and Dazai wins a round, and though they hadn’t agreed on a bet or a reward, Dazai chirps, unable to stop himself, “Guess that means that I have to do something for you, and you have to do something for me! You know, to be fair!”

“Ok…” Chuuya is staring at him suspiciously, checking behind him for a hidden pillow or another similar weapon (which, rude! he would never cheat! Scout’s honor.)

Dazai’s eyes seem to be darting everywhere but Chuuya. “For Chuuya, hmm… I’ll stop flirting around with girls!”

Chuuya blinks at him, bewildered. “I don’t really mind— it’s not like—“

Dazai cuts him off (he doesn’t want to hear the end of the sentence, for some reason?), the next words rapidly stuttering from his mouth—“And in exchange, Chuuya’s not allowed to flirt with anyone, ok?”

A light seems to dawn in Chuuya’s eyes, and he bites his bottom lip, trying to keep down a laugh. “Ok, mackerel. Deal.”

“Good slug.”

Chuuya actually does laugh, this time. “Fuck off.”

Things are a little different, after that. Chuuya gets more confident— he invites Dazai over for movie nights where he falls asleep on his shoulder, he occasionally presses a chaste kiss atop Dazai’s bandages (as if he’s something worth loving, somehow), and they still wrestle and fight and prank each other, but it’s euphoric— it’s their communication, their reminder that the other is thinking of them.

Dazai is still the one on the receiving end of things, and he realizes Chuuya’s never gonna kiss him on the lips because of his stupid moral code that kisses should be loving and romantic from both sides, and well, Dazai doesn’t know about love or any of that other dumb stuff, but he wants to kiss Chuuya

Dazai stays over at Chuuya’s apartment more often than not, and one day, as Chuuya’s leaving for work (he always shows up a couple hours earlier than Dazai), Dazai gathers up the blankets and waddles over to him, still sleepy

“Chuuya?”

“Fuck off,” he replies out of habit more than anything else.

“Chuuyyuyuyaaaaa—“

“What?” He finally turns to Dazai, who seizes the opportunity to give him a kiss, licking Chuuya’s lips as he pulls away.

“Have a good day at work!” Dazai smiles against Chuuya’s lips.

Chuuya works through a couple of phases— shock, joy, all encompassing bigger than the universe giddiness, shock, hope, hope, hope

He watches Dazai waddle back to his bed and collapse in the middle of it, taking up both his side and Chuuya’s

Chuuya smiles all day

After Oda’s death, Chuuya is the first one to grab Dazai’s hand before he can drown.

Dazai has never doubted that Chuuya cared for him, that Chuuya loved him, and it’s so fucking affirming to be believed— to know that someone believes you’re human, through and through

So he hopes that Dazai would trust him to take the initiative here, to make a choice that would truly be a middle finger to Arahabaki, to let Dazai be the savior he already was to Chuuya

“Dazai,” He says, knowing what happened before Dazai says a word, seeing it in his grieving eyes, his miserable form (how dare people think he has no emotions, how dare them, how dare them). He grabs both of Dazai’s hands and pushes their foreheads together with enough force to be a headbutt. His smile is sharp, a little scared, but he’s sincere. “Let’s run away together.”

and they run away and never define their relationship completely, but they are partners, through and through

Chuuya wants agency and to be seen as human and to be trusted and believed, Dazai wants to trust someone to take care of him and to believe in someone’s care for him and sees Chuuya as utterly human

They complete each other, they trust each other unconditionally

Chuuya wakes up with a ring on his finger one day, and Dazai shrugs and says that it might make Chuuya’s side of the deal they made 4 years ago a little easier

Chuuya thinks this is very funny

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a matching ring on his finger

They never have a wedding— they don’t need to prove their partnership to anyone— and they can count the amount of times they’ve said “I love you” on one hand— that’s private, that’s theirs and no one else’s

They’re both part timers at the ADA (the ADA insisted; if they were both full timers, there’d be no work for anyone else to do— Chuuya plows through paperwork, and they’re still soukoku— they never fail a single mission)

In their free time, they play games, write some shitty novels and some not so shitty novels, they try painting, they both become polyglots, read all the books they can in all the languages they can read, and it is all so mundane and so, so human

they no longer have to prove it to anyone

They are home

#soukoku #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chūya #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #15 soukoku #bsd stormbringer #bsd #bungou gay dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd port mafia #skk #skk fanfic #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku au #me post

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

Text

End Game #3 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: you run practice in your coach's absence and break up a fight between captains.

word count: 2.6k

cw/tags: language, jjk volleyball au, misunderstandings, mild angst but nothing too bad, arguing, reader is a little mean but they're just tired of satosugu's bullshit, satoru is too unserious he literally makes a your mom joke

note: SURPRISE this is so much longer than i anticipated it being. but anyway!!! here's the first look at the rest of the team. maybe at some point i'll post the whole roster, but hopefully some of your faves make an appearance. i'm aware that this isn't really fluffy gojo content but this drabble is intended to explain his actions later on in this little series. thank you for all your support recently!!!!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated <3

“No way.”

“Unfortunately, yes way.”

“I thought he was kidding.”

“If he was kidding, I wouldn’t be wearing this.” You smile mirthlessly, gesturing to the workout clothes you donned rather than the typical school-issued uniform. Suguru shakes his head in disbelief, laughing quietly as he tosses you a deflated ball that had rolled away. You catch it with ease and add it to the pile you’ve been working on for ten minutes. From your place on the gym floor, you watched the vice-captain exasperatedly pull out his phone and dial a number. “Who are you calling?”

His dark eyes meet yours exhaustedly, strands of black hair falling loosely from the bun that held it back from his face. “Who do you think?”

It takes a moment for the pieces to click in your head, explaining why the usual annoyance after your last class wasn’t present with chatter and a sugary apple soda. “No.”

“Yes.” He frowns at his phone, furiously tapping the call button again. No answer, you figured.

“He’s the fucking captain!” Unaware of how long you’d had the electric air pump running, you quickly flick it off as the ball in your lap becomes concerningly large. “Tell him to get his ass over here; I wanna throw this at him.” You show him the ball the size of your head, waving it around to get him to look over at you on the floor.

Suguru side-eyes the abnormally-sized ball in your fingers. “You’re gonna kill him.”

“That’s the point,” you reply, bending one of your legs in and stretching out the other, leaning toward the outstretched side. You reach for your tennis shoe, sighing as you take a break from inflating balls. Suguru seems to finally reach Satoru as he pulls the phone away from his ear in pain, distorted panic reaching to your side of the gym.

When the team chat received Yaga’s message saying that you were going to run practice in his absence, you knew half the team would take it as a joke. You were going to take it as one, too, planning to grab a nice lunch that afternoon; however, when the office aide came into class bearing a note requesting your presence at the gym, you kissed lunch goodbye. With the free time before practice started, you successfully repaired the ripped net that had been sitting in the corner of the supply closet for months, ordered new uniforms for away games, and checked the air pressure of practice balls. A glance at the clock and Satoru’s hastily written text confirming practice told you the rest of the team would be arriving soon.

“D’you think they’re going to listen to me, Su?”

“Who? The team?”

“Mhmm.” Doubt sits heavy in your mind as you finish with the air pump, rising on aching legs to return it to the supply closet. “I mean, I’m not Yaga.”

“He would wear that, though,” Suguru smirks, nodding toward your form-hugging leggings and loose-fitting white shirt you’d dug through your bag to retrieve.

“I’m serious–”

“I know you are,” he states firmly, finally meeting your gaze. He looks at you for a moment, subtly narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s the team you should worry about.”

You cross your arms across your chest, tilting your head to the side skeptically. “Who should I worry about, then?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but abruptly shuts it as three pairs of running steps approach the gym doors, a blur of white shirts and black shorts screeching to a halt in front of Suguru. He looks down at his panting juniors with amusement, taking in their flushed faces and indifferently informing them that they’re late. They huff out apologies in between heavy inhales and exhales, still trying to catch their breath.

You can’t help but chuckle at their earnestness. “Megumi, Yuuji, Yuta.” The three boys stiffen to attention, bracing themselves for stern scolding because of their tardiness. “Relax, I’m not gonna call Yaga.” Their shoulders collectively sag in relief. “Did you see anyone else making their way over here, or rushing too fast?” The corner of your mouth lifts teasingly, and even stoic Megumi becomes slightly pink from embarrassment as they shake their heads. “Go warm up, you three. I’ll announce today’s agenda when your glorious captain arrives.”

The rest of the team trickles in gradually, and you’re pleasantly surprised that you’ve only lost ten minutes of practice when Satoru arrives as everyone finishes stretching. He grins at you in your workout clothes, inhaling in preparation to say something stupid before Suguru cuts him off and tells him to warm up quickly. As much as Satoru was the most powerful on the team, Suguru was the real pillar of the team because he could override his captain’s antics; you silently thank the universe that you didn’t have to wrangle the boys alone.

“Alright, group up!” Your voice cuts through the players’ conversations and they dutifully gather around you. Irritatingly, Satoru stands at your side, sticking his hands in his nonexistent pockets and looking over the team like a pompous tyrant. You peer at him from the corner of your eye, and he averts his gaze submissively, a dog who got in trouble for ripping up the couch cushions. “Please have a seat, Satoru.” Snickers ripple through the group of players at their captain so easily ordered around, and he pouts next to Suguru on the floor.

“So your match with Kyoto is next week–”

Yuuji’s arm sticks up before you call on him, his head falling to the side curiously. “Are we paying for their food if we lose or was that just a rumor?”

“Nanami said that was fake, stupid. Stop asking dumb questions,” Megumi mutters as he swats down Yuuji’s hand.

“Don’t be mean, Megumi. It’s a valid question, and the answer is–”

“Yes!” An uproar of indignancy spreads among the players at Satoru’s satisfied completion of your sentence. “So,” he turns in his seat, sharp blue eyes silencing the protest immediately. “Don’t lose.” The boys tense at the genuine threat in his voice and you shake your head. When he took his role of captain seriously, he was admittedly good at keeping his team in line. But, his sober aura disappears as he turns back to you, holding out a hand for you to continue while you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Okay, sorry. Guess you’re paying if you lose.” You present your palms regretfully as the team groans and Satoru continues to beam at you. What the hell was he playing at? “Anyway, your match with Kyoto is next week. We’re ranked pretty similarly regarding skill level–”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Nanami deadpans from the back of the group. Yu shushes him insistently and you exhale, electing to ignore his question.

But, the fuse had already been lit.

“I don’t think we’re that bad,” Yuta mumbles under his breath, worry spreading on his face. Yuuji nods his agreement.

“If our captain got his shit together, I’d think we’d do better.” Megumi coughs into his sleeve, and Yuuji flinches next to him as Satoru rotates his head to stare daggers into them both. You’d seen situations exactly like this escalate, but you didn’t have Yaga’s booming voice to get them to pay attention. As long as Suguru doesn’t join, you think. Just as long as–

“As vice-captain, I have to agree,” Suguru drawls nonchalantly. Oh, no.

“Who said you were vice-captain, number two?” Satoru sneers mockingly at the boy sitting beside him, hissing out the last word like a curse.

Suguru goes on the defensive. “Last year’s seniors, idiot. Would have been captain-captain if your incompetent ass didn’t get us both stuck on probation for a semester.”

“Captain-captain doesn’t exist, Suguru.” He waves his hand dismissively, and you try in vain to get the conversation back on track. “Maybe there’s a reason you got on academic probation.”

“And your attitude is the reason you get no women, Satoru.”

“I get plenty, I’ll have you know.”

“Really? Like who?”

“Inquire with thy mother.” A chorus of “ooh” erupts from the team. Inumaki winces like he’d been shot.

“You pretentious asshole. You can’t even pull the person you’ve been after since–”

“Since when Suguru? Go ahead. Use your words. If you bring me down, you’re coming with me.” You stand there, gaping like the rest of the team. It was common for the two to bicker like this, but not with such spite.

Satoru dances his shoulders from side to side tauntingly like a cobra ready to strike. He was starting to get to Suguru; you could tell by the way the vice-captain’s fists clenched and unclenched in preparation to knock out the actual captain.

“Guys–”

“I believe we should focus on the task at hand,” offers a deep voice from the middle blocker in the center of the group.

“Thank you, Panda. Is Inumaki still awake?”

“He is, though he might not be for longer if our superiors continue their banter.”

Meanwhile, Suguru and Satoru whirled on each other, throwing insults back and forth until they both stood up like they were going to fight. Your patience wears thin as you witness the rest of the team space out in real time, and your body moves before you can even think. One minute, you’re standing in front of the whiteboard, facing the team. Half a minute later, your fingers grip the lobes of Suguru and Satoru’s ears as you all but hurl them out the door.

Your voice shakes with rage, and you fight to keep it steady. “If you’re going to continue your little piss match, do it out here. And while you’re at it, go run three laps around the school.” Their faces contort in protest, and you cut them off uncaringly. “No, no arguing. Get out, I have a team to coach.”

When the two seniors return to practice hanging their heads in shame, Nanami is helping run defense drills. “You’re evenly matched offensively,” you stated before you began. “But Kyoto has much better communication that keeps them working like a well-oiled machine. We’re more like, uh, a used car that’s been sitting on the side of the street.” The team’s faces fall, and you’re quick to reassure them. “But, that means that if you can solidify your defense, I wholeheartedly believe that your offensive attacks can overpower theirs. Do your best.”

The juniors, you noticed, took the challenge most seriously, giving their all as they practiced calling for the ball and fully jumping even if they were feints. Megumi was Satoru’s apprentice, but as a first year student, you could already tell Megumi was progressing faster than his mentor did at the same age. It made you happy that, in the same way Satoru had Suguru, Megumi had Yuuji. You only hoped that their egos wouldn’t disrupt practice so much when they were seniors.

Nanami takes the burden of directing his captains what to do while you work with Yuta on his blocking technique. You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you and purposefully avoid them, still bothered by his earlier tantrums.

“I’m sorry about them,” Yuta says quietly, almost too quietly to hear if you weren’t right next to him as you adjusted his arm placement.

“Who, them?” You glance at Dumb and Dumber, still glaring at each other, and Yuta nods carefully. “Don’t be sorry. They just…need to grow up sometimes.”

“I think one of them has a lot more to fix than the other, respectfully.”

“Well, that’s your captain. You either love him or you hate him.”

“And which one are you?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows dip in confusion, and Yuta backtracks swiftly, mumbling more apologies and “nevermind”s. You excuse yourself to check on Panda and Inumaki, pushing away the awkward feeling Yuta’s question had arisen in your gut.

Satoru lingers after practice as you lock the gym, longer than Nanami and Suguru who helped you clean up. The sun begins its trek dipping below the horizon, and the warm glow casts a golden radiance over the school. After changing from his uniform and discreetly reconciling with Suguru, he stands against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. The sunset reflects off the white of his hair, and the light makes his blue eyes look like they’re glimmering. Despite annoying you to no end earlier in the afternoon, you couldn’t help admiring how handsome he looked.

You couldn’t tell him that, though, and you brush past him wordlessly. He easily follows your steps, positioning himself at your side instinctually. “Can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Gojo?”

“That. Calling me by my family name rather than my first name.”

Your blank face becomes a scowl. It didn’t matter if he was trying to get a rise out of you. Was he fucking kidding? His jab at something so relatively mundane as his name sets you off, and your words tumble from your lips like boulders on a cliffside. “I’m furious with you, that’s why I'm calling you that. You acted like a child today. A fucking child. But moreover, you picked a fight with Suguru over something you should have laughed off. I have every right to be angry at you. Just because you’re captain, doesn’t mean you get to disrupt practice, me as coach or not.”

He doesn’t look angry at your tirade, but puzzled. “I’m not allowed to defend myself if they insult my aptitude as captain?”

You sigh and think about getting a bumper sticker that says I am done with Gojo Satoru. “Perception is reality. Your idea of yourself as captain doesn’t automatically make it everyone else’s opinion of you.” He’s speechless at your side; whether that be from shock or purposeful so he can think, you’d never know.

“I’m sorry.” He stops behind you, and you look at him over your shoulder. If you weren’t so angry, you might have felt some sympathy for the genuine remorse dragging on his face. “For fighting with Suguru, for undermining your authority, for acting like an idiot. I’m sorry.” You blink, taking a deep breath before you respond, probing into a conversation you weren’t 100% sure you were ready for.

“Why did Suguru mention something about you liking someone for years?”

His blue eyes widen slightly like a deer in headlights. “Huh?”

“When you were arguing, he said something about not being able to pull someone. Why did the conversation suddenly turn there?”

He avoids your expectant eyes, pursing his lips and shrugging a tall shoulder. “Don’t know. Must’ve been in just as stupid of a mindset as me.” He was lying to you, straight through his teeth, but you didn’t have the energy to decipher why. Instead, you settle for another meaningless conversation as he walks you home while he asks if he can buy you more soda to make up for his actions.

“I don’t want sugar, Satoru. I want…” Your voice trails off while you rest your hand on the front gate to your house, looking back at the boy standing behind you. His throat bobs nervously as he swallows in anticipation of your response. He was giving you that unreadable look again.

“What do you want?” Anything, his eyes said. I’ll give you anything.

A beat.

“I want you to stop acting like being captain is just another position on the team. It’s not. People depend on you. They look up to you.” You laugh without humor. “But what do I know? I’m just the manager. Look, Satoru. They’re counting on you. Please try, if not for me, then for them.”

He nods, bidding you farewell. His goodbye includes three extra words that you hadn’t heard him say before, and they’re so soft that you think you’re imagining them.

“As you wish.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #satoru gojo #jjk volleyball au

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