#induced hiccups

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Part 9: Atticus' Birthday

I had intended to write this around my own birthday, but that idea got drowned out by an unfortunate Real Life Event. As a result, I ended up writing the previous roleplay story as it seemed less demanding mentally.

I plan to write two other stories following this taking place on the same day.

This one in particular is very saucy. It's probably the smuttiest I've ever written on here. As such, play close attention to the CW list for things that might not be what you want to read. I have, once again, attempted to separate sections so that the smuttiest bits can be avoided, but an arousal theme does run through most of the story and so might occur outside of the smutty heading.

CW

Very very fast and consistently fast hiccups.

Hiccups induced and made worse intentionally.

Mentions of arousal.

Nudity.

Mentions of genitalia in various detail.

Mentions of trans masc (or trans societal male traits presenting) anatomy post-top surgery and post HRT

Scar musing by character.

Scar touching by character.

Mention of an uncircumcised genitalia.

Fingering.

Masturbation.

Mentions of past alcohol abuse (inferred).

Lobbing someone in the head with a pasta noodle.

The consequences of not looking where you're hiccuping.

This is a story that includes trans-focused contemplation from the inner thoughts of a cis male presenting partner.

I am trans and this is very reflective of my body. (way to be vulnerable, huh?)

Hiccups that are mildly painful.

If there is anything else that I haven't covered that you believe needs a CW, please tell me.

The Plan

“No,” Atticus replied to Otto’s request for what seemed to have been a hundred times this month. They knew they were exaggerating on the number of times he asked, but any time Otto brought the subject up they bristled with anxiety and inner turmoil.

“Hear me out,” Otto implored.

“Otto,” they said, his name nearly whined in desperation.

They were at the kitchen table having lunch. Otto had fixed pesto tortellini with chicken. Atticus’ birthday was tomorrow and for some reason Otto had gotten fixated on a topic that made Atty uncomfortable.

“No, no, I know! I know. I know why you don’t want me to do it. I know you don’t need me to hiccup to love me. I know you don’t want me to hurt my body by making it happen instead of letting it happen naturally. I hope, with how long we’ve been married, that the fears of me taking advantage or teasing you would have gone away. And because we communicate so well, those fears of resentment from you wanting me to induce that you think I will somehow develop are a non-issue. Mainly because you never let me induce...but-but Atty, hey,” Otto stopped talking and encouraged his partner to look at him. “I want to do this. I am acting completely of my own free will. Additionally, I know my body pretty damn well. I know my limits and I’m not going to hurt myself. Trust me, I am way past the hurting myself stage in my life.” Not for lack of a lot more lessons than it took the normal person, Otto added silently.

“Also,” Otto continued enthusiastically, “and this is perhaps my most damning evidence that you would enjoy this more than you’re letting on, I know for a fact that the videos and audio files you play of people inducing hiccups are some of your favorites.” He said this with a pointed mischievous glare.

Atty glared back with less folly but not as much malice as they’d wanted to express.

“I, mm, I-I just,” Atticus started, stuttering and huffing. “I ju-ugh! I just feel so...so guilty!”

“Guilty?” Otto asked with a concerned face. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I just...do! I don’t want you to-to have to do anything like that for me. It’s just—it’s my thing and I don’t want you to have to pander to it like that,” Atticus finally spat out. They groaned and put their head in their hands. Otto’s soft reply encouraged them to look up again.

“I know I don’t have to do it. I don’t feel obligated. I want to do it. It’s not just you who gets something out of it. Trust me, you’re not the selfish one here. You get turned on and share that with me and then...I get turned on. And now whenever I get the hiccups and I’m alone I get turned on by them thinking about how turned on you would be if you were there. Figure that one out. Let’s just say I’m not sharing that one with my therapist,” Otto said widening his eyes for emphasis.

Atticus experienced a little whiplash at that admission. First of all, Otto had admitted it so casually that they hadn’t realized the implication of what he’d said until he’d finished the statement completely and they found themselves backtracking their memory to make sure they’d heard it correctly. Secondly, being reminded that Atticus wasn’t the only one experiencing arousal should have been an obvious statement but it still took them by surprise that while Otto was so obviously giving something of arousal to Atticus that the writer was also providing Otto with an equal amount of arousal.

For some reason, to them, it always felt like Otto was doing most of the work. But obviously he didn’t see it that way.

They must’ve been quiet for a while because they felt Otto’s finger poke the middle of their forehead and they frowned, swatting at it.

“Just checking if I broke anything…” he said with a smirk.

“No…” Atticus said, scowling. Then their face turned thoughtful, eyes wide as they looked at him. “So you really get...aroused when you…”

Otto chuckled, “I really do.”

“Even when I’m not there.”

“Yup,” he confirmed. “I suspect that it’s some sort of memory activation. Sort of...my brain has gotten used to the pattern of having hiccups meaning that I’m going to be aroused and so my big brain talks to my little brain,” he said pointing downward, “and says, ‘Hey buddy! Remember this? You’re about to get some...fun...horny things happening!’ and my little brain is like, ‘Oh yeah! Horny things! On it!’ And that’s, you know, sort of how it goes. I...was about to say it’s more nuanced than that, but it’s really not. Little brain doesn’t really work with subtleties a lot. It’s very Id based.”

“And I almost choked on a piece of chicken!” Atty said, still coughing a little from the surprise and laughing at the dialogue.

“I did notice that,” Otto interjected.

“I had no idea you reacted that way…even when I’m not there. Okay,” they said with a sigh and put their fork down as a marker of decision, granted a nervous marker. “So...how is this going to work exactly?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Otto said, smirking. “How long has it been since I even had morning hiccups?”

“I dunno, as while, I think,” Atticus said, feigning casualness.

“Yeah, you do. Pull out your phone. Tell me when I last had them.”

Atticus scoffed, not moving at first, but they eventually pulled their phone out from the pocket of their sweat pants sheepishly. They pulled up their calendar app and scrolled through the months.

“Um...around 13 weeks? Three months? I think, maybe, you had a few teasers but not a real case...I don’t really mark the teasers. I’m neurotic, but not that neurotic,” they said.

Otto nipped the phone from their hand suddenly but before he turned it around he met their eyes.

“Can I see? I just want to see how you mark it,” Otto said.

Atticus hesitated, but sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Otto turned the phone around and scrolled for a bit before amusement lit in his eyes and he smiled.

“Awww,” he said. “A bubble emoji? Like in Dumbo when he hiccups bubbles? That’s really cute! Oh, and you put multiple bubble emojis for multiple cases on the same day? Coffee bubbles...for my coffee hiccups! Hee! No, this is good. I like this. I mean, I dunno what a stranger would think. Weird shower schedule or—”

The phone was yanked back.

“Okay! Yeah! That’s enough! Sir!” Atticus said, pocketing the phone again swiftly, neck feeling hot with embarrassment. “So, how is this gonna work? What...how are you gonna do it? Also, stop looking at me adoringly or I’m going to stab you with this fork.”

“I love when you flirt with me,” Otto responded, leaning on his hand again with a smile. He ignoring their glare as he continued, “I am going to continue eating this pasta tonight a little later than I should. I’m also going to add just a little bit more spice to it. Just something to sort of...invigorate the vagus nerve, if you will. And then I’m going to have one of those sparkling waters before I go to bed. Setting the stage.

“Tomorrow, if I don’t have them by my first cup of coffee, I’ve got a root beer in there and if that doesn’t work...honestly I got nothing. I’m kind of counting on that root beer.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Atticus remarked, impressed.

“I have. This weekend might be when your party is, but tomorrow is the day I get to celebrate you and I’m not missing the chance to make this as good a day as I can for you. Oh, and I found a new antique’s mall that I want to show you if you’re up for it,” he said.

“Okay, I’m in. You inducing, antiquing...I am there!”

“Seriously? The antiquing got you over me inducing hiccups for you?” Otto said, put out.

“What? No! I...no, it’s just. Otto. I am going to find a fucking banjo clock if it kills me. And that’s your fault, by the way. You made me this into clocks,” they said.

“We live in a house literally lined with clocks on every wall, you know,” he said.

“And not one damn banjo clock. Not one! It’s your fault for telling me about it in the first place. Banjo clocks are so sexy.”

Otto gave them a look.

“Not in that way! I’m not—I don’t have a clock fetish. It’s a turn of phrase!” Atticus argued.

“I wouldn’t blame you, though. Winding a mainspring? Oof. Really gets me going. And putting a pendulum in beat—hey!” he exclaimed with something wet plopped on his cheek. “Did you just throw a noodle at me?!”

The lunch devolved into a miniature food fight.

That night Otto made good on his plan to overindulge on carbs. Atticus made him promise that if he felt uncomfortable or ill that he would cure his hiccups and take an antacid. Even though Otto had explicitly, without a doubt, claimed he wanted to do this Atty couldn’t help but feel nervous. But as they laid down next to their husband and snuggled a little into his soft shoulder they couldn’t help but feel excited as well.

The Induction

The morning started with Otto shifting a little in waking up. Atticus had snuggled into his arm during the night and though they moved quite a bit they found the place again and had rested for the majority of the rest of the night in the soft warmth.

Usually Otto kept a pretty early schedule but the carb intake last night caused him to be drowsy this morning and he startled a little realizing he’d woken up at 7am. To him, that was sleeping in. Atticus stirred beside him before looking up at him sleepily.

“Hey,” they said, voice lower than usual in morning hoarseness.

It reminded Otto of how low Atticus’ voice actually was. Even as their voice had lowered thanks to the testosterone they tended to speak in their higher range. Otto assumed it was habit. But hearing the lower octaves Atticus could utter did something to the clock maker. He enjoyed the gravel.

Otto went to reply but he paused, tucking his chin as his stomach and chest jerked.

Atticus’ eyes went wide and alert and Otto had to chuckle.

“Just a belch,” he said, softly. “Little gassy.” He gave another soft burp and sighed.

The writer tried to hide the disappointment from their face.

“You feel okay?” they asked.

“Yeah. A little ‘hung over’ and bloated from the carbs. I woke up later than I planned,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and stretched.

Atticus yawned in response and rubbed their eyes with the heel of their hand. They grabbed for their glasses so they could see.

“What time is it?” they asked.

“After 7,” he said.

“...gross,” Atty said with a huff and almost wanted to roll back around and go back to sleep, except there was an excited energy they couldn’t ignore.

“You can go back to bed if you want. Happy Birthday, by the way,” he said and gave them a little kiss on their forehead.

It had been established that the only kiss Atticus didn’t need consent for was a forehead kiss. As such, Otto tended to give them out abundantly when he wanted to show his love. He loved watching the tired, grumpy face of his partner morph into a sheepish little smile and their small body sigh in contentment.

“Thank you. I love you,” they replied laying their cheek on his shoulder.

“I love you, too,” he said.

“I’m up now. And, honestly? Really curious to see if your plan is gonna work, today,” Atticus admitted.

“Hmm. Well. I guess I’ll go make some coffee then…”

“Cool. Tell me when it’s ready,” Atty said, and turned around in bed again, closing their eyes as they took off their glasses.

Otto laid there for a beat, a little amused at the reaction, “Okay then!”

As it turned out, coffee was not the instigator they’d both hoped for. Otto was certainly gassy this morning, but the hiccups were elusive despite the clock maker feeling like he was going to get them. He described the feeling as a sort of pressure in his throat. It was like a sneeze that wouldn’t come out, almost.

They both decided before Otto tried the root beer that it would probably be a good idea to have breakfast. Otto went all out. He made all of Atticus’ favorite breakfast items. When all was done there were plates with belgium waffles with fruit and whipped cream next to eggs over-easy and sausage patties and breakfast potatoes. The coffee was a peaberry blend, light roast. Otto made it in a chemex because both the blend and the brewing technique tended to be Atticus’ preference. It was the small things Otto had recorded in his mind that made Atticus feel wholly seen and loved.

Atticus literally couldn’t finish it all, but saved what they couldn’t eat for later. Being a “small king,” as their friends called them, putting away food wasn’t really what their body did best. Otto accomplished more on the food front, but he had already felt a little bloated so he ate less than he normally would. Still, it was much more than Atticus. But that was just a matter of mass. Otto was more than a foot taller than Atty, after all, and much broader though he still read as a lanky man with his long limbs and torso. The writer coveted the clock maker’s soft belly, though. Society be damned, sculpted muscles had never been their thing.

They both came away from breakfast feeling sufficiently full from the feast. Atticus collapsed on the couch in the living room while Otto insisted on cleaning up by himself. It was usually Atty who cleaned up as he did most of the cooking, but because it was their birthday they were shooed away with their coffee mug to luxuriate while their husband took care of the chores.

Atticus watched Otto’s tall form navigate the kitchen, his long arms easily reaching the cabinets and his long legs quickly navigating the space between placing objects in their proper places. They caught him belching and burping a few more times, rubbing his stomach absently as if coaxing more gas out.

After that breakfast, Atticus felt their own stomach was a little distended as well, but not painfully so. It was a pleasant plumpness, like Otto’s presented. Atticus was happy to have the shape they did. After their top surgery and hormone replacement therapy they grew fond of the way weight distributed in their middle and the softness it gave them. They appreciated it as much on their own body as they did on Otto’s.

Finally, with one final reach of Otto’s arm into the refrigerator to grab the root beer, the clock maker made his way from the open kitchen to the couch and settled himself next to Atticus.

“You didn’t talk much during breakfast,” he noted.

“I was too busy enjoying it,” Atticus said, sipping their coffee and watching Otto’s hand twist off the top of the brown glass bottle.

“Mm,” Otto said with suspicion. “You weren’t too busy watching every time I burped to make sure I wasn’t hiccuping?”

Atticus sputtered a little, glad they had swallowed the coffee before his question.

“I—” they said, about to deny it, “Well. I mean. Maybe…”

Otto laughed softly.

“I’m not teasing you too much, am I?” Otto asked, checking in.

“No,” Atticus responded seriously, shaking their head. “It’s kind of cute. I like it.”

Otto put the bottle up to his mouth and then lowered it suddenly, “Oh good, cause I just wanted to make sure.” He took the bottle up again and lowered it. “I just didn’t want it to seem like I was being cruel.” the lip of the bottle almost reached his lips when he lowered it once more. “Because sometimes I have a tendency to over d—”

“I swear to gawd…” Atticus interrupted him in a calm but stern voice having been following the path of that bottle every time he raised it.

“I can hear the threat of bodily injury in your voice,” he said, amused.

“Drink it!” Atty exclaimed.

“Guess it’s not cute anymore,” he muttered, his voice echoing into the neck of the bottle as he finally took a few healthy gulps of the root beer.

At the last swallow Atticus watched Otto’s body spasm suddenly. This was more than just a suppressed burp.

Otto lowered the bottle to his lap and his body jerked two more times, silent hiccups rocking his body backwards. “I think I’ve got ‘em,” he said, face concentrating as another hiccup jerked his head back with a little squeak from his throat. He also released a couple more airy belches as the hiccups continued interspersed. “They’re a little heurp!-a little weak. I’m gonna drink a little more.”

“Okay,” was all Atticus could say as they felt excitement thrum through them like electricity that all of the anticipation was leading to him actually getting the hiccups...for them. They felt an emotion beyond simple arousal, but one filled of gratitude that they hadn’t expected feeling.

As Otto downed the rest of the bottle Atty enjoyed watching his stomach jiggle softly with the hiccups triggered by his gulping. Still, they noticed, the hiccups he’d developed weren’t as fast or hard as his normal hiccups.

Otto had his hand on his chest as he waited for one hiccup after another. He seemed to notice their lack of boisterousness, too. They were squeaky, airy hiccups. While it was humorous to hear the higher pitched hiccups come out of Otto compared to the huskiness of his regular hiccups, they didn’t seem to create as much body movement. Still, Atticus was extremely excited to see his hiccups at all after so long.

“These are different, right? Heulp! Than my regular hiccups? Not as hyup!-as fast or strong?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” Atty said. They cuddled close to him, putting a hand on his belly as it bounced in another spasm.

But Otto seemed to be thinking about something, eyes narrowed in consideration. Atty listened to his chest as he released another soft burp and hiccuped right after.

“I have an id-idea,” he said, jolting with another silent hiccup. “I’m gonna hold my breath.”

To anyone else this would’ve seemed counter productive to the goal, but both Atticus and Otto knew that when he’d tried to cure his hiccups in the past by holding his breath it made them remarkably worse. Specifically, Otto’s hiccups became even faster than normal.

Atty hadn’t seen this themselves, but they’d been told by Otto that for about a minute after holding his breath they would speed up quite a bit before calming back down to his normal pace (which was still quite fast compared to other people’s hiccups).

The speed of those hiccups apparently startled his friend, then roommate, so much that he suggested going to the hospital. But Otto laid down to see if they would go away on their own first and they did, eventually. It was the longest time he’d had the hiccups (sober), a little over 5 hours in total.

Knowing this story brought some concern to Atticus.

“You sure?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Otto said. “If they get too bad w-hmp!-we’ll cure them. I just feel like these aren’t go-gonna last very long.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I hope I don’t end up-up curing them.”

Even Otto’s weak hiccups had a pretty decent effect on his body. The indentations in his neck might not have been as deep but his body still jerked and swayed with every hiccup. Atticus rubbed his back reflexively.

“Alright,” they agreed.

Otto took a large breath in and held it. For a moment nothing happened. There wasn’t even a hiccup after the time there had been before. Otto shot Atticus a frown of disappointment. Had it cured them after all? But then there was a hard hiccup and it jerked Otto’s body so hard that it shocked them both.

The clock makers hand went to his chest instinctively. Another hiccup barreled in close to the last. And then almost immediately after that a third hiccup shot through his body, throwing his head back as he widened his eyes in surprise. After that they were coming pretty consistently.

Atticus immediately felt their body react to the stimuli. Between their legs started pulsing as Otto let out his breath to a cacophony of newly energized hiccups.

“Hu-uck!-huuck!-h’muck!-huck!-HUCK!-HUCK!-hmk!-hmmmk!-hmmMMK!-I-mk!-I thmmk!-think th-uck!-that dihip!d it!” Otto struggled to say.

He turned toward Atticus and the writer watched his head be forced back over and over again. Anyone else wracked with such strong and fast hiccups might have a hint of distress on his face. Otto’s face held a soft smile, though his brows scrunched a little at each hiccup.

“Do-huck!-you-h’muck!huck!HNK!-wa-hmk!-nthup’k!-humk!-to-huck!-hu-uck!-go-unk!mk!huUCK!-upsta-hrk!hrk’l!-huck!-stairs?” Otto eventually got out.

‘Do you want to go upstairs?’ Atticus translated in their head through the nearly blinding arousal that hit them.

Otto’s head bobbed with each hiccup. His stomach was visible through the tight white undershirt and it jiggled in reverb as the hiccups kept forcing it over the edge of the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

Despite Otto being the one that should’ve been rendered speechless by his hiccups’ speed, Atticus found themselves not able to verbalize a response in the throws of their excitement and simply nodded in agreement.

The couple traversed the stairs to their bedroom single-file, as the narrowly designed stairwell only allowed as such. Atticus kept their hand on Otto’s ever bouncing back as they followed him. The sound of his hiccups, which were louder as he exerted himself with the climb up, echoed off the walls.

They came in doubles and triples in between small second respites where Otto found his breath. The clock maker realized that it would have been smarter to induce in their bedroom once they both finally landed on the bed. His hiccups were giving him very little leeway in catching his breath. He forgot how exhausted he got when they had been this fast before. But, unlike before, he was also getting excited. He wanted nothing more than to give Atticus the very best for their birthday and, judging by his partner’s face as they sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and rubbed his back in acknowledgment of his struggles, he was succeeding.

“You good?” they asked, checking in on him. They’d never seen him hiccup this fast so consistently.

He was still on the edge of the bed and was leaning his elbows on his knees. His body was jerking upward every half-second. The hiccups had gotten rounder and sharper as they continued, interspersed with his normal lower and huskier hiccups.

“Hup!-hup!-hup!-hup!-mk!hpk!-hmp!hup!-huUP!-hulp!-huck’l!-hip!hip!-hip!hip!hup!” Otto had attempted to talk but had given it up. Instead he nodded and put a thumb up.

The Saucy Bit

He scooted back on the bed and used a pillow to prop himself up as he pulled out the drawer of the nightstand to dig out supplies. When he looked up he saw Atticus had already begun to disrobe. Their top surgery scar, running across their entire chest from one side to the other and peaking at the middle in curvature, picked up the reflection of the sun through the window. The thickened skin was raised in places a little, hypertrophic scarring that had never decided to settle into the small white line the other parts of the scar had taken on.

The writer was self-conscious about the thickness of the scars, but Otto loved the texture they made as he rubbed his fingers across them as he did now while they leaned forward to take off their sweatpants. They smiled at Otto’s touch trying to set their head against his while he explored their chest but was unsuccessful with how hard Otto’s hiccups continued to jerk his head back rapidly.

As usual, Atticus left their boxers on. Otto never questioned why they didn’t want to expose themselves fully, but he could only guess at the dysphoria they may feel so he trusted them to create that boundary without having to spell it out.

Otto was delighted that Atticus still allowed him to explore their anatomy, though. Being able to actively increase their arousal when they were already aroused by touching them was euphoric. He loved how different Atticus felt to his fingers than anyone else he’d been with, vagina or penis. He had greatly enjoyed experimenting with them to see what felt best and how much pressure to give and where.

With this being in his mind, even while hiccuping madly from his self induction, he rerouted Atticus’ body when they came toward him while facing him. He had an idea and he was having trouble verbalizing anything so he hoped his non-verbal manipulations of their body would translate.

Atticus was confused at first, but at the encouragements of Otto’s hands on their body they found themselves turned to face away from him. Then Otto pressed their back into his front and they suddenly realized why. They could feel every movement facing this way. It was like when they were in the park underneath that tree during Mark’s birthday. Otto, now stripped down nude, was flush to Atticus’ back as he leaned on the pillow cushioning him from the headboard of the bed.

Atticus’ body jerked with Otto’s and they took a breath at the rush of arousal that hit them. They felt his stomach spasm in the small of their back while simultaneously feeling his chest jerk away from them. As usual, Otto found Atty’s neck and nuzzled, his hiccups jerking his head across their shoulder and the loudness of some of them hitting Atticus’ ears increasing their arousal all the more.

“HUP!-HUP!-HUP!-HUCKAH!-huck!huck!-huck’m!-mk!-hup’k!-huppah!huck!-h’muck!-mk!mk!-huck!…” and so on as Otto’s excitement continued.

To say Otto wasn’t getting tired from the onslaught would be a lie. But the excitement he felt as he continued to get harder and harder with each squirm Atticus made and each gasp of ecstasy they let out was worth whatever consequences he might face from the strength and speed of this case.

When Atticus’ hand made to relieve and pleasure Otto he pushed it away.

“Le-hup!-Let-hup!-me-huck!huck!-focu-ulp!-focu—f-hulp!-s on-hup!-on-hup!-yo-hup!hup-you!” he said, struggling. ‘Let me focus on you.’

With a gasp, and boy had Atticus been doing that a lot, they felt Otto’s long fingers slick with lube travel under the front their boxers from behind. They whimpered as he coated them and started his slow administrations. Atticus’ body pressed into Otto’s behind them, legs opening.

Otto’s hand and fingers would twitch as his body lurched with hiccups in between the soft and focused movements and, every time, Atticus found their body jerking in time with the twitches and hiccups. They lost themselves in Otto’s fingers and body and sounds. They moaned and cussed and hissed until breathy gasps hit them when Otto stroked faster against them and they felt the cold hot rush travel up and down their body with a shivering arch of their back and final whimper and their body fully relaxed into the cushion of Otto’s body, still jerking with hiccups.

It took them a few moments to open their eyes, not realizing they’d closed them, and turn toward their husband, head craning up and back to catch his pinched expression of arousal. Knowing, somehow, that Atticus was responsible for that intense look brought a warmth into them they didn’t know quite how to explain.

Otto had already started to grab himself, no longer able to hold back his own needs. Really, he didn’t need lube or a condom and only used the latter for quicker cleanup. He was uncircumcised and made full advantage of his ability to pleasure himself so freely.

“Can I watch?” Atticus breathed, voice as low as their register would go and husky with recent climax.

Otto shivered at their voice and nodded quickly as Atticus turned around. They watched him as he whimpered in stimulated arousal between the spasms his throat was still emitting. Atticus settled themselves beside his body, hand on his stomach, half straddled on his thigh.

Otto locked eyes with his spouse, dark eyes to dark eyes, his hooded by his prominent brow and theirs behind the lenses of their glasses. His hiccups stayed fast but became squeaky, desperate, as he closed his eyes. The feeling of moistness on his thigh from Atticus’ wet soaked crotch through their underwear broke him through with a grunt as he gasped and relaxed, opening his eyes finally and blinking.

The Afterglow

He could feel Atty’s head next to his neck, now, in the crook of his shoulder. He could feel their hand slowly massaging his belly and he realized he did, indeed, still have the hiccups. But, small miracles, they weren’t as fast. Though they were still strong.

“Hu-UCK! Aaah. Mmm. Hu-mmk! Uh. MMK! Mmm,” he muttered as he rubbed his chest.

“Starting to hurt?” Atticus asked, lips moving on his chest before looking up at him.

“Not yet Hu-ulk!-mmm. Just h’plmk!-uh, just tight. Huppah!” he gave a sigh. Some of them were still a little squeaky and it was starting to tickle his throat. He cough-hiccuped a couple of times in response, holding a fist over his mouth. He plapped his hand back down on his chest after he cleared the irritation.

Otto felt his partner’s hand on his cheek and he let his head be guided lazily to their eyes.

“Thank you,” they said passionately.

“That was-huck!-that was good? Huck’m!” he asked.

Atticus took a hand to his chest and gave it a brief massage that elicited a hiccuping sigh from Otto.

“That was amazing,” they confirmed. “I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Ooh-hoop!” Otto exclaimed, straightening up a little bit past the pillow that cushioned him in excitement.

Atty giggled at the movement and expression on his face, eager and earnest. They held his cheek again, loving the rough texture of his short beard on their palm, and leaned in to provide their thanks in a kiss far past their normal chaste fare.

Otto hiccuped once, hard, in the middle of the kiss and as the kiss ended he hiccuped again just as forcefully. His head met the back of the headboard sharply with a crack that probably sounded worse than the impact.

“Ow!” he yelped, holding the back of his head with a wince.

“Holy crap, man!” Atticus said placing their hand over his on the spot where he’d impacted. “Wow, way to ruin a moment!”

“Mmk!-uh, thanks for the sym-mmp!-sympathy huck-ah!” Otto said, the last hiccup hitting him with such force that it sent his head back toward the same spot it had hit before. Fortunately both his and Atticus’ hands prevented it from impacting this time.

“Alright, sit up! Sit up! I do not want a concussed husband for my birthday,” Atty insisted. “You need an antacid? Or cure? I got that lemon juice the other day at the store so you don’t have to keep biting into lemons. Bad for your teeth.”

As Atticus’ hand finally trailed off the back of his hand and down his face before departing completely, Otto sat up, slouching a little, and smiled fondly. The position made his hiccups more apparent and he rubbed his neck feeling the muscles there pull. He’d not had hiccups in so long that he’d forgotten how sore his neck got when they were that fast. Talk about repetitive motion injury. But, spying one of his many clocks, he realized he hadn’t really had them for that long. Though the pleasure he experienced with Atty had made time seem a lot slower. Their speed certainly did a number on his body, though.

“Mmm-hmuck!-mm. Shower fir-erk!-irst?” he suggested. “And I need to holmk!-need to thro-mmk!-throw these sh-hip!-sheets in the washer while mmk!-uh while I’m thinking of it HILP!”

“Shower does sound nice,” Atticus agreed.

“You go st-HERP!-start it while I thr-hup!-throw these in the mmk!-laundry?” he asked, gathering the sheets as they both slid off the bed at last.

“Okay,” they said with a smile and a small kiss to his cheek as he bent down to collect the linens.

Shower-time (implied nudity)

Atticus stood in the shower letting the warmth through their hair and over their body. Their muscles were still charged and they were still a little sensitive from Otto’s birthday present. Just reminiscing the way he looked and how it felt was enough to get them a little excited again.

These sessions they had were infrequent compared to other couples, but absolutely worth the wait. And chances were high that even after this case ended Otto was bound to get them again a few more times before the end of the day.

Atty heard the bathroom door open and: ~H’MUCK!~

The sound shot around the room bouncing sharply off of every surface in a reverberating tinny echo.

“Shit!” Atticus startled. They held the bar of the glass shower door to keep themselves from falling.

“Damn! That wa~higgup!~-uh, was loud. ~hmmk!~” Otto said, covering his mouth to the last hiccup, though it still found a way to echo in the small bathroom. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Atty said pulling the glass door back and peeking out. “Come on in.”

He stepped into the tub and pulled the door to behind. ~Hk-mmp!~ He was trying to muffle them now to prevent the loudness, but now that Atticus was prepared for it his hiccups sounded amazing when amplified by the bathroom’s acoustics.

“I can’t tell,” they said as they moved aside to let him wash water over himself, “are they worse or is it just the bathroom making them sound worse?”

This was the writer’s casual way of checking in on their husband to make sure they were okay. Those hiccups had been no joke. And he’d let them get that way on purpose because of them. While Atticus was touched by the gesture, they were aware that having the hiccups like he had was exhausting and possibly painful.

“I think it’s the ~hulp!~ the bathroom-~HUP!~ Shit! Sorry!” Otto said covering his mouth and then putting the hand on his chest as his head jerked back a few moments after with another that he silenced. That last loud one had taken him by complete surprise.

Atticus couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“It’s okay. I kind of like how it makes them sound,” they admitted. They said this while lathering up their hands and starting to wash his stomach and chest.

Were the silicone scrubbers much more efficient at washing than soap and hands? Yes. But any excuse to touch their partner’s belly and watch the hiccups continue to affect him was worth the deficit.

“Yeah?” Otto said, looking down at their administrations with a smile and a, “~HUCK-uh!~”

He laughed at the ridiculous way the sound carried his hiccup which made him hiccup again, this one a little squeakier. “~HILK!~” Which made him guffaw and he eventually released a, “~huUUCK!~” But that one made him wince as his stomach and chest told his brain that all of this hiccuping nonsense was getting a bit much by sending a little spike of pain into his core.

“Oof…” Atticus responded sympathetically.

“Ugh. ~hu-UCK!~ Yeah. I’m def—definitely getting rid of ~h’MUCK!~ of these before ~mk!mk!~ before going to the antique’s ~humpk!~ store. Ow…” he hissed and then looked sheepish. “Sorry…”

“No apologies necessary,” they said reaching up to caress his face. “You jacked up your diaphragm for me and I am very grateful but you definitely need a break.”

He laughed a little in response, it ending in a “~hu-UP!~” that encouraged him to take a deep measured breath in an attempt to soothe his abused diaphragm.

“Can I ~huULP~ wash the rest of my body, now? ~ULP!~-uh!” he asked as he watched Atticus continue to circle the soap along his chest and belly, his body hair there swirling in response to the movements of their hands.

Atticus paused and looked up, glint of mischief in their eyes for just a moment before they rolled their eyes and sighed dramatically.

“Okay, fine!” they relented.

They turned away from him (and quite possibly the most adequately cleaned belly and chest on the planet) to soap up their own body as he chuckled again.

Planning for the Next Installment (no hiccups)

After both of them had showered and dressed Otto made quick work of curing his hiccups. They had finally started to settle down anyway after the shower and by the time he swallowed the shot of lemon juice they relented easily.

Popping an antacid for good measure, he ushered Atticus into the car.

“You’re up to something…” Atticus said suspiciously.

Otto was grabbing his seat belt and snapping it in with gusto when he looked up.

“Yeah I am! Up to some antiquing!” he said with a grin and a small pinch to his spouse’s shoulder. “C’mon, get your seat belt on!”

“Yeah...no...this is more than that,” Atticus replied as they buckled themselves with not quite as much energy as Otto had somehow revived after his show-stopping hiccups earlier.

“Pssh! What? No! I love antiquing! You know that!”

“Not this much. In fact, you usually get bored halfway through the lots,” they said, eyes narrowed.

“Okay. Do you actually want to keep asking questions?” Otto said, lips pinching closed and eyes wide in askance. His brows went up too as he cocked his head to the side. The expression and gesture implied that if Atticus wanted to be surprised then perhaps they should stop digging.

“...no,” Atticus decided.

“Good answer! Let’s go!” Otto exclaimed.

To be continued… (fondly written ellipses, not ominously)

[artinandwritin]

I just finished the final how to train your dragon book so here's a little Hiccup and Toothless doodle!! They're so baby and deserve all the love in the world

[uddergoddess]

Drunk, stuffed, and achy

Been super drunk and stuffed from the moment I could be today

[textbasedgameenthusiast]

oh my fucking god, im trying to get into obey me nb but the technical shit is SO FUCKING BAD

[feluka]

re last poll: idk where this goes on the scale but my family and i have no problem with stinging pain or tummy pain when it comes to spicy food and we eat it all the time HOWEVER we all get very intense hiccups when we eat chili peppers. specifically chili peppers in the natural raw form (dried/powedered chili is fine). and any other forms of spicy food is fine. but when i eat raw chili peppers (which i love!!) i get these hiccups that feel like my soul is trying to escape my body and is violently rattling me in protest. like the most brutal hiccups in history skjefhlsajeifhlsa

[michikatsu-slut]

English Kings are exactly like giant, overpowered, "god given power", babies

[chuluoyi]

HAPPY MARRIAGE

- nanami kento x reader

“you don't deserve to be unhappy. and i don’t want to be unhappy, either.” you have always wondered where did you and kento go wrong. in the wake of your divorce, as you both returned to single lives, you and kento would come to realize what constitutes a happy marriage is... and it takes more than just love

genre/warnings: post-divorce angst, crack, misunderstandings, arguments, hurt/comfort, bestfriend!gojo is going to help your love life, and fluff in the end!

note: this fic... goes through a major change overnight after i was struck with a wholly different plot *sobs* and then i went through a major writing block for at least a week before i know what words i'm going to write :') anyways, this isn't really proofread so please forgive any typos to the anon who requested this and others, i do hope you'll enjoy it! tagging @tiredkitten as per request <3

listen to: today more than yesterday - kim jong kook

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

No divorce ever comes easy.

When couples enter into marriage, they do so with the dream of a lifelong bond filled with love and compassion. You too did once. And even until now, you still want that for yourself.

When you married Nanami Kento three years ago, you thought it was for eternity. He was your dream man, the only man you could see yourself with. He embodied everything that was just and righteous, and he was also kind man, who would always put you first, shielding you from any sort of harm.

Even if the source of that ‘harm’ turned out to be himself.

“You don't deserve to be unhappy. and I don’t want to be unhappy, either.”

Strangely, you didn't resent Kento that much, in the end. At that time, both of you had come to terms with it and you couldn't blame anyone. But now, six months later, as you sat in this shabby bar, downing shots of gin with your thoughts swirling in an alcohol-induced haze, your emotions were all over the place, and moreover, the presence of a certain clown before you was just particularly irksome, and you knew that he was someone you could blame—

“Gojo, you prick!”

Gojo raised one righteous eyebrow. "Who, me? Sorry, but I'm not your ex-husband?"

Gojo Satoru was the witness to several milestone in your life. Insufferable as he was, somehow you clicked with him ever since your early days as a jujutsu sorcerer. You remembered sending him your handpicked wedding invitation, having him celebrating your promotions, and then coming to him with tears running down your face in the middle of the night, telling him, “We are getting a divorce.”

"You!" you snapped, slamming down your glass of gin, whipping your head around to face the blindfolded idiot that was your longtime friend. Your index finger accusingly aimed at him. "This is all your fault!"

"Wha—"

"Because of you!"

"Okay, now it's clear that you're just too far gone—"

You hiccupped, your tone laced with fiery emotion. "If it weren't for you—if you hadn't been so adamant about setting us up back then—!"

Gojo grimaced. Ah, so this was the so-called drunken musings. While it was amusing to see his friend of 7 years in this state, even he couldn't deny how a tad bit pitiful you were.

"...then maybe," you started to deflate, eyes watering and lips trembling, sniffling. "I-I won't have to go through this..."

Correction, you were so pitiful you had no idea. But still, as a longtime associate, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you there, wallowing in your sorrows all alone.

He sighed and patted your back. "There, there... what about I introduce you to other guys, hmm? See if it'll lessen the pain away?"

You shot him a look so hateful despite your bleary vision. "No! Last time you did, it ended in a divorce for me! I refuse to let you turn me into a two-time divorcee!"

"I'm pretty sure your marriage is far from my business, I'm just your kind-hearted, handsome broker—"

"Bah! You— tasteless prick!"

You burped loudly afterwards and Gojo winced, and then you suddenly (and theatrically, he might add) slumped face-down onto the table with a thud, passed out in all your drunken glory.

And Gojo could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief.

. . .

He thought then, that you were definitely going to owe him one after this.

More often than not, throughout the past six months, Nanami also found himself thinking about you too.

Despite his calm exterior, separation with you didn't come easy for him. There was a reason he married you in the first place—he had loved you, and he too wanted it to last. You used to be the reason he went home on time each and everyday, the reason he eagerly anticipated spending his weekends with.

Everything had fallen apart before either of you realized it. Some disagreements suddenly spiraled into lonely nights, no updates during longer missions, your tears, and then ended with both of you filing the papers in the city hall to end it all.

Six months ago, he thought he was final with his decision. He thought it was the best as he was faced with the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Kento, I’m not asking m-much, am I?” you asked between sobs, wiping your tears harshly. “Aren’t w-we family? Shouldn’t we be doing a lot of things—together?”

Recalling that moment now, it tugged at his heartstrings anew. Yet, despite everything...

“I’m telling you, I know my limits—”

“Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know how sick with worry I am?” you ended up shouting at him, voice quivering. “Put yourself in my shoes and think: how can I possibly sleep at night, constantly fearing that my husband might—” your voice broke, fresh tears flowing freely. “—might not come back?!”

He was the one who backed away first, who made you lose all hope, and ultimately, placed the sentence upon you.

“If you don't have it in you to... then, perhaps it's for the best that we... just get a divorce.”

"Nanami-san, you okay?"

He looked up from the sizzling barbeque grill pan to his junior, Ino Takuma, who looked concerned as he flipped the meat. "You have been staring into space for a while..."

"I'm fine, Ino-kun." He looked down and grabbed the tongs, flipping his side of beef.

Ino let out a sympathetic sigh. "Honestly, lately, you seem down."

Words he was holding back were "ever since your divorce", but Ino was pretty sure his senior understood the implicaton.

Nanami hummed. "Sometimes life just doesn't go as swimmingly... I'm fine."

Ino never really knew you that well and was curious. In fact, he was so very curious. When it comes to Nanami Kento, everything he does and has done is always with justified and sound reason, but he might be biased because the 7:3 sorcerer was his role model.

It might verge on invading his privacy, but—

"They said... Gojo-san was your matchmaker back then?" he went through with the question anyway, testing the waters. "I don't mean to pry, but I just thought it's cute."

To Ino's surprise, Nanami's lips curled into a small smile. "It's fine, Ino-kun. I think it has become common knowledge by now. Yeah... he was."

"For you to have fallen for someone who was Gojo's acquaintance... it speaks volumes about how charming Y/N is."

"Mmm," he nodded slightly as he indulged in the grilled meat. "She is."

"Nanami-san." Okay, Ino was starting to think that he wouldn't be getting his point across if he went the roundabout way. He would shoot it straight then. "I don't mean to patronize you... but if you're really that miserable, then I think you should go back to her and talk things out, no?"

Nanami put down his chopsticks and let out a soft sigh, making Ino to immediately regret his blatant suggestion.

"Before arriving at such a difficult decision, of course we did try to discuss some things," he explained, his gaze meeting his calmly. "I don't take matters like divorce lightly, Ino-kun."

"But still... now—"

To drove the point home, Nanami chose to vocalize the conclusion that still left a bitter taste in his mouth to this day:

"She is unhappy with the way things are, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I can't provide what she needs."

Ino's gaze fell in dejection. "Nanami-san..."

Nanami chuckled fondly. “I appreciate your concern, Ino-kun. Thank you.”

In front of his junior, he could maintain composure and narrated the collapse of his own marriage as if he were a mere spectator. But in his heart of hearts, Nanami Kento wasn’t at all the stoic man he made everyone believed he was—the fact that he had failed to give you the life of happiness he promised on the day he proposed to you still stung him to this day.

It hurt him, but echoing your words, he couldn't subject you to a marriage that felt like a dull cohabitation with little understanding.

“We never really talk anymore, do we...? We never really work on our problems too. Kento, lately, I feel like... things have changed.”

Suppose what he had to do was letting you go now.

It was easier said than done, because when Nanami saw you the next day at the school—this being the first time in several weeks—he almost couldn’t keep his cool.

"Ichiji, don't be too stiff!" you slapped the poor guy in the back with a giggle. "It's just me, it's been a while!"

You didn't look much different than the last he saw you—still the chirpy self he unwittingly fell in love with, staying on top of the latest fashion trends and all. Yet, there was definitely something different about you, something he just couldn't quite identify...

And then those cheerfulness deflated when your gaze met his, eyes widening as you tried to get your bearings. "Oh—h-hi, Kento."

That's too forced. It was so unnatural that made him almost wince.

"Hello." But the tremble in his voice, too, betrayed him. "Have you been well?"

You shifted your gaze away from him, and right before you answered, you let out a cough, and that was when he spotted it: you looked kind of pale.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's good then."

Silence. This was the absolute worst.

Nanami exhaled. It was you he was talking to, his ex-wife. He knew you inside out—or at least, he used to. He knew you didn't like this dryness as much as he did. He had to say something.

He braved himself. "Are you here for a mission?"

You looked at him in slight surprise. "Oh... yeah."

Darn it. Another dry reply.

"There... is a cursed totem in North Tokyo," you elaborated, not really looking at him. "Gojo's out from tomorrow until next week. I'm substituting for him to assist the first years."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" Nanami found himself asking before he could stop. "I mean no disrespect, but you look a bit pale."

"I am," you snapped, leaving him surprised. It was as though he had unintentionally struck a nerve, quickly turning your mood sour. "I'm fully capable of handling this, Kento."

"Please, I don't mean to upset you. I'm just..."

Worried about you. Somehow his throat closed in, it didn't really feel right to say that now.

"—I know how rash you can be." He regretted his words as soon as they were out.

It was clearly a bad choice of words as you took offense, your expression quickly turned into one of disdain.

"How rich... that it's coming from you," you scowled.

Memories of your failed marriage flooded your mind's eye. The long nights your ex-husband didn't bother to leave you a message. How he would return home with wounds and blood staining his clothes. And now... he had the nerve to insinuate that you were the reckless one?

"I can take care of myse—"

"That's a whole load of bullshit!"

Good grief. Why must Gojo pick this exact scene to show up?

The blindfold took big strides and halted between the two of you, pointing one finger in your face.

“Last night, she got wasted. Like totally wasted! She could barely walk straight afterwards and then she had the audacity to blame me! Me! For all her mess! Goodness, I’m just a very chivalrous friend and yet—”

"Shut up!" you were horrified, face flushed with embarrassment. "Gojo, you complete jerk!"

Nanami wouldn't admit it, but there was always something between you and Gojo Satoru that made him a bit uncomfortable, even way back when the two of you were still married. Perhaps the closeness, the candidness you shared. He knew you wouldn't harbor anything for someone as elusive as Gojo Satoru, but still, it remained an uncomfortable sight for him.

Like there was nothing pleasant about knowing Gojo Satoru was the one taking care of you in your drunken stupor. You shouldn't have in the first place. If it were him, he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. If he were still the one by your side—

Despite himself, thoughts like that swirled in his mind far often than he would've liked.

Suddenly, the air felt stifling. Nanami didn't like this at all, and even as you two were still harmlessly bickering, he chose to leave.

"Oiii, Nanami!"

He had barely left the room when the person he disliked the most emerged from the door, following closely behind him. Gojo evidently knew what his thoughts were. As irritating as he was, the bloke was smart, he wasn't the strongest for nothing.

"Na-na-mi! You can't just leave like that! We're going to have lunch together—"

"Gojo-san," Nanami stopped in his tracks and let out an exasperated sigh, throwing the white-haired idiot a glare so hard it would curse him if only glares could. "Please stop bothering me."

“How cold-hearted,” the blindfold replied in a mocking scoff. “No matter how, she was once your wife. How could you not care one bit?”

“We have gone on our separate ways, and if she is good with the way things are, then so am I.”

What a lie. He still couldn't help but to care. If you ever needed his help in whatever way even now, he would still move heavens for you.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Nanami,” Gojo suddenly interjected in a less playful manner. “She is really missing you, you know.”

But you had your best friend by your side, didn't you? Someone perfect, without equal. Surely, you wouldn't need him anymore.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure that she's good with the way things are?"

"What exactly is she not good with?"

"Everything? You never ask her."

This was getting irritating, and before Nanami really lost control over himself, he finally drew a line.

"Gojo-san, I'm tired of people assuming things about our current relationship," he said, leveling a piercing look at him. "We are both adults. We reached the decision to separate because we both know why. If this is your way of showing concern, then thank you—but I'd prefer if you didn't interfere any further. We're handling this just fine, and by all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore."

With that, he left. Even when he wanted to stay longer with you, even when, in his wildest dreams, he wanted to rebuild everything with you again—

He knew you were there, hearing all of this.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "Grr... You're so stubborn..."

. . .

There was a reason why you went to the school. Yaga's sudden request and of course, the chance to see Nanami again.

But when your conversation ended in a bitter note and he walked away, a part of you plunged into instant panic, compelling you to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gojo.

But as expected from you cool ex-husband, he was all rationale and logic.

By all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore.

Nanami would think so, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be bothered either.

You shouldn't have expected more. This was no television drama in which the couple would get back together that easily. You were living in the harsh reality of jujutsu world, which basically, was the cause of your divorce in the first place.

At one point, you found it all to be exhausting, but upon reflection, it was more painful to acknowledge that he never truly fought to keep you by his side.

Tears welled up in your eyes unbidden, and you walked away quickly, brushing them away.

This is it. There is no use hoping anymore.

If you weren't on missions, then you'd likely be drinking. This had been the undeniable truth over the past few weeks.

Gojo found both you and Nanami to be irritating. The way both of you would evade each other was just plain stupid by this point, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were still not over each other.

"Nanami! Why don't you join us for dinner tonight!"

And since you were such an irritable drunk, he chose to keep poking the easier target.

Nanami shot him a scathing look, definitely done. "I have a prior appointment. Goodbye."

"Hoh?! But! They'll have free drinks!"

For the life of him, Nanami just wanted to go back home. He had minus interest in free drinks and even less in Gojo himself, and he would make his points clear.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, I don't want any part in your—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Ooh, wait a minute, Nanamin! I got a call!"

Nanami gritted his teeth in pure annoyance. He truly didn't care about his call and seized the chance to walk away quickly, eager to flee.

Until—

"Hello? Yes. Yes... what? Huh— Y/N is rushed to hospital?"

...and that caused him to halt abruptly. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

You're hurt?

"I mean why—the hell? Severe bleeding?!" Gojo's voice dramatically rose, seemingly in surprise. "Whoa, uh, traffic accident?!"

Within seconds, everything as he knew it came to an end. He spun around, yanking the phone from Gojo's grasp, indifferent to whether it caught the latter off guard or not.

"Which hospital is this?" he demanded from the person on the other end, his voice rough and harsh. Suddenly, the fog in his mind dissipated, and he was consumed by panic.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's not—oh, it's Tokyo General Hospital—"

"Thank you." Nanami shoved the phone back to Gojo and broke into a sprint, in search of taxi.

At this moment, everything was a plethora of chaos—his surroundings melded into a blur, the constant honking of nearby vehicles echoed in his ears, and the relentless pounding in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing else held any significance. Nothing, except you.

Why did you get hurt? How did you even get into a traffic accident?

This was maddening. His world was falling apart hard and fast. The beginnings of heartbreak, stirring and churning in the depths of his stomach, once again threatened to drown him whole—

To others it may seem laughable that he was this shaken over an ex-wife, but precisely because you were his ex-wife was why he was running through the streets of Shibuya, opting not to take the cab as the traffic jam was at its peak.

Oh, how Nanami regretted it. He regretted a multitude of things; those long nights, silent treatments, your tears, divorcing you. If he could turn back the time, he'd do anything in his power to prevent that divorce from ever happening. He'd treasure you better, he'd make time for you more—

Because what if, now you were really slipping away from him for good? What if, he would never see you ever again?

Within minutes, he arrived at the said hospital, haggard, spooking the nurses, demanding your room number.

Thank heavens that the visiting hour wasn't over yet. He marched towards the said room, all of his logic and rationale flying out of window as he threw open the door.

And then he saw the pristine bed, IV drip, and you—

Sitting upright on the bed, turning a page of a magazine, your eyes widening and blinking at him in complete confusion—

Huh, what?

The last thing you would expect after waking up in the hospital was your ex-husband barging in unannounced, looking as though he'd just survived a whirlwind.

"Kento...?" you almost squeaked, taken aback at the sight.

His hair was a sweaty mess, his usually immaculate suit was crinkled and his tie was loosened, but it was the look in his eyes that grabbed your attention—as if expecting the worst.

“Are you alright?” he grounded out, approaching you in deliberately slow steps. “How long has it since you woke up?”

“Um... yes? Since about an hour or so.” You frowned. “Kento, what are you doing here?”

“They said you have severe bleeding, involved in an accident—”

“What! No! Did the hospital reach out to you?” you felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. “I was sure I have removed you from my emergency contacts—”

“Gojo did—”

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and he cursed under his breath. “That rotten bastard!”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant at all. To his credit, Nanami didn’t dwell long on his thoughts and faced you once again with another fresh batch of confusion. “Wait, Gojo is your emergency contact? Why?”

“Should anything happen to me and a payment is required to settle it, he can handle the bills first?”

If Nanami didn’t look exasperated before then he sure did now. “Y/N… you…”

He released the deepest sigh imaginable before settling onto the sofa, further tousling his hair and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know I ran to get here because I thought something bad happened to you?” Nanami stated in a strained voice.

Why did your heart skip a beat? Why was Nanami suddenly playing the part of a concerned husband when the time for it has long passed?

Feeling suddenly irritated, you rolled your eyes. “I just passed out due to high blood pressure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” his eyes squared on you, quiet anger behind them. “In what sense does you passing out ever ‘not a big deal’? What have you been doing?”

"Why does that even matter to you still?" you contested. "You were the one who said everyone should stop linking us together by now."

"Y/N, you're missing the—"

"You divorced me!" you screamed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as the urge to cry threatened to consume you. "You... h-have divorced me, Nanami Kento!"

Nanami felt as if a blade had pierced and twisted his chest at the sight of you—your quivering form, the stifled sobs. He had never wished to see you in such despair again.

"So why!" you finally broke down and sobbed. "Why did you play the caring husband now? Why not before? Why do you keep toying with my feelings...?"

"I'm not." Nanami grunted, getting up and approaching your bed. "I never meant to. That was never my intention. I never—"

"Then what!? What are you doing? Why did you throw me out just like that and why now—"

"Believe me when I said that I never want you to be miserable!"

You halted mid-rant, eyes wide as you gazed at him. Blinking, you felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was the first time Nanami had ever raised his voice at you. Even in the past, he never had.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through your abdomen, causing you to instinctively clutch it. You whimpered, a nearly involuntary squeak escaping you, feeling the intense burn inside.

Nanami immediately got a hold of your hunched form, alarmed. "What is it? What hurts?" When all you could manage were pained sniffles in response, he swiftly hit the nurses' button and enveloped you in his embrace.

"Hold on," he comforted, placing a hand over where you clutched your abdomen, trying to offer some relief in any way. "They'll be here soon, don't pass out!"

"Mmngh," you gripped his hand in response, squeezing it as you slumped into his chest. For the first time in six months, you were enveloped in his warmth once again, and despite everything that had transpired, you were deeply moved by his gesture.

It took seeing you in such distress to dispel any doubts Nanami may have had. You were so petite against him, so delicate as you squirmed amidst your tears.

Had you experienced pain like this in the past six months? The thought made his heart lurch. Did no one comfort you at all?

. . .

And that was when he decided it.

He never, ever wants to see you in any sort of pain, ever again. And should it happen, then he'll be the one staying by your side, just like this.

Alcoholic gastritis. You consumed so much alcohol that it irritated your ulcer and causes a really painful tummy ache.

You could feel Nanami's judging gaze on you as your attending doctor explained your predicament. Truth to be told, you were quite ashamed. Your unhealthy lifestyle were laid bare before your ex-husband and it made you feel like a kid being scolded for misbehaving.

After the doctor left, Nanami sighed and pulled out a chair next to your bed. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah..." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry, that... you have to see that."

But thankfully, he was unflappable as ever. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's fine."

You were kind of embarrassed of your outburst earlier too. While you didn't regret expressing your feelings, you pondered if could've done it in a less confrontational way.

At this point, you'd accept anything. Even if Nanami told you off after this—

"Let me continue from what I was saying earlier," he suddenly began, catching your attention. You perked up, and looked at him expectantly.

Nanami released a deep sigh, and the words he spoke next were ones you never thought you'd hear from him again.

"Did you remember what I said when I proposed our divorce?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. You wordlessly nodded, because it was one of the lines that made you unable to hate him completely.

"I said, you don't deserve to be unhappy." Nanami looked you right in the eyes, undaunted. "And that still stands until now."

Now fully engrossed in his words, the rhythm of your heart intensified, echoing in your chest.

"It wasn't a decision I blurted out lightly. I know you're hurt, because I am too. I married you with a reason. I have loved you. and if you were to ask me now, my answer would be the same—I am still in love with you."

Why did it feel like your vision was beginning to blur once more?

"But," Nanami's face contorted into a frown, gazing hard at you. "If staying with me is what makes you miserable—if waiting nights after nights, hoping I can make it each time haunts you so much—then I'm more than willing to release you from that burden. I don't want to subject you to that life."

Warm tears slid down your cheeks. Sniffling, you averted your gaze, looking downwards.

"Look, I make you cry again," he sighed, a mix of fondness and sadness in his voice, as a bitter smile graced his lips. One of his thumbs gently lifted your jaw, while the other tenderly wiped away your tears.

"Kento, I—" you quickly looked up, swallowing the lump in your throat. You had made up your mind. "I don't want you to leav—"

"I know," he cut in, his voice solemn, as he stroked your tear-streaked cheeks. "I know, and that's exactly why I'm going to say what I'm about to say next."

And with his next words, your heart burst into complete, utter warmth—

"Let's start over." Nanami Kento's voice was your lifeline, anchoring you and keeping you afloat. "We can take our time. There's no rush—we can return to how things were in the beginning. And when you're ready, then and only then... will I ask you to marry me again."

The one person who has your heart in his grasp, someone whom you are willing to care way more than yourself... You were openly sobbing now and yet a radiant smile broke through your tears.

There was only one answer you had in mind.

Five years later

"Yes! Yes! Yay!"

Today was sunny, just like the day of your wedding. Memories flooded back as you glanced at the grand wedding portrait in the foyer, a snapshot of yourself and your husband in blissful celebration.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the gentle smile on Kento's face amidst his typically stiff posture. You remembered his vows to you.

The one person who I will look for the rest of my life... is you. I have never met someone so important and precious to me that it hurts.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Oh, he's home.

As you opened the door, your smile grew even broader, until a small figure darted past you at such speed that you were left gawking.

"Daddy!" your daughter's voice rang out with pure delight, leaping into your husband's arms the moment he swung the car door open, catching him off guard.

"Oh my, why are you so sweaty?" Kento inquired, scrutinizing your daughter with a puzzled frown, yet holding her close. "I thought we're going to the playground after this?"

"She's so excited for it that she keeps running and jumping around all the while," you chimed in with a gentle sigh, affectionately ruffling your daughter's hair as she beamed up at both of you.

Before long, the three of you set off to the playground, fulfilling the promise you had made to your daughter. As she entertained herself with the slides, Kento's low chuckle drew your attention. "What's so funny?"

"She takes after you a lot, you know," he remarked, a fond smile on his face. "The way she is just full of energy."

"Really? But sometimes she'll get this wrinkly little scowl on her face when she's annoyed—she looks like you then."

"Wrinkly...? No, surely I don't have that many wrinkles yet..."

Your laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy found in these simple, everyday moments.

Unexpected moments of joy, the comfort of family, and a love that had grown and evolved, stronger and more resilient with time...

And this, is what you'd call a happy marriage.

[bunnyrafe]

𓊆ྀིrafe gets high before you two have very important plans𓊇ྀི

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. 600 f/kook!reader, high/mean!rafe, drug use, addiction, toxic relationship, light violence, angst (hurt & comfort).

Truthfully— you’ve never been this angry at him before.

You believe you both reached a new low the second he walked through your bedroom door with shaky hands and blown out pupils, a mere hour and a half before dinner with your parents. Immediately you pout, the light in your eyes dissipates, and then the rage takes over. You stand up from your vanity, finding yourself pointing and screaming before you can blink. You don’t allow him a chance to begin running his mouth or start spewing bullshit excuses you’ve heard one too many times already.

“You promised me you’d be sober, Rafe!”

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by your smaller hands smacking his own away or the tears collecting at your painted lashes. Rafe only cares about himself when he’s high. So he grabs up your waist, attempting to press kisses to your freshly blushed cheeks to calm you down—

“Princess...”

“Fuck off,” you sniffle between the words.

At that, Rafe’s eyes narrow. Fury pools in his irises, forcing a shiver down your spine and fear induced heat to prickle at the back of your neck. Your glossy lips part, staring up at him while he closes in on you. His handsome but contorted features a mere inch away from your own— you can smell it on him— a mixture of chemicals and weed smoke, some bourbon disguised by mint gum on his breath as the cherry on top. His teeth clench as he speaks, “You need to watch that fucking mouth of yours, do you understand?”

“Let go of me,” you squeal. Only for Rafe’s arms to tighten around you, practically swinging you back and forth as you try to escape him.

“I said— fuckin’ stop,” Rafe growls, trying his best to hold you right against his brick wall of a chest. Your squirming and fighting dies down just enough for him to keep you planted there while he continues on, a large hand gripping your jaw and giving your pretty head a little shake that makes a whimper crawl up your throat, “I asked if you understand. ‘Cause if my girl thinks she can keep runnin’ her mouth like that, we’re gonna— gonna have a big problem.”

It hits you then. A wave of shame and regret when you realize how stupid it was of you to ever question him. Let alone defy him… to start something you could never finish with the way you’re wrapped around his finger. You’re full blown sobbing now, sniveling and shaking, “But you promised me…”

Maybe there are a lot of bad bones in Rafe’s body. God knows that's true. But if there’s one complete and utter soft spot he has in this world, it’s you. Watching you so upset, even when it’s brought on by him, makes him nervous. Makes him weak at the knees and nauseous. He’s quick to shush you, whispering out sweet names and squeezing you in his hold while you hiccup pathetic noises.

“Oh, princess.” He breathes out. He’s guiding you to your bed, and you’re now pliant enough to let him lay you down. His fingers mess with the strings on your silk robe. They tug until the garment comes loose, barely covering your trembling body from him so he can nuzzle his face into the soft, perfumed skin of your chest.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I’ll get ready right now— show your parents that their little girl has the best man, alright?”

You nod once. When you look at him with those tear filled eyes, he feels a dagger through his heart. Your lashes flutter and it slows down the drumming in his chest brought on by the drugs, knocks the breath right out his lungs. It’s enough to have him suddenly acting right…

©BUNNYRAFE 2024

[aether-starlight]

Gymnopédie - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, innuendos.

Summary: You confuse Zayne’s number with your trusted ride back home. When he insists on picking you up himself, how could you refuse?

Word Count: 1.7 K

The world was spinning, but in a pleasant way, as if gravity no longer affected you. You felt close to floating instead of walking, weightless as the cherry blossom petals that drifted through the air.

You were so light, in fact, that your fingers struggled to exert any pressure on the numbers in your screen, phone nearly slipping out of your hands and crashing into the pavement.

You leaned against Tara, both of you giggling about nothing in particular as you sat by the sidewalk. Her arm was wrapped around your shoulders, the sides of your heads pressed together.

Mojitos had been flowing like water tonight, a celebratory dinner after a mission completed with no casualties, hunter or civilian. 

For a moment, you had been able to let go, put down the weight of grief, fear and uncertainty in favor of comradery, cheers and funny anecdotes from Captain Jenna and the eldest members of UNICORN.

Surrounded by your peers, you knew for sure someone had your back, and they wouldn’t let you fall without falling themselves first.

Pressing your phone to your ear—and almost dropping it again—, you impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

Absentmindedly, you drew a strand of Tara’s silky hair between your tingling fingers.

“Your hair is soooo pretty,” you hiccuped. 

“Oooooo. Thank you!” Tara pouted, close to tears, redder than ever. You probably looked no better.

“You’re welcome! I need you to give me some tips because ever since that wanderer burnt half of my freaking scalp—“

“Hello?”

You had forgotten you were on the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mister Song, hi~ I don’t see you.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and you almost pulled down your phone to check if Mister Song hadn’t hung up on you.

“It’s Zayne.”

The smile fell off your face, and like a fool, you double checked the contact name, as well as the time.

It was 3 am.

“Goddess, I’m so sorry. I thought—“

He cut you off, voice thick with sleep, not missing an inch of its imposing nature.

“Are you drunk?” 

You winced—that was his admonishment voice, the one he used when your bood tests weren’t within standards, or you had circles under your eyes. 

Like a huge cosmic joke, Tara giggled, leaning closer to slur:

“Is that your Doctor? He does sound as grumpy as you s—” You pressed your free hand to her lips, her whole face burning like a furnace.

The silence was deafening. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had grimaced on the other side of the line, a half amused twist of his lips.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sure,” he replied goodnaturedly. “Send me your location.”

Defeated, you hid behind a curtain of your hair. A terrible decision, considering how the world began to spin, even as you closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

By the time Zayne arrived, Tara was snoring, head resting on your shoulder. Meanwhile, you had been sipping on a bottle of water Captain Jenna had kindly given you before leaving.

“Hi,” you greeted once he lowered the passenger’s window, mortified.

His gaze met yours, inscrutable. He looked as awake as ever, had it not been for the slight ruffle of his hair, not quite as perfect as he was used to wearing it.

“Oh, you’re here!” Tara slurred, suddenly awake. “This one wouldn’t shut up about you, you know?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced fantasy.

A swift pinch to your elbow let you know that sadly, it was not the case.

“I’ll assist you.” Was Zayne’s only reply, door slamming it his wake as he approached to hold onto Jenna’s arm. 

If there was the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth, you preferred not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps your friend could share more details on your opinion of me,” he teased over Tara’s head, hematite eyes full of mirth.

Now it was your face burning up. You were going to kill her when she was sober.

“Of course!” Tara hicupped happily. “She said she missed you,” she sing songed, extending the last word to an unnatural degree.

Tara —thank the Goddess— became dead weight as soon as her head hit the inside of Zayne’s ridiculously expensive car. 

Which left you in a somewhat awkward silence. You said somewhat because Zayne seemed as comfortable as ever.

A low melody played from the stereo, something calm and melancholic. He had told you the name once: Gymnopédie No. 1.

Only once Tara was safely back to her parent’s house—her mother hugged you in thanks for taking care of her, making a tight knot grow at the back of your throat— was that Zayne dared to speak.

“This Mister Song, who is he?” He inquired, something flickering through his features much too quick for your dizzy mind to comprehend. His knuckles became pronounced, hands tightening against the wheel.

“My driver?” You replied, confused.

He hummed, eyes on the road.

“A close…friend of yours?”

“Does it matter?” 

He shrugged, but it was far too stiff to be genuine.

“It always matters who you place your trust in.”

Silence reigned after that, nothing but your breathing breaking it.

What he said made sense, but the depth of his frown didn’t. He was driving you crazy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

It was only once you had replayed the conversation in your head, that realization crashed over you. Something somersaulted in your stomach, filled you with an indescribable emotion.

“Zayne…are you jealous?” 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause, mirth had permeated into your every word.

This was the closest you had seen him to bashful, pale pink blooming on his cheeks, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

He loosened his hold on the wheel, letting the car come to a stop, as you were now at his place.

Your smile withered a bit at his lack of response, and took the brief silence as an opportunity to admire him. Zayne’s mouth had tilted down in a now sullen mien. 

There wasn’t anything precisely pointing to it, but you could tell he had built a wall, frozen distance even within the warmth of his car.

“You are right. It is none of my concern,” he said, voice icy and impersonal.

Gripping his chin between your fingers, you guided his gaze back to you.

“Mister Song is a seventy year old man. I met him when his taxi was totaled by a Wanderer attack. He’s been my trusted driver ever since.”

He let the information sink in, the jealousy brimming inside him simmering. 

A jealousy he knew he had no right to, which only served to upset him further.

You were not his. 

But he was yours.

And yet, something in the way you looked at him begged to differ. You weren’t his because he couldn’t bring himself to ask, because he was a fool.

“What’s that look for?” You whispered, fingers trailing down his shoulder, basking in the soft fabric of his black shirt.

“What look?” 

You tried to replicate his gesture, brows pulling together, almost making you go cross eyed.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. 

“Hey, I’m trying,” you complained, raising your hand to intertwine with the other at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t comment on it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your words still had a slurred edge to them.

“There is no winning with you.”

You laughed back.

“Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.” 

“Who said that?” 

It was only then that a question that had been begging to be asked rose from the back of your mind.

“Why are we at your place?” You tilted your head to the side.

The petal spots in Zayne’s cheeks deepened in color.

“I would like to keep you under my observation, as you are still intoxicated.” He hesitated for a second, a low exhale escaping him. “If I have your permission.”

Your smile tempered into something different. Not upset, but serious. 

As you regarded Zayne, something tightened in your chest. It hurt, but left you wanting. 

Goddess, you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. It was a prayer your body hummed whenever he was close.

“I’d love to, Zayne,” you whispered. brushing a thumb to the edge of his jaw before letting go.

A light dinner, anc copious amounts of water afterwards, you were lying side by side with Zayne, wearing one of his shirts, and joggers that were definitely much to big for you.

The lamps on each side of his bed were on, as you were having a light conversation. He was resting against the headboard, while you had your face shamelessly pressed to the pillow on your side. 

The scent of it soothed you, of lavender and soap.

“I have sent you letters,” he denied, voice rough with sleep.

“If only I could have managed to read them.”

He frowned deeper at your poke at his chicken scratch. Some things were just inescapable in the medical field, you supposed.

You leaned closer, finding his gaze even as he purposefully avoided it, suddenly brimming with affection.

“Aw, was that too mean?” You cupped his face between your hands, and much like the black stray cat you liked to feed, he reluctantly leaned into your touch. 

Boldened by it, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I did read them, you know?” Your hands cradled the sides of his neck, thumbs resting below his earlobe. “I kept them all.” 

Zayne’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain serious, gray eyes boring into yours.

“I kept your replies too,” he murmured, turning to lay a kiss on your wrist. “Though I was tempted to correct some grammar mistakes.”

You huffed, dropping your hands.

“Rude! For your information, my writing is impeccable.”

“You said perchance an unacceptable amount.” He chided, seeming to mull it over. “I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

He was probably right.

“Whatever,” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the head of his bed, setting your eyes forward.

The mattress dipped beside you, hinting at Zayne’s closeness.

“Are you upset?” He asked with an undertone of mirth to his faux concern.

You felt yourself flush deeper, forcing out a sarcastic reply.

“What makes you think that?” 

He pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“As you so eloquently put into words, I’m obsessed with you.”

When you turned your head, your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” You breathed out. “How much?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he admitted, fixated on your lips, minty breaths mingling.

You smiled, pressing closer until your mouth brushed his.

“Good.”

[writingforfishes]

Inducing thoughts

Every morning, I drink my coffee when it's a little too warm and every morning I am disappointed.

Every evening, I drink a carbonated beverage and every evening I am disappointed.

I put a little more spice, sometimes. But no.

I take a little air in and burp it out, perhaps more than normal. But no.

I fake them. I fake them fast. I fake them hard. I fake them soft. I fake them silent. I fake them loud. I fake them muffled.

No.

I let my belches out.

I keep my belches in.

Nope.

I get nervous. I get excited. I laugh. I cry.

I jiggle my belly. I poke under my ribs.

Nothing.

My diaphragm is an impressive being.

My phrenic nerve is sure of its purpose.

My vagus nerve is buried under protection only offering me panic attacks, sneezing from dry bread, and vaso vagal responses from blood as it's expressions of disorder.

My body is assuredly not a fish's body.

My reflex arc for belching is tried and true and never off its mark.

I am stuck with this overly efficient respiratory system.

My disappointment is hilarious.

Maybe one day I'll try sparkling wine again.

But those were not fun days when I couldn't help myself to bury in the lack of care it gave me.

The mornings were the worst.

My only hope is age making things a little less efficient and my diaphragm letting loose a little to offer me some fun.

[kiiozawa]

A small drabble because moving out has driven me up a wall!!!

Pairing: Ex-Bf! Sukuna x Server! Reader

Warnings: SWF, drinking, slight alcoholism behavior if u squint, usage of pet names, princess, sweetheart

Word Count: Less than 800

A/N: the idea came to me while I was drinking Sauza tequila NGL not proofread!!!!

The cool breeze from the rolled down window hit your flushed face rousing you from your tequila induced slumber. You reluctantly opened your heavy eyes as you started to piece together where you were and more importantly who you were with. The Sauza tequila sloshed in your brain as you raised your head from the window.

"Well, well, well. Look who's awake?" You instantly recognized the deep voice despite your drunken state spoke.

It startled you to the point you almost sobered up. Almost. You tried to recollect about what happened before you woke up in Sukuna's car.

What you do know is that you were at a bar alone, drinking cheap tequila (first mistake). You were doing double shots (second mistake). And at some point the bartender had to cut you off and called someone for you (third mistake). What you couldn't wrap your mind around was, how the hell Sukuna was driving you home.

Sukuna let out an exhausted sigh as he took a turn into your neighborhood. He could always read you like the back of his hand.

"The bartender called me, princess. You gave him my number." Sukuna's voice was low.

"W...Whyy?" You slurred out.

"Because he said you were a fucking mess-" He started to explain until you interrupted him.

"Nooooo.. Why w-would you pick me u-up?" You hiccupped. You rubbed your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up now that you were awake.

Sukuna looked at you from his peripheral, his grip on the steering wheel was tight. He doesn't know what annoyed him more. The fact that you were out in a bar alone, wasted. Or the fact that you questioned why he would picked you up. Something in his gut told him that there had to be a reason why you got into this situation.

Sukuna knew that you enjoyed drinking. Hell, he would drink with you when you were dating. But never has he seen you so drunk that you were crying about something. He couldn't decipher your slurred words or babbles when Sukuna had to princess-carry you out of the bar. The silence was deafening as he pulled up to your apartment building.

"...'Kuna?" Your voice was so quiet, Sukuna almost missed it. It had been so long since he heard that nickname come out of your pretty lips.

"There is nothing in this world that would prevent me from keeping you safe, sweetheart." Sukuna responded with his usual straightforward expression.

"What about your date?" The question escaped and you didn't know where it came from and neither did Sukuna apparently.

Without hesitation, he got out of his driver's seat only for you to be knocked out again when he opened his passenger door. Sukuna could feel his blood pressure rising as looked at your sleeping face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you had such a cute little pout as your chest was rising up and down. Sukuna took a deep breath as he realized that he wasn't going to get any answers from you tonight. He grabbed your keys from your purse as he unbuckled your seatbelt. Sukuna carried you up to your apartment, your head rested on his warm chest.

"You escaped for now, but tomorrow morning, we are going to have a talk, princess." He murmured as he put gently down on your soft bed. Sukuna lingered at the foot of your bed before kissing his teeth and taking a blanket with him as he closed your bedroom door.

[ciades]

✪ — WINNER TAKES IT ALL ; bada lee x f!reader | !SPOILERS!

summary: it all comes down to this: bada’s just won street woman fighter, and needs someone to celebrate with. (spoiler: overstimulation + 🧠 from bada) the mighty fall universe

pairing: bada lee x swf2!f!reader

warning: SMUT!! it’s intense + not for the faint hearted. you’re responsible for what you read <3

Bada’s eaten you out plenty of times before.

But never like this— never with this intensity. You’re blushing furiously as she adjusts you, hooking one calf over her shoulder so she can nuzzle up against your cunt.

“This pussy is my reward, isn’t it?,” She murmurs, never before sounding so undone, so starved. “I won the competition, so I get to put my mouth on this pretty cunt, don’t I?” Before you can think of a reply to give her, Bada parts your labia with her fingers, pouncing forward to lick into you.

You let out a yelp, legs tensing automatically, digging your heels into her back as her rough tongue laps over your folds. The cold edges of the bathroom sink dig into your ass, and your thankful for Bada keeping you balanced and supporting most of your weight. Every flick of her tongue is precise and experienced, making you shiver as her nose rubs against your clit. The sensation has your back arching, a rising pressure— you’re sensitive.

“Bada,” you whine helplessly, no other option but to reach down and hold onto her hair. Bada hums against your pussy in affirmation, effortlessly sinking two fingers into your dripping heat. Your cunt stretches and clenches around the intrusion, and when she adds the third, a high-pitched moan escapes your mouth.

Bada moans in response at your pleasure, the sound vibrating through your core. You can feel her smiling against your skin.

Your hand, previously stroking her hair, clenches a fist against her now mussled locks. A loud groan leaves Bada’s mouth at the pulling sensation, lips latching onto your clit and sucking hard.

It all feels too much, you’re too hot, sweating in the white and pink outfit your Jam Republic team mates chose for you. Your dress is wrinkled from being pulled up to your hips by Bada. You’re breathing heavily and Bada purrs. She purrs and the sound goes straight to your clit.

“You- you feel so good, Bada please-“ Now you’re begging, but unsure what for. Your vision blurs when she starts fucking her fingers into you even faster, the squelching sound almost too loud to bear. Bada continues her devilish pace until the pressure in your belly builds, and builds, and—

“Wait!—“ You sob, but it’s too late. Bada pushes a fourth finger inside and you feel so full , drooling out another gush of slick, which Bada licks up.

The world blurs through the wetness of your lashes, on the wet heat of your breath puffing against your own hand in attempts to silence yourself, on Bada’s fingers, nudging you open as deep as she can go. It stings, but your toes curl. It stings, but your thighs shake, you whisper things like deeper, harder, don’t stop, don’t stop—

Your orgasm is sudden and splintering. You choke on a cry, your wetness gushing out of you and spilling onto Bada’s hand, which is still thrusting in and out in an eye-roll inducing rhythm. Bada laps it up eagerly, chasing your taste and nipping hard at your clit until you shake.

You’re oversensitive, nearly numb from the after shock, pussy flushed and twitching from Bada’s administrations. Bada drinks your release all through your orgasm, only stopping when you fist a hand in her hair and pull her away.

“B-bada,” You hiccup, flushed and trembling, “Too much.”

Bada rises from between your legs, face drenched with your slick, eyes wild and gleaming. She keeps her fingers plugged into your cunt for a few seconds, stroking your inner walls until you’re shaking.

“Good girl,” Bada says roughly, gently pulling her hand out of you, turning her head to plant kisses on your thighs. “My baby’s always so good for me, isn’t she?”

You just hum and smile in agreement, too tired to say more. Bada stands up and lets you collect yourself for a few moments before you both have to return to the celebration, peppers your face with kisses, moving flyaway strands behind your ears in a move so gentle you feel like crying.

“All those prizes and you’re the best gift yet.” She teases.

A scoff escapes you, raising your arms to engulf her in a hug. “Have I told you how proud I am? How much I loved seeing you dance on that stage?”

“I think you’ve shown me that plenty already, y/n.”

© BADAGF

[gardnhee]

edging with choi soobin !

𝜗𝜚 warning(s). pure FILTH, edging (duh), fluff, cursing, combination of praise and degradation, switch!soobin, yn is a little mean :(, soobin is a mess, cum eating, sloppy bj, soobin begs like… ALOT, intentional lowercase - lmk if i missed anything !

𝜗𝜚 switch!soobin x switch!afab!reader

𝜗𝜚 song rec(s). if you think im pretty - artemas, mmmh - kai

𝜗𝜚 wc. 1k

𝜗𝜚 note. yes this is absolute filth, no i am not ashamed. enjoy! ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡

“f-fuck!” soobin whimpers as you pull your hand away for the nth time today, “baby please…” he breathed, “let me cum, please…” you give him a sly smile, earning a frustrated groan from him.

“you wanna cum?”

his head immediately snaps back to you, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “y-yes..” you grab his dick again, angry red from all the stimulation- or lack thereof- it's been receiving.

soobin moans, the back of his hand placed on his forehead while the other grips the sheets beneath him. his chest heaves, entirely naked as you’re fully clothed. at first he thought it was unfair, but right now that’s the least of his worries. he just wants to cum.

he doesn't know how long you’ve been on your knees, or how long he’s been sitting on the edge of the bed; all he knows is that the familiar coil is building up again. “t-thank you … princess!” soobin strains, violently shaking as his orgasm is right around the corner. within reach. it’s right there…all he needs to do is-

you take your hand away.

he pouts.

“what the hell-!”

“i didn’t say i was going to let you cum, i simply asked if you wanted to cum.”

soobin scowls at your snarky remark, both hands gripping the grey sheets, knuckles turning white.

you snort, “so pathetic.” his cock twitches as he whines, “such a whore.” you grimace, slapping his cheek gently. with your fingers now digging into both sides of his face, you smash your lips together, drinking up every unholy sound shared in between.

to say you were taken aback was far from what you actually felt. your boyfriend - now reduced to a moaning, drooling mess- didn’t believe you could get him to this state…oh he was terribly wrong.

“you … what?”

“i want you to take the lead today, yn.” soobin stared at you with intent, “i want to see what you can do.” he smirks, leaning over the table, dinner long forgotten.

“are you underestimating me, choi soobin?”

“hmmm, maybe? but you can always prove me wrong..” his eyes travel to your shared bedroom, jutting his chin towards it.

and that’s how you ended up here, straddling him as his hard on rests on your stomach, standing tall and proud as it desperately awaits its release.

“baby - mff - please…” tears are brimming his eyes.

“hm? please what?” you taunt him, you always taunt him, and he curses himself for liking it more than he could admit.

“i need it … please.” soobin hiccups, tears now falling from his lash line. you bite your lip as you feel his hands squeeze your ass. he just looked so…fucking good.

disheveled blonde hair, a sheer coat of sweat covering his body, and drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. just a mess. a moan inducing mess. you’re nothing away from handing him the reigns and letting him use you however he damn well pleased.

you sigh, “fine. fine! i’ll let you have it just this once.” he eagerly smiles, hugging you tight as he presses his face into your chest.

“thank you…” soobin’s tears seep into your - his - shirt, making you shudder as they made contact with the skin underneath.

“i was going to walk out on you just like you do to me, but i’m feeling generous today.” he playfully gasps as you reveal your initial plan, kneeling down between his thighs once more. you quietly wince as the pain flourishes again, spreading along your leg muscles considering you’ve been putting pressure on them for hours.

you grab his dick, heavy and hot in hand. one thing about your boyfriend, he’s big. like…big. making space for him in your mouth was always a challenge no matter how many times you’ve done just that; you’re beyond grateful that he guides you through it with small, breathy praises and coos.

“yeah…just like that…careful…” soobin’s voice turned husky, propping himself on his elbows as he watched you bob your head. his eyebrows knit together in pure concentration, relishing in the intense pleasure. teeth sink into his swollen lips, holding any and all noises from slipping.

you pop him out of your mouth, “don’t hold back, you haven’t until now…” his cheeks turn bright red, nodding obediently.

“good boy.” soobin gulps, following your every movement. you wrap your lips around his shaft, “ah!- be careful i’m sensitive…” he utters, body continuously shaking as you sink your head until your nose taps his pubic bone.

“f-fuck im close…”

you hum in approval, greedily ripping a loud hiss from his throat. “you’re s-so fucking…” he starts, head falling back, “so fucking good, baby…” hand flying up to your head, he pushes you down, gag emanating from your sore throat as more saliva dribbles down your chin and onto his base.

you swirl your tongue, feeling every prominent vein that basically pulsates to the touch. “‘m cumming…!” soobin announces, trembling as his orgasm hits him like a wave. incoherent words that you doubt could ever become proper sentences.

you smile as his load hits your throat. “don’t swallow, dollface.” he leans forward, cupping your cheeks, “open.” the blonde haired boy demands, “mmmh.” he smiles, kissing you passionately. the older male smirked against your skin as his juices fall on his tongue. the whole act of cum eating was so intriguing to him- beyond arousing, he thought.

“c’mere.” he wraps his arms around your waist, manhandling you to sit on him again. “it’s your turn, yeah?” your boyfriend says, eyes zeroing in on your neck, then your collarbones. “by the way, you look so sexy in my shirt.” he connects his lips to your supple skin as you feel yourself relax under his hold.

“soobin?”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

he pulls back, beaming smile tugging at his lips, “oh, baby, i love you more.” he gives you a quick peck.

“here, lay down,” he instructs.

“what are you planning?” you frown, brows quirking up in wonder.

“i want to return the favor.”

you shake your head, “no baby, it’s okay. i did this out of pure pleasure. i don’t expect anything back.”

“you sure, love?”

“yes, soobinnie. i want to cuddle.”

he lays in bed with you, completely disregarding the fact that he’s sweaty and naked. but you didn’t mind as you lie your head on his firm chest, falling asleep to his steady heartbeat.

© GARDNHEE 2024, do not copy, modify, or upload on other platforms

𝜗𝜚 big thanks from the bottom of my heart to my amazing proofreader @heartryuu 🤍🤍

𝜗𝜚 this was mainly a smut practice, im not the best at it just yet but i do intend to practice more. also im sorry if the ending felt rushed 🙁 i wrote it in a hurry!!! please like, comment, and reblog. i would highly appreciate that 🫶.

𝜗𝜚 taglist. @stvrliighttt @strawbvrrie @haob1ni (lmk if you’d like to be added to my taglist!!)

[writeriguess]

katsuki x reader where reader helps him with his hiccups, fluff

It was a quiet afternoon at U.A. High. After a long day of intense training, you found yourself in the common room, flipping through a magazine and trying to wind down. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow through the large windows, when you heard it—a sudden, loud hiccup.

You turned toward the sound and saw none other than Katsuki Bakugou, standing near the kitchen, scowling as if he'd just been insulted by his own body. Another hiccup escaped his lips, and the furious glare on his face only deepened.

"Oi," Bakugou barked, his usual gruffness even more pronounced by the disruption. "What are you looking at?"

You couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Seeing the explosive hero brought down by something as simple as hiccups was... unexpected.

"Nothing," you said, feigning innocence. "You just sound like you're about to explode every time you hiccup."

"Shut up," he growled, though the effect was ruined by yet another loud hiccup. He clenched his fists as if trying to intimidate the hiccups out of existence. But, unsurprisingly, that method didn’t work.

“Looks like you’ve got a serious case of hiccups,” you teased, setting down your magazine. “Need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” Bakugou snapped, but the redness creeping up his neck told you he was embarrassed. “I’ll get rid of them on my own.”

“Sure you will,” you said, not bothering to hide your amusement. “But you know, I’ve got a trick that might work. You wanna try it?”

Bakugou glared at you, but another round of hiccups cut him off before he could come up with a snappy retort. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he crossed his arms and gave a short nod. “Fine. Whatever. Just hurry up.”

You grinned, standing up from the couch and making your way over to him. “Alright, first things first. You need to hold your breath.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Trust me, it works. Just take a deep breath and hold it for as long as you can. Ready?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes but followed your instructions, taking a deep breath and holding it. He puffed out his chest, clearly trying to look tough even while following your "ridiculous" advice. You counted silently, waiting for him to release the breath.

"Okay, now exhale slowly," you said, watching him let out the breath in a long, controlled stream. You waited for the hiccups to return, but... silence.

You smiled triumphantly. “See? I told you it’d—”

Hic!

Bakugou's face darkened as the hiccup interrupted your victory lap. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, though you tried to hide it behind your hand. “Alright, alright,” you said between giggles, “I’ve got one more idea.”

Bakugou looked at you, clearly unimpressed but resigned to letting you continue. “What now?”

“Well...” you started, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of what you were about to suggest. “I heard that getting surprised can stop hiccups. So, I’m just gonna have to, uh... surprise you.”

Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched. “What kind of surprise are we talking about?”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. Without giving yourself time to overthink it, you stepped forward, stood on your tiptoes, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

For a second, Bakugou froze. His eyes went wide, and his entire face flushed a deep red, much brighter than his usual scowl-induced irritation. You quickly stepped back, feeling your own face heat up. The room felt oddly quiet for a moment.

"Uh... surprised?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

Bakugou blinked, bringing a hand up to his cheek where you'd kissed him. For a moment, you worried you might have crossed a line, but then you noticed something—his hiccups were gone.

He looked at you, a mix of bewilderment and something else in his eyes. The silence stretched between you, and then—unexpectedly—he let out a low, almost embarrassed chuckle.

"Well... that worked," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You grinned, relieved that you hadn’t just embarrassed yourself for nothing. “Told you I had a trick up my sleeve.”

Bakugou’s eyes softened, and though his usual sharpness was still there, you could tell he was a little flustered. “Yeah, well... don’t think you’re off the hook just ‘cause of that.”

“Oh?” you teased. “What are you gonna do, yell at me for saving you from hiccups?”

“Tch. You’re lucky it worked, dumbass.”

Despite his words, the way his hand brushed against yours as he walked past told you he didn’t really mind. And as you sat back down on the couch, a small smile on your lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you'd found the perfect cure for Bakugou’s hiccups.

And perhaps, for something else too.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[floshav]

part 2 to my last rodrick fic which u can read here !

summary: Rodrick proves his likeness for y/n through a spontaneous kiss leaving her smitten and dazed. However, thoughts of Heather still lingered in her mind, constantly being reminded of the blonde girl whenever she passed by. "Does Rodrick still like her?" "Does he even like me?" What happens when Heather suddenly takes interest in Rodrick after ignoring him for years just because she can't let y/n get what she wants.

wc: 2k plus

warnings: allusions to smut, heavy make out

2 weeks later...

the kiss, no not just the kiss but the two kisses rodrick and y/n shared that night resulted in their relationship. She had been left smitten and the feeling was one of those that even if you wanted to forget, you couldn't. The heart racing, blush inducing feeling of getting kissed on by rodrick the boy she'd been crushing on for years, with his rough boy lips which still managed to be soft and plush because well, he was Rodrick after all.

It was now a plain old Monday and she was lost daydreaming in her Calculus class, or was it english? She couldn't bother to take notice.

"Alright, take out your calculators and flip to page 56. We'll be grinding through the workbook today class!" Ms. Smith yelled whilst her big buggy glasses fell down the tip of her nose bridge, stopped by her finger which shoved them back in place. Y/n couldn't care less. Her mind was swarmed with what happened 2 weeks ago.

His lips grazed hers one more time, this time softer and one might say more lovingly if she was in a state of delirium. She felt his slender hand creep up the side of her hip brushing it against her shirt so so gently. He broke off the kiss and his face was so close to hers she felt as if she might faint right then and there. The boy who was rough, impatient and borderline rude crumbled in-front of her. She'd never seen Rodrick like this before. Each freckle, each fine line, each perfect imperfection visible to her now. She'd imagined this image thousands of times before, but never had she imagined it to come true. Rodrick hesitated before saying his next words "I- I really like you y/n. And- and i just want to set that clear before you try showing up to my house drunk silly again. You were being so wreck less you know that?" He chuckled dorky-ly ever so slightly which made her heart pound just a little harder. Her heart fluttered at how he cared for her.

"M'sorry I-i just, m'just so jealous." She slurred as her eyes began to tear up with a mix of happiness, jealousy, anger and most of all, sadness. "Why? You know i'm here for you and you only, stupid." Rodrick whispered so softly against her lips but y/n's mind swarmed with confusion. "B-but you always *hiccup* talk about Heather." She sighed as she let herself fall into her hands. "Makes it *hiccup* hard to believe" She said again. "I-" He moves further back and a familiar ache rises to her chest, one of abandonment. "She was just someone I was infatuated in. Nothing more. Fuck. If i really liked her, would i have kissed you back? Let alone kiss you again?" He said making eye contact this time. He looked absolutely illegal. The way his hair was his usual mess, his blown out eyeliner smudged beneath his fox eyes. His puffy lips. Everything about him made her feel unreasonably hot in the cool weather. "S-so no more feelings for her?" "No. no more." he said so seriously it made her scared. "In fact, she's an asshole and i don't want any part of her in my life." He said whilst memories of what Heather did earlier fled his mind. Rodrick plants a kiss at the corner of y/n's lips and this time she knows it was meant lovingly. Still, at the back of her mind, the one aching question lingered, didn't he say he loved her?

"Y/n?" "Ms y/n?" She blinked and the memory was interrupted by an annoying voice. "Do you care to open your workbook? Or do you intend on staring at the cover for the next hour?" Ms Smith's breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck waking her from her daydreams of what happened that hazy night.

"Yea, sorry ms smith." She smiled tightly before flipping to page 66 or 57 the page number was was a blur to her, but an open book would do.

He planted a soft kiss at the crook of her neck.

suddenly her mind wandered to what happened later that night.

Hand riding up under her shirt. "is this okay?" His voice was earnest and soft against the skin of her neck.

her thighs clenched together unintentionally and she felt ashamed for imaging such lewd things. She'd been daydreaming about that night for the past few weeks. Each week making her crave for more until she felt sick. Rodrick hadn't made a move like that on her ever since, and she was just too shy to even ask so images in her mind would do for now.

He unclasped her bra in one swift motion and it made her question if he'd done this before, with... Heather? No, can't be, she doesn't even care for him. Right?

The kissing started to turn into making out and y/n felt his breathing falter when she brushed her pinky against his crotch by accident.

"Fuck do you even know what you're doing right now-"

"Ms. y/l/n!" Just as quickly as it started, her daydreaming had come to a halt.

"I've been calling your name for the past 5 minutes. Care to share your answer to the whole class? I assume you didn't even hear the question number i gave you. Number 5! Now." Ms. Smith tried to hush her yelling down to be more precarious.

"Sorry Ms." Y/n sighed before making her way to the black board with a dumb empty mind filled with Rodrick.

------------------

The same could be said about Rodrick. His usual sleepiness that was met with classes vanished ever since that night. Instead of sleeping, he was putting his pretty dumb brain to use by thinking. Thinking about y/n. Every night, everyday, every moment. He'd be lying if he said that she was the only girl he'd ever gained feelings for, because Heather Hills did exist. But it was true when he said he didn't like her anymore.

"Mmm- Aaah- R-rodrick p-please not my neck."

"Shhh, just one more kiss y/n, please."

"F-fuck!"

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUC-"

Before Rodrick's dream could get any steamier he was awoken to the sound of Heather cursing just beside him, clearly to get someone's attention.

"FUCK! how am i going to do this!!!" Heathers voice was painfully exaggerated and Rodrick couldn't help but cringe. Was this the girl he was smitten by before?

"Oh- Hey Roddy!" Heather smirked as she twisted her body to face him.

Rodrick's head was rested on his arm and he couldn't help but look at her with dead eyes, clearly annoyed.

"You.... you play the drums right?"

"Mmm" Rodrick groaned as he scratched his temple, he was surprised at how much he didn't care for THE Heathers presence anymore.

"Was wondering if.... You'd wanna play a gig at my birthday party?"

Rodrick's eyes lit up. A gig? That was a once in a blue moon occasion to rodrick's ears. But reality struck him when he remembered it was Heather who was asking.

"Mmm sorry Heather, don't think i can." Though it ached him to decline the gig, he knew you wouldn't like it so he sucked it up. Rodrick felt a sense of pride when he realised he didn't stumble over his words around her anymore.

"Awwww but why! I'll pay you 50 bucks an hour, and you know my parties last long." She feigned a girly voice as she batted her long eyelashes which icked Rodrick out.

50 bucks an hour..... The offer was tempting but, you were even more tempting.

Before Rodrick could answer, you walked in the class with a goofy smile, ready to see your Rodrick with..... Heather.

Heather shot back daggers through a fake soft smile. The type she'd give to a teacher after almost being caught doing something.

"Oh... Hello there y/n! Sorry, Rodrick was just telling me about how he'd love to play drums at my party. Isn't that right Rodrick?"

"Wh- No?" Rodrick scoffed out, eyes squinting at the mischievous blue eyed blonde.

"Oh c'mon, don't lie to y/n just because you pity her! You're a man! Act like one." Heather said as she got up from her chair slightly agitated at the fact Rodrick didn't play along.

"See you there Roddy." Heather said before smirking and popping out her ass dramatically.

roddy... That nickname made y/n's blood boil and she never wanted to hear it again.

"I swear! I-I did not agree to any of the shit she just yapped about." Rodrick panicked whilst stumbling over his words like a nervous teenager, that familiar feeling rising again but this time towards y/n.

"Hard to believe Rodrick. Or should i say Roddy... God! i shouldnt have been so naive. I'm so stupid! I thought you were over her." Y/n lashed out before storming out the classroom in a hurry, not thinking straight.

"Wait! Fuck. That fucking bitch Heather." Rodrick sighed out as he reached for the class door.

You found yourself slanting against a crusty brick wall beside a half broken vending machine. You don't know why you overreacted so fast without even bothering to hear Rodrick's explanation but maybe it was because you were so stupidly insecure. You quickly fumbled around your pants pockets to find an old packet of ciggs you remembered you left there. There were 2 left so you lit one up and breathed in the pure comfort. It felt nice to not care just for a second with the cigarette around. When it could have gotten more peaceful you heard a set of obnoxious dorky feet approach you.

"Hey." Rodrick said lightly as he squatted down to your eye level, lanky hands hanging by each sides of his knees.

It made you jump a little and your facade of wanting to remain mad slowly revealed itself. You couldn't help but suppress a tight smile from leaking out.

"What" You said as you blew a whiff of smoke away from his face. His heart fluttered at the small gesture.

"I really did not agree to what Heather told you." He said seriously which was a rare look on Rodrick.

"Are you sure? Cuz it seems like you two are getting along just fine" Y/n sighed as she pushed her hair back, Rodrick's heart beat pounding harder by the second.

"Please, believe me I- I really did not agree to anything, I-I really want you to believe me please." Rodrick was pleading which was something she only saw when he was lovesick. At that moment she knew he couldn't harm her emotionally.

"Alright. Fine, I believe you." Y/n said with a tired voice, though deep down she was glad she could read Rodrick like an open book.

"Im so sorry." Rodrick sighs before nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, still a nervous wreck whenever he handled her.

She releases her cig and reaches in to hug him back tightly and lovingly before breathing in the intoxicating scent of him. Far better than a cig.

Just around the corner was a cheeky little Heather, listening in to every single decibel of the convo. Heather tightly rolled her eyes and scoffed before it turned into a smirk. Something clicked in her head. She knew what she had to do.

She was going to fake it till she made it.

---------------------------

lol i feel like this story deserves a pt3 so if this does well i will continue it! I know this has been a long times worth of progress but i've been procrastinating writing like crazy lately and i've only started getting back into it. Anyway please do request because i'm always bored and free !

[skzdarlings]

deleted scene ; sharing a bed with lee know

original sharing a bed one-shot with lee know.

author's note: this is incredibly random, but this is a deleted scene from the lee know instalment of the sharing a bed series. it got cut when i decided to start the story after their big fight rather than show the build-up, but this scene was really cute and i always missed it lol so i am randomly posting it now.

content info: just fluff, some reader crying, and minho being secretly whipped.

word count: 890 words.

-

“Oh no!” 

Minho looks at you over the top rim of his glasses, his mouth full of food.  His phone falls forgotten on the wooden table.

Pouting, you push your salad towards him. 

“They put in the red onion,” you say with more misery than a salad miscommunication warrants.  Much to your horror and his immense bemusement, tears fill your eyes.  “I said no onion.” 

He chokes on his food, trying to swallow quickly so he can talk.  You wipe a stray tear while he hacks into a napkin.  His own eyes are now watery from his spontaneous pork-induced brush with death, but he reaches across the picnic table to wipe your face first.  He’s Minho so it’s more of a gentle slap on each cheek, but you take it with gratitude. 

“It’s okay,” he says, firmly but carefully.  Your behaviour is probably confusing him as you are notoriously composed and pragmatic by nature, so red onion is the last thing he would expect you to cry about.   “Just ask for another one.”  

“I can’t,” you say with a wobbly bottom lip.  You shove the salad further away like a petulant child.  “The line is too long now.  We don’t have time to wait for our turn then wait for them to make a new one.  We have to be back on the highway in no less than twenty minutes or else we aren’t going to beat the rush, and if we don’t beat the rush then we could be late getting to the camp site, and then we could lose our reservation. And I can’t eat this salad because the onion is so strong that it overwhelms everything else.   It’s fine.”   

It’s fine.  It’s fine.  Just one more thing gone wrong this week.  You didn’t cry about the guy.  You didn’t cry about the job.   You are crying about the red onion.  It’s fine.  

Minho takes off his reading glasses as if looking at you directly will help him make sense of your nonsense.  He doesn’t say anything, just stares with his dark brows knit together.  Wisps of dyed blonde hair and their darker roots flutter under the circle of his backwards cap, a cool wind brushing over your picnic spot. 

Of course the weather sucks too.  You and your best friend finally have a shared weekend off and you decided to go camping, so of course it’s been overcast and grey for the whole drive so far. 

Of course the rest stop cafeteria put red onion in your salad. 

“Okay,” Minho says after a minute of just staring at you.  He mutely slides his plate toward you and takes your salad for himself.  When you try to protest, he threatens you with a plastic knife.   “Eat,” he says, pointing to the dish with the knife.  He digs into the salad without further commentary, returning his glasses to his face and picking up his phone to keep reading. 

You stare despondently at the dish for a moment.  Then that bottom lip wobbles more, and more, and more, then suddenly—

Minho drops his phone again, startled when you burst into tears.

“Ahh,” he says, reaching for you with both hands this time.  He tries to reach past your fingers to cup your face, but you are rubbing your eyes and also bouncing with your hiccups.   He eventually gets a semi-stable grip of your chin, thumb pressing hard to tug your face to his when you look away.   “Baby,” he says, “what the fuck?” 

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say, still hiccupping.  “You just l-l-love me so mu-u-uch!”

“Um,” he says, frowning.  “Sorry.  Here.”  He swaps your plates back.  “I hate you.  Fucking bitch.  Eat your fucking onion salad.” 

You laugh in spite of yourself.  It coaxes you out of hiding, your tear-streaked face turning to his willingly. 

Minho can be loud and goofy, and he’s something of a lunatic around his guy friends, but you and him have always had a quiet, easy friendship.  You are the epitome of regimented and organized, not to mention the very definition of introverted, but he’s so easy-going that your flow as a duo has always been seamless.   You can sit together for hours in silence and not feel awkward once.  His presence alone brings you comfort.  He has seen many sides of you over the years.  Annoyed, happy, content, frustrated, disappointed.  You frown a lot.  You don’t tend to overreact. 

Bawling your eyes out is a new one. 

“I’m fine,” you say with a sigh. 

“Oh, well, if you’re fine,” he says dryly, picking up his phone and pretending to return to it. 

When you giggle, he smiles just that bit, putting the phone down again.  He is clearly out of his element as you seldom require active solace in any sense of the word, so he just sits there flexing his hand and staring at you. 

“Should I… kill them?” he asks uncertainly, pointing over his shoulder to the food stand. 

You laugh again, the sound still a bit shaky.   You shake your head. 

“Are you sure?” Minho asks.  “We could probably run them over on our way out.” 

“Thank you,” you say.  “I’m fine.  I guess I’m just a bit worked up.”

“Hmm.”  He switches your plates again, giving you his food.  “Try being worked down for a bit.” 

“Okay,” you say with a snort.  “I will. Thanks.”

He smiles a little smile, the kind reserved just for you. He looks satisfied he has done his job for now.

You can't help but smile back.