#proclamation band

[descent-angel]

Californian hunger

[canyourlawnmowerdothis]

breaking news: guy who needs an inhaler uses an inhaler and can breathe easier

[waugh-bao]

Now look at that gif where Charlie telepathically knows to reach for Keith’s hand behind his back and tell me Charlie didn’t have the best bum in the Stones! Mick and Ronnie? Flat. Nothing there. Charlie? A cute little caboose.

And no, I am not secretly Keith Richards doing an anonymous ask!

Sure, sure. I believe it’s not you…

Keith.

[ortegavi]

good charlotte is so real. “motivate me... i want to get myself out of this bed.”

[halfd3af]

They’re both just so damn good in their own ways…

[murdrdocs]

thinking abt sejanus and coryo sharing a girl in their peacekeeper days ohhhhngmgnnggngkgg

god this got my little brain going walk w me here ... fem!reader

the differences in the way they fuck : sejanus is gentle. he cares about your pleasure a little more than his sometimes. he drives into you with gentle thrusts, even when they’re faster than they usually are. he’s never rough or incredibly fast about it. instead, he treasures the time he has with you. he’s asking for reassurance (“are you still doing okay? yeah? okay, just keep me updated”) with a dimpled grin. he’s reassuring you with moans (“you feel so good, love”). he’s truly a gentleman. someone you go to when you want to be fucked softly and cuddle with afterwards, taking about anything under the stars and feeling as if a proclamation of three little words are on the way.

coriolanus is nearly a stark contrast : he has his nights where he bears similarities to his friend, asking for reassurance and praising how good you feel. but his comments are harsher. dirtier. he claims you from the inside out (“my dirty girl” “my little slut” “mine”). coriolanus treasures his time in a different way, instead bending you and placing you in whatever way he wants, as if you’re an experiment for him to study. he treasures his time by fucking you relentlessly, working you to as many orgasms as possible instead of making the one incredibly worth it. coriolanus isn’t fast about it, either. he drags it out instead, edging a particular favorite past time of yours. and each time you cum, he makes it worth it with a cocky grin.

coriolanus is jealous : he likes to claim you as his, even when he’s well aware of your nights (and days, sometimes, if the loopy grin on the plinth's face when he returns from patrols is anything to go by) with sejanus. anytime the other boy brings you up, coriolanus can’t help the way his nostrils flare and the hardening of his eyes. he can’t help but storm off from his supposed best friend to find you as quickly as possible, without guaranteeing dishonorable discharge. he likes to make sure that the next time sejanus is with you, corionalus has left his mark somehow. whether it be as simple as hickies along your pretty skin, or as complex as a limp in your walk and bruises along your hips. and if sejanus comes to coriolanus about it, voicing concern with descriptions like “our girl”, coriolanus just smirks and claim that you like it. because with the way you were moaning when he did it, there’s no way you feel the opposite.

despite coriolanus reluctance to share, sejanus feels the opposite : sejanus constantly mentions the inconvenience of each boy getting with you at separate times, since they live together and it’ll be much easier for all three of you to act on your urges at once. coriolanus is quick to disagree to the idea, pouting and rolling his eyes and pushing the idea off before he can even truly consider it.

but then they run into you at a bar, catching you dancing to the covey's band. sejanus joins you first, moving around with you in a way that shows that you two know each other's bodies well. you cast a look over your shoulder, beckoning coriolanus to join you, and he figures that no one here, in this bar in district 12, will care if he joins. so he does. he presses his front against your back, and ignores sejanus' look of shock over your shoulder. he rests a hand on your left hip while sejanus takes the right. he kisses at your shoulders and neck while sejanus kisses your lips.

and for once, coriolanus doesn't feel jealousy. he finds the delight in sharing when sejanus fucks you from behind while you take coriolanus' cock in his mouth. he understands the pleasure in a threesome when you moan coriolanus' name, followed by sejanus'. he feels his ego swell when sejanus sits at the edge of the creaky bed and simply watches, palming his cock slowly while you ride coriolanus. he considers doing it again when you have both of their cum painted along your chest in pretty ropes.

[holyjongs]

taste. jyh

genre: best-friend!yunho, inexperienced reader(?)

warnings/topics: kinda a lot of plot? oral sex, fingering, praise

a/n: this is my first story posted on here! slightly proofread but there might be small errors. regardless, enjoy! likes & reblogs always appreciated

wc: 967

you and yunho had been best friends for 3 years. there wasn't much that went unspoken between the two of you. your relationship knew little to no boundaries.

that's why yunho was stunned when you had feebly admitted to not having ever been eaten out. it came up during a conversation while he was at your house; the two of you lying down on your plush king-sized bed just talking.

although you were experienced in bed, you had admitted that you had always been on the giving end of it all. this confused yunho seeing as he adored your body. he was already imagining everything he could do to make you feel good.

you would never have been able to guess that he thought about you in this light so often. although the two of you had talked about sex, this conversation was starting to reach uncharted territories within your friendship.

he looked up at you to meet your eyes as his eyes almost darkened. he sharply inhaled before declaring,

"let me help you y/n"

you slightly cocked an eyebrow looking at him innocently while humming in question.

"let me help you feel good"

you were taken aback by this proclamation. you were also surprised he wanted to do this for you, like nobody before him. you couldn't imagine that he would be eager to pleasure you and only you.

he sighed deeply as he silently looked into your eyes for a minute. he couldn't stop thinking about how good your wide, curious eyes would look as they were looking at him filled with desperation. need. lust. he blinked a few times realizing that he had gotten lost in thought. you smiled lightly and hesitantly nodded, not being able to resist his oh-so-innocent request.

honestly, yunho hadn't been with as many partners as he let on. with some more experience and the filthy thoughts he had imagined about you so frequently he was able to guide you through what was to come.

he slowly got on top of you as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face. he took in your beauty; basking in it even. your slightly parted lips a beautiful hue of rosy pink. your eyes looking at him with desire and interest. his lips carefully met yours, with this, your souls interlocking. you felt a connection with him that you hadn't ever before.

as you got a feel for each other, yunho gradually increased the tempo and power of the kiss. he grabbed your cheeks with one hand, the other trailing down from your waist to squeeze your ass. he swiftly removed your shirt as your hands continued to explore him in entirety and your kiss deepened.

every layer of clothing that yunho snaked his hand under reminded him of unwrapping a present. he looked at you as if you were the prettiest gift he had ever received, and that he's had to wait eons to get to this point. he ever so slowly, almost carefully even, made his way under your white lace panties. he hooked the band with his index finger as if he were waiting for an invitation.

you broke the kiss with a slight gasp and he looked at you in question as if he was asking for the green light with just his eyes. you nodded almost too small to notice. he took this as a go to continue taking in all of you.

he reconnected the kiss with a rough pace as his fingers made their way down to your cunt to explore your warmth. the initial shock from the sensations made you grab yunhos hair even harder than you had been. he pulled himself away from the kiss once again to slowly lower himself, meeting his hands.

although tenderly and slightly cautious, yunho ate you out like you were his first and last meal. the way he lapped up all of your juices and kept his fingers pumping in and out of you at a steady pace was too much for you to handle. he kept looking up at you with his brows raised making sure you were enjoying it just as much as he was. the lewd noises escaping your mouth told him everything he needed to know; humming into you with satisfaction every time you let out a moan slightly louder than the last.

you took handfuls of his hair in your hands; gasping for air like every breath would be your last. you couldn't help but let out growing whimpers and moans with every pass of yunhos tongue.

the feeling at the bottom of your stomach was getting too overwhelming to handle. you moaned loudly "yunho... im close... please oh my god....". you started desperately grasping anything around you for stability as yunhos pace increased. the vibrations of him groaning inside you sent you over the edge.

yunho continued to savor your cum, riding out your orgasm. he took his drenched fingers out of you and held them up as if he was admiring them as they glistened in the light with your slick.

"you did so good princess" he purred. you were still trying to catch your breath from the past happenings. yunho brought his fingers towards your face and you promptly opened your mouth; beginning to suck on them. he looked at you with such admiration that you had never felt before. he smiled at the sight of you enjoying yourself.

he cleaned you up with a small hand towel before cuddling you in your bed. as you wrapped a blanket around the two of you, he put his hand on your cheek lightly.

"hey y/n?" yunho asked softly

"hmm?" you replied as you laid your head on his chest

"i think i'm im love with you."

[nateezfics]

I am now CRAVING and I mean CRAVING some extremely domestic, husband!joong smut. I must have him immediately. Like imagine this hongjoong as your husband? This you come home to? I mean???? Pls???

Sex with a man who claims you as his WIFE?

Nat I'm feeling weak I need to lay down.

ugh, this😩

listen i live for rough, nasty possessive sex but let’s talk about slow, passionate, and loving possessive sex???? hongjoong who claims you soooo lovingly i cry 😭

imagine. it’s a night like any other; you’re in the kitchen preparing dinner when your husband hongjoong arrives through the front door. he takes off his shoes, his coat, and leaves his things by the door. he makes his way to you, lured by the smell of food and the desire to see your pretty face. it’s so routine, the way he makes his way to you and places a kiss against your cheek with his usual “hey baby” but no matter how many times he does it it always makes you feel so giddy, butterflies fluttering in your tummy at his touch and the smell of his cologne. you’ve been married for some time now but you never grow tired of him or this little routine you’ve both settled into. it’s comfortable, it’s familiar, it’s perfect. and just as predicted, he remains near you long after his kiss against your cheek, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against his front. he hangs onto you while you cook, his lips attaching to any open skin he can find. his hands are all over you and you try your best to stay on task, but as usual he’s persuasive. you spin around to face him and suddenly you’re not hungry for the food anymore. you crave him in every way, the sight of his bare face and tussled hair making you weak in the knees and bracing against the counter. hongjoong’s kissing you hungrily in seconds, and you’re caught up in the passion quickly. there’s no time for breathing, you simply breathe each other. he only stops kissing you to take his glasses off, flinging them onto the counter carelessly before he’s devouring you again. it’s not long before you’re on the counter with your knees bent over his shoulders while he pushes himself into you, over and over and so achingly slow. he’s deep, cockhead kissing your cervix in a way that has you arching so prettily over the granite surface. he’s purposeful with each thrust, dragging his cock out languidly before gliding right back in. he’s in no hurry, not trying to get you or himself off just yet; he doesn’t care about that, about finishing. he wants to soak in the moment, in his love for you. you’re already a mess ofc just from his slow motions. really you can’t help it, it’s him. he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, his wedding band shimmering in the light. a reminder that he belongs to you, and you to him. lots of love bites on your skin while he takes you over the kitchen counter. you leave love marks of your own in the form of red streaks down his back. the passion and the pleasure are overwhelming, and you swear you’re the only two people in the universe. his forehead against yours, his eyes and yours locked. breathy laughs. whispered proclamations of love.

“you’re perfect, so perfectly mine”, “my beautiful wife”, “does my little wife feel good? yeah?”, “i love you, i love you, i love you”, “so good to me, baby”, “gonna fill you up, gonna give you a baby. my wifey would look so pretty with a round belly”, “taking me so good. you’re amazing”, “all yours, baby. you’ve got every last bit of me”

[alexlwrites]

from my notes app:

Just picture it: Yoongi who just... never had a crush. Sure, he has felt attraction that sometimes evolved into something more through dates or other encounters. But a crush? Feet kicking, face blushing, giddy giggles? No, he couldn't say he ever experienced that.

Until you.

Until you showed up, a new manager at the company, and left him shaking in his disconcertingly large boots. You were bright, witty, charismatic and hard working and he stood there, arms hanging by his side awkwardly like a damn emoji, hovering around you unsure about what to do, what to say, how to act.

It was so frustrating! He never felt this way before and at 30 years old he felt as if he was going through a late puberty: voice cracking when he tried talking to you, waking up sweating from a dream way too realistic, poorly timed boners when he saw you walking around the office with skin tight pencil skirts.

His so called friend weren't making it any easier for him: Yoongi had officially become the butt of every joke as the members collectively regressed back to the 5th grade, murmuring everytime you showed up "here comes your wife, hyung, here comes Mrs. Suga".

Thankfully, you seemed unaware of their jabs, even as yoongi's pale cheeks blushed fiercely at the name.

He didn't know whether to be greatful or resentful for your obliviousness. On one side, you didn’t seem to hear the constant on going teasing from the other 6 raccoons he shared a band with, which saved yoongi from the swift death at the pearly hands of embarrassment, ripping his dramatic soul from his even more dramatic body.

On the other hand, you couldn’t seem to take a hint! He tried all of his best moves: standing there silently next to you, offering you a single tangerine, playing the guitar when you walked in whilst offering absolutely no explanation or context, even wearing his most scandalous, whorish outfit: a white tshirt that showed his collarbones instead of his usual 37 layers of clothing.

He didn't know how to make it any more obvious! Should he just take you against the wall of his studio (he totally should!, his lower brain unhelpfully provided as you once again strutted past him leaving him sniffing after your perfume like the fucking dog he was)?

He even tried asking his friends for advice, the lowest form of humiliation possible: Jungkook offered only baby oil and told him to lose a couple buttons. Hoseok made him couple matching beaded bracelets. And Namjoon, scorpio venus horndog, told him to actually go through with the wall taking idea.

Funnily enough, Jin was the one with the most plausible idea: give her a gift, bake her something! Homemade goods would show her how much you care.

So there he was, at thirty years old, holding onto a plate of cookies like a lifeline, cold sweating in front of your office, ready to flee the building and suck up those cookies like a hungry Kirby and mop in his own lameness like the international grammy nominee celebrity he was.

And then you opened the door and his body just reacted on his own, thrusting the plate towards you silently as his eyes screamed pure panic.

"For me?" You asked and he just nodded "Thank you so much, you are so sweet!"

Yoongi felt his lips curving and even without a mirror he could tell he had a dumbstruck smile on his face.

"What's the occasion?"

Ask her out, he urged himself. Tell her how you feel, how you can't stop thinking about her face, how her smile fuled his daydreams and her perfume haunts his days, bleeding into his psyche and sinking its claws into his heart, turning every song he wrote into a proclamation of adoration and lust, tell her how...

"Hm, for all y-your hard wo-work" he sputtered, mentally face palming himself at his own words.

Bugger.

Bugger it all to hell.

(Part 2>>>)

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [1/…]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“So, I don’t blame you if you want to bury me in your memories,”

— Mitski, "Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Slight Canon Divergence, Buggy is an asshole, The reader used to go by "Cross-Hairs" in the past.

A/N: I’m basing this primarily on the LA! version of “One Piece”, as I’ve just recently begun to watch the Anime.

Luffy, for his unyielding devotion towards his dreams of becoming the King of Pirates, evidently lacks the sense of foresight required of a pirate to successfully navigate the seven seas. Then again, it's nothing new.

You’ve always known. The kid's been a hazard to society even in his youth; no filter between his brain and his mouth despite the ungodly amount of food he pushes between his jaws. You used to watch him make his proclamations in front of Shanks' merry band with little more than vaguely piqued interest, indifferent to the youthful albeit naive optimism he exhibited.

Shanks, meanwhile, always used to find his demeanor endearing - “He’s a good kid. Let him dream,”

And so you let him. You watched him dream for the next ten years, making sure that his dreams didn't catch the wrong kind of attention until he was old enough to hold his own weight.

However, back then, Luffy's actions seldom warranted any real consequences. Save for the incident with the Bandit and the Sea King, he's rarely been in any real danger prior to his debut as a pirate.

An unruly child spouting declarations of desiring to become the next “King of Pirates” hardly would’ve caused more of a ripple effect than to make other people shake their heads and laugh. And if it did, you were there to make sure it didn’t.

Now, not only has his actions earned you the ire of the Marines by stealing the Map of the Grand Line, but it has also garnered the attention of other opponents. Far more dangerous ones than the likes of Alvida or even that Axe-Hand Moron.

It was only a matter of time.

So when you find yourself waking up in a wooden cage with the rest of your reluctant crew mates, accompanied by a head-throbbing headache at that, your first instinct is to heave an exasperated sigh.

"Goddamn it."

"Oh, you're up." It's Luffy. He looks unharmed, albeit disoriented, not too unlike yourself. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I just snorted a bottle of rum through my nostrils." You get up into a crouching position, eying your surroundings, which doesn't leave much up for inspection considering your cage consists of broad wide planks. "What the fuck happened?"

The last thing you recall before being knocked out was a Jolly Roger in the distance, too far away for you to make out properly. So, not Marines, but pirates.

You can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing.

"Think we wouldn't have told you if we knew?" The swordsman - Zoro - replies with a deadpan look of boredom on his face as he attempts to peek through the cracks in your confinement. You have half a mind to tell him where to shove it but opt for a more quiet approach.

It's during moments like these when you realize you actually miss that scrawny pink-haired kid with the glasses - Koby. He never spoke to you like this. Granted, he was probably intimidated by the way you were always hovering behind Luffy like a silent guardian, but he didn't provide unnecessary comments like Bounty Hunter over there does.

Small blessings and all that. Very small.

You provide a solid kick to the plank on Zoro's right side without warning, catching him off-guard and earning you a short-lived glare. The planks loosen considerably, probably not meant to contain you for long.

Meanwhile, you listen half-heartedly to Luffy and Nami as they discuss the potential identities of your captors.

"They're not marines," Luffy assures her. "Before I got knocked out, I saw a Jolly Roger. We've been captured by pirates."

You glance at him from over your shoulder. "What'd it look like?"

"I don't know, it looked ... like ..." he pauses in thought. "A skull with crossbones, and a red ... dot? It almost looked like a nose, if bones could have noses, but they don't."

The blood in your veins freezes up, as does the rest of your body until their voices blur into nothing.

You've been keeping occasional track of him in the years that's passed since you parted ways, and when he amounted to a considerable bounty on his head, his signature Jolly Roger was hard not to miss on his wanted posters.

-------

"I didn't know there were so many pirates."

You tilt your head at the wall decorated with various wanted posters of different pirates, some more torn and discoloured than others, some more dead than others. You can't find your own amongst them in Shells Town, but then again, it has been some time since last you were on the Marines' radar. More likely than not, your poster is hidden somewhere underneath the several layers of—

"Hey, there's yours!" Luffy damn-near exclaims in wonder and points at— Oh yeah, there it is, right above Foxy's poster, a little yellow around the edges but still holding strong.

WANTED Dead or Alive "Cross-Hairs" 25,000,000

"Oh, wow, a 25-million bounty. That's a lot of berries."

The image is well over a decade old, taken back in your early twenties, and you were much more easy to identify back then. You were sharper in some angles, softer in others, compared to the present.

You look different now. Less robust, a little older, but no less dangerous in the grand scheme of things. Your sharp eyes remain the same, a trait Gol D. used to remark upon with a mischievous glimmer in his own eyes.

"You have eyes sharp enough to cut through steele," he'd say and ruffle your hair. A sense of loss perforating your being at the memory.

Despite being in your thirties, age tends to alter the appearance of most people, and you consider that a pretty good advantage right about now as you're standing surrounded by an army of Marine officers. Given the fact that you've spent the last couple of years away from the sea without a trace or clue, the World Government probably assumes you've died or gone into hiding.

Be that as it may, they didn't even bother to decrease the bounty since last time. How odd.

While Luffy spends a few moments admiring your old picture like a child that just learned their relative is some kind of famous celebrity, Koby is less than enthralled by this revelation.

"T-That's one of the highest bounties in the East-Blue." He is hesitant to look up at you. "What did ... What did you do to earn it?"

"A little here, a little there. Kicked a few asses, stole a bit of treasure along the way. Nothing too bad." You admit with a half-assed shrug as you continue to inspect the various posters.

For the boy's peace of mind, you won't go into the less ... child-friendly details regarding your reputation. About the way you used to fight to the blood with most of your opponents, Marines and pirates in equal measure. How you'd stand victorious atop a pile of broken limbs and pleading sounds from the defeated crowd.

"Yeah, yeah ..." Koby agrees with a feeble nod. "There are way worse pirates on the Grand Line."

Your gaze happens upon a particular wanted poster, and your demeanor stiffens. Not enough to notice from an ordinary point of view, but it does nonetheless.

His sharp cerulean eyes and bright red nose seem to mock you from his picture, and a heavy feeling settles in your heart. A feeling of hurt and betrayal you've long since thought abandoned in the corners of your heart. Not even the loss of your old captain could hope to compare to it

You snap back to Luffy, your voice a little strained as you speak though you desperately try to cover it up. "Are we done here, Luffy?"

------

It's your fucking luck it had to be him of all people to come after Luffy first.

Why him?

Fuuuuuu—

"We don't need to fight." Luffy's voice snaps you back to the present. "I can talk to them, pirate to pirate."

"Not with this one," you whisper more to yourself than anyone else. The only one who seems to catch onto this is Zoro, but the moment he opens his mouth to ask, Nami beats him to it.

A discussion regarding the duality of piracy quickly causes you to lose all interest in the following sequence.

You don't trust either the thief or the bounty hunter as far as you can throw them, and the feeling is mutual in both parts. Sure, they proved useful in getting rid of the Axe-Hand, and have had thus far been tolerable enough for you not to throw them overboard.

Still, Zoro recognized you on the spot where the Marines failed to, and though Nami doesn't, your status as a pirate is enough reason for her to distrust you.

As mentioned, you don't trust them, but Luffy does, and his lead is the only one you'll follow. This is his voyage, and you’re not here to keep him from making mistakes unless you consider them particularly vital. If this bites him in the end, then you'll be there to keep him afloat.

After all, you made a promise to your old red-haired friend.

"Look after the lad for me, will you? Help him achieve his dream."

With no patience left to wait to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible, you prepare to kick through the planks. Just then, the top piece of your confinements unfold, and what you're greeted with is the pinpoint definiton of a fever dream on acid.

Tightrope walkers swinging in the air, acrobatics performing acts of impressive feats, someone fire-breathing, and-- was that a guy juggling on a unicycle passing you just now?

A circus troupe. You've been captured by a fucking circus troupe.

"Oh, what the actual fuck?" Is all you can manage to mutter, a sentiment Zoro surprisingly agrees with if the nod he adds serves as any indication.

The troupe has an audience, you come to observe in the distance. They're clapping and cheering on cue with the sign being held in the air, yet they look ... wrong. Forced. Puppets with strings embedded in their limbs, so to speak.

You narrow your eyes in distaste at the view. The hell has he been up to as of late?

In the midst of the enforced round of applause, a voice gradually makes itself more and more prominent through the masses. Deeper and huskier since last you heard it, but yet painfully known to your ears.

"No, no, no, NO! Stop clapping!"

And then he appears. The ringleader himself, exasperated as he throws his arms out to each side and effectively silencing the crowd.

"No, stop! This is all wrong!"

You momentarily forget to breathe as you watch him come into view from behind the audience. He's taller than the last you saw him, that's for damn certain. Must've hit a second growth spurt in your absence because, while you were relatively on equal foot in your youth, he now seems to have grown a head or so taller than yourself.

And like yourself, he's changed, and not inherently for the better. It's a relative statement considering that the life of a pirate is oftentimes a hard one, but it's a fact nonetheless. The years have not been any kinder to him than they've been for yourself. He still has the same hair, the same general appearance, but he's changed.

Out of the three of you, Shanks seems to have had it the easiest in recent years, appearance-wise. He never lost his smile or affinity for the brighter things in life, even when he had his damn arm chewed off.

Meanwhile, you lost your dreams, and he seems to have lost everything you recognized about him in your youth. His smile, his laughter, and even his stance had been replaced by some replica that fails to hold a candle to the original one.

This is a show master, not your friend. Then again, you haven't been friends for a long time now.

Still, changed as he may be from an outward point of view, Buggy's eyes have not. They're clear like the seas, just as they were long ago. (And his nose, of course. How could you forget?).

You can't tell if that's a relief yet.

You're not a fearful person by nature, having lost the distinct ability years ago. Now, however, you feel the tremors vibrating through your ribcage at the sight of him. That's why you decide to turn your face slightly to the side for now, hoping to prolong the inevitable.

Fortunately, your presence evades Buggy's notice for just a while longer as he berates his crew. "The spotlight was late! You completely missed my entrance!"

The sound of said spotlight changing its focus can be heard.

"And where, oh where, was the dancing lion?"

Good! While he's occupied, maybe you can find the right moment to grab Luffy and get the hell--

"Hey! I know you! I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town!"

... You want to dig a hole in the sand and bury yourself right about now.

"You're the clown guy! Uhm ... Binky, right?"

Buggy, you scream inside as you suppress the urge to yank Luffy by the shoulders and shake him until all of his limbs drop down on the ground. Fuck Shanks and fuck the promise. He's Buggy the fucking Clown, and you did not have to go out of your way to pinpoint that fact!

In your internal state of dismay, you settle with trying to locate potential escape routes. Maybe a hole in the walls of the tent, or an absent-minded guard by the entrance. You're stronger than most, with years of experience behind you, but you're not capable of fighting your way through a crowd with three tagalongs so seamlessly.

"Buggy," the man of the hour states as he approaches, still having failed to notice you. "Buggy the Clown."

No one says anything, which he takes as a sign to continue on with - what you personally regard - as a moronic long line of titles.

"Buggy, the Flashy Fool." Still nothing. He raises his arms, like a lost puppy begging for scraps of recognition. "Buggy, the Genius Jester."

Seriously, what's with him and all the names? He’s always been … overdramatic, but this cuts the cake even for him.

"Wow," Luffy seems genuinely impressed, a stark contrast to his companions, who would rather be anywhere than here. "You have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are."

A range of gasps echo from the unwilling audience, and you finally snap your head to the front in alarm. Fuck, he couldn't have used a better word than that. Granted, Luffy didn't mean it in that context, or even that word, but it doesn't matter.

Another thing that hasn't changed about Buggy... And that very same thing might as well be what snaps him out of his theatric act.

You thought Buggy finally would've noticed you by now, seeing it as you're finally willing to face him, but his eyes remain eerily glued to the kid.

"What did you just say?" Buggy asks, calmly.

Way too calmly for your liking.

Oh, no.

Luffy blinks in confusion. "Just that everyone knows who you are?"

You notice the clown lunging before Luffy does.

In the span of a second, you plant yourself between them, the only barrier between him and the clown's rage. You don't move an inch even as Buggy closes in with his gloved hand outstretched towards the boy, having not yet registered your sudden appearance until his fingers are inches from your face.

Your eyes finally lock, the blue in his eyes more prominent now than ever. Almost two decades since the last time you saw each other, and Buggy ceases his attempted assault as though time itself freezes.

At first, there is nothing in his eyes but surprise. Anger. Maybe even a trace of admiration towards the one who dared stand against him. Hot and burning beneath his irises, like glowing embers left behind in a dying pyre.

Finally, there is recognition, and the fire reignites warmer and scorching more than ever before.

He doesn't say anything at first, and neither do you, but the glare in your eyes conveys the message loudly enough that even the performers and troupe members alike know not to interfere.

"Leave him be."

You think of what to say, what you can say, after years of being silent. A simple “Hi” will not suffice, and considering the way of which you parted, there is little room for confessions.

Then, Buggy begins to laugh.

It starts out as a whisper of a chuckle, then gradually develops until he's full-out holding his stomach in wheezes, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and smudging his make-up.

He points his arm up as he tries to contain himself, and the guy holding the APPLAUSE-sign picks up on the subliminal message. Everyone in the place begins to laugh, both the captives and the captors, so loudly this time that it makes you feel small in a way you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You glance cautiously around yourself, sharing brief looks with your companions before the noises abruptly stop, having most likely been forced to do so.

When you look back at Buggy again, he's smiling wider than ever, but his eyes hold no genuine humor. No, there's an unidentifiable emotion swirling in the depths of his blue eyes that you fail to decipher before he speaks.

"Well, well, well! Isn't this an unexpected surprise?" He raises his arm to gesture to you, as if you're an exotic exhibition behind a display case for everyone to behold. The spotlight is now aimed at you, momentarily blinding your vision.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It is my honor to present to you, the one and only, the myth, the legendary 'Cross-Hairs'! The Beast of the East!"

Applause rings again in the air as Buggy continues.

"She was famous throughout all of East Blue for her many endeavors, with a bounty greater than even yours flashy truly." Admitting that fact looks like it physically hurt him, but he prevails. "And then, almost ten years ago, after her biggest heist yet, she just POOFS!" He snaps his fingers and lets them slowly decline for dramatic effect. "Vanishes out of the blue. Leaving the seas for an unforeseen amount of time."

It would seem like you were keeping track of each other all along.

The next words Buggy utters are so hushed that only you hear them, and his smile is gone.

"Then again, you do have a track-record of leaving things behind, haven’t you?"

Oh, the fucking nerve of this guy. You take a step forward, clenching and unclenching you jaw so much your teeth feel on the bring of cracking. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

You’re about to shout back at him, argue, throwing every caution to the wind just to correct him and scream:

("You're the one who left me, remember?")

Before you can, something taps your right shoulder. Thinking it's Luffy, you turn around, and the last thing you recall before it all fades to black is an air of red dust clouding your vision.

[thepixelelf]

warnings: coarse language. mingyu is jealous but doesn't know it. fake dating; roommates; childhood f2l. wc: 902

love triangle au requests

read part 1 first

[who's this guy who's everything I'm not? 2] There's a universe out there where Kim Mingyu is able to understand himself perfectly, knows exactly what he wants, and figures it all out right on time instead of when it's already too late.

But that universe isn't this one.

No, in this world, Mingyu blinks like an idiot when you go, "This is Jihoon. I've probably mentioned him before." He blinks and he straightens up and in his mind, he's kicking himself because of course he knows who this guy is.

He wishes he didn't, but yeah, he knows about your friend Jihoon.

Jihoon is the guy who wrote you a handmade valentine in eighth grade, well after most of the boys decided that kind of stuff was gross. (Although you're certain he has no idea you know it was him.) This, you told Mingyu with a smile on your face as you walked him out of his company's Valentine's Day Ritz. You recounted that sweet little childhood friendship story with your arm looped through Mingyu's while he smiled and nodded and chuckled, but mostly he kept glancing at the shiny rings on both of your fingers. They're simple bands, his a little more worn since he takes it to work every day, yours exactly the condition it was when he surprised you with it. "You're in too deep, Mingyu," you'd said through a hypnotic laugh when he went down on one knee in the kitchen you share -- before agreeing to go along with his ruse anyway.

Your ring stays pristine because when you're not playing his better half, it lives in this little ceramic dish in the cubbyhole near the front door. You love that little dish -- it stole your heart when you spotted it and its black cat pattern at the local art market you went to together. Mingyu might like it too, seeing how he smiles at it (or maybe the ring) every time he leaves or comes home.

Which could mean anything.

This guy in front of him bristled at Mingyu's proclamation of "husband," metaphorical hackles raised, like a... black cat.

Fuck.

"Haha, uhm, anyways..." Mingyu had put his hand out instinctively, but when the guy doesn't reciprocate, it's fine. He didn't want to shake your friend Jihoon's hand, really. "Did you want to come in?"

Your touch on Jihoon's arm becomes preemptively supportive, like the guy could keel over at any moment, and for unknown reasons, Mingyu wants to be the one who's gone pale. To be the one you're touching while your friend Jihoon watches on from the sidelines.

Which could mean anything.

Because your friend Jihoon is only the guy walking into his home -- your home, yours and Mingyu's home, the home where his and your wedding/non-wedding bands live in a cute little dish in the cubbyhole near the front door. He's only the guy who had a weird depressive/ghosting episode the last time you were in a completely fake relationship to save some guy's ass. You told Mingyu this with your brows furrowed and a cute, confused pout on your lips as you wondered why your old friend was acting that way back then, right after you agreed to come to Mingyu's high school reunion with that ring on your finger.

Of course, Mingyu would normally never ask you to join him for an event outside of his company -- and you actually only agreed to pop in for a few minutes -- but one of his coworkers happens to be in a relationship with someone from his graduating class, and word got around and...well. He just likes when you're with him.

Which could mean anything.

Internally, when you told that one story about "my friend Jihoon" (one of many, many anecdotes), Mingyu was sure he knew exactly why the guy went oddly quiet after you started "dating" someone he wasn't, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he asked what food from the reunion you'd want him to save for you when you show up.

Now, Mingyu doesn't have the luxury of brushing off some friend from your past who may or may not have absolutely definitely no-doubt-about-it had a thing for you. He can't just blow past it because that childhood friend is standing in his kitchen, eyes locked with yours over the huge glass of water he's chugging because you asked him to.

And you're laughing, endeared and with a sparkle in your eyes that Mingyu isn't sure if he's ever seen before.

You pat your friend Jihoon's head. A silent, good job, which Mingyu can't help watching.

He thought that was his and your thing.

The habit must've come from when you were younger...

Mingyu stands there, off to the side and feeling out of place in his own home.

My old friend Jihoon hates this stuff, but I'm obsessed with it. Jihoon, my friend from my hometown, once said I made the best belgian waffles, so you can trust me with the iron, I swear. You don't drink? My friend Jihoon doesn't either -- but not because he's sober or anything -- he's just got a major sweet tooth.

Oh, this is Jihoon's favourite song.

You go to the fridge to find something for your friend to eat, and while your back is turned, Jihoon looks over at Mingyu.

It's like an x-ray. Somehow, Jihoon's eyes land on him, and he feels bared to the world.

Mingyu knows Jihoon is in love with you. Could tell as soon as he saw him.

But, he realizes as your friend furrows his brow and looks at him with thinly veiled jealousy...

...Jihoon knows Mingyu is in love with you, too.

[descent-angel]

Californian hunger

[canyourlawnmowerdothis]

why did god curse us with sentience and brendon urie

[zeroeightzeroone]

lover of mine - bang chan

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

pairings: idol!bang chan x female reader

warnings: none

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

wc ~3k|moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"i'll never give you away, 'cause i've already made that mistake,

if my name never fell off your lips again, i know it'd be such a shame.

when i take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right."

lover of mine - 5 seconds of summer

you always thought that the next time chan would be making you cry would be at your wedding ceremony.

initially, you would try to hold in your tears, just enough so that you weren't full-on sobbing and ruining your makeup. eventually failing as the tears flow freely listening to the man tell you the moment he fell in love with you, the moment he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the promises he vows to keep forever. chan's eyes would never leave yours as you exchanged vows; in that moment, only you and chan existed, the proclamation and celebration of your love were the only things that mattered.

instead, here you are crying over chan. sitting in the driver's seat of your car, sobbing over the man who once said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, now not wanting to fight for that future anymore.

…

"you're doing it again."

the sound of your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, attention now on the girl sitting across from you, "huh?"

she reaches over and places her hand on yours with a sympathetic smile on her face. no words are needed from her to make you realize what you were doing whilst zoning out; fiddling around with your ring finger. a habit you picked up after chan proposed, and a habit that hadn't changed even without the band on your finger; your fingers instinctively moving to spin and twist a non-existent ring.

"right," you clear your throat awkwardly.

your hands slipping out from under hers, sliding them under your thighs hoping that maybe sitting on your hands would work against the habit.

"how are you?"

the word 'lost' feels like an understatement. the word couldn't encapsulate even a quarter of your feelings.

you felt directionless, overwhelmed by the constant switch between emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, and denial, it left you exhausted. day by day, you only grew more emotionally drained, the desire to feel nothing only intensifying.

the mere thought of the dimpled man gave you whiplash, your heart and your head conflicting with each other and your feelings pulling you from one end to the other. you couldn't pinpoint exactly how you felt about him.

god, you wished that you didn't even think about him.

you wished that you weren't plagued by the thought of him at every waking moment. everything reminded you of him, everything brought you back to the memory of how easy it was for him to let you, the person he proclaimed to want to spend the rest of his life with, to watch them walk out the door, to just give up without a fight.

why couldn't it have been easy for you too? why couldn't you just let him go the way he did you? forget him like he meant absolutely nothing?

as much as you wished it was, you knew it wouldn't be easy to move on from chan.

your early adulthood started with chan, moving in with him almost a year and a half after you started dating. he became a part of your routine and you became part of his; there was a time when your day didn't feel complete without hearing a goodnight from him or getting that goodnight kiss. your lives were intertwined, and your future plans were intertwined.

you believed chan was your future. he made you believe that you would write the next chapters of your lives together, that you two would be side by side on the road to forever. you envisioned your future with chan, without him you've hit a crossroads, struggling to navigate where to go from here. you were scared.

scared to learn what the future holds for you, scared to take a step towards a future without him.

on top of all that came public attention.

the news about your breakup hadn't been confirmed by chan or jyp entertainment. regardless that didn't stop the speculations and rumours that came with the lack of seeing you and chan in public together, seeing you without your ring, and other proofs fans would dig up. the algorithm also working against you as whenever you refreshed social media, the first couple of posts would be news articles, headlines and what have you, discussing the speculations.

'did stray kids' bang chan and his long term girlfriend call it quits?'

'fans of stray kids speculate bang chan and his partner have called off the engagement'

'netizens react to alleged proofs that bang chan and long term girlfriend have split up'

'breaking: did stray kids' bang chan and girlfriend split up? here's why fans are wondering about the status of the long-term couple'

your comments were flooded with questions regarding the rumours, mourning fans hoping that they were baseless and haters congratulating you on setting the man free. you wondered why the news hadn't been spoken about by chan or any official representatives but the speculations drove you to log out of social media. the realization that one day the articles and headlines will change from 'speculations' to 'confirmations' the anticipation and anxiety driving you insane.

you look back up to your friend, your lips pursed together in a small smile as you reply:

"i'm fine."

…

"chan hyung!"

the boy pulls the pillow up and over his head, trying to block out the noises from outside the door. hoping that the longer he ignored, the realization that he wanted to be alone would sink in and everyone would leave him be. that hope was short-lived as the door swung open.

"chan hyung!" changbin calls from his spot at the door, "you need to eat something."

from where he's standing, changbin watches chan groan out a response from under the pillow, making no effort to get up and go eat something. changbin's eyes drift to the older boy's bedside table, a picture frame is lying face down (probably a photo of you), and sitting on top of the frame is a gold band with a large diamond: your engagement ring. the sight of the band sitting on chan's bedside table and not on your finger has a small frown adorning changbin's lips.

"hyung, i know it's hard but please. you need to take care of yourself too," the younger boy sighs, "locking yourself in your room won't do anyone good."

of course, it wasn't easy for them to see chan in such a state.

chan had always been the one putting up a strong front, walking around with his head up no matter the circumstances as the leader. but these past couple of weeks, whenever chan was out of the public eye he'd walk with his head down, dragging his feet, no words leaving him. almost like he's being forced to be anywhere outside of his bedroom.

the members in the other dorm were curious about their leader, wondering how he'd been holding up but chan stopped replying to the group chat. it got to the point where the members made a chat without chan, using that to ask jisung, changbin and hyunjin how the older one was doing.

for as long as you were in chan's life, you were also in the member's lives. the news of the breakup came as a shock to them as well. they were all curious as to how you were doing too, but were hesitant to ask you directly for fear of making things harder for you. you met all of them through chan, and seeing their names pop up on your phone may just be another reminder of your ex.

changbin's eyes are on chan as the older boy takes the pillow off his head, slowly sitting up on the bed, feet hitting the floor but making no move to stand up. instead he's slouched over, head in his hands and sighing.

"do you, uh…" chan's voice barely above a whisper, "do you think i made a mistake?"

changbin shuts the door behind him hearing chan's question, realizing right now his friend needed someone to talk to before, maybe, going to eat something.

leaning against the door, he replies, "what do you mean?"

"w– was proposing… a mistake?"

"do you feel like it was a mistake?"

chan shakes his head, "no."

"did you mean everything you said when you proposed?"

"yes."

"then it wasn't a mistake."

chan lifts his head out of his hands, head turning to the younger boy leaning at the door. even in the dim purple lighting of chan's room, changbin can see how glossy his eyes are, how the bags under his eyes have gotten more prominent since yesterday.

"was… was letting her go," chan's voice shaky, "a mistake?"

changbin pushes himself off the door, making his way to sit next to his hyung on the bed. a comforting hand moving to chan's back.

"that's a question only you can answer," changbin's lips are pursed to one side, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he continues, "did it feel like a mistake at the time?"

"i- i thought i was doing the right… thing," chan's voice pitches higher at the end, questioning his own answer, "when i came home, an–and saw the dinner table, full of food she made for us. when she told me everything she was feeling, the look i-in her eyes."

chan loves your eyes, it's by far his favourite thing about you.

looking into your eyes had him falling in love with you before he even knew it. looking into them made it feel as if he was looking into your soul, almost like your eyes could tell him what your words couldn't. chan's day would immediately be flipped upside down just at the sight of your eyes, a shitty day becoming the best day when he caught a glimpse of those radiant, warm pools of life, your eyes sparkling with a zest and excitement for life that sent a wave of comfort over him. whenever he looked at you, that glimmer of hope in your eyes made him feel like everything would be okay.

but that night, the look in your eyes that night is seared into chan's memory. haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, whenever his eyes fall on your ring sitting on his bedside table.

that night when you told him just how lonely you'd been feeling, how you felt like he was treating you like the help and not as his fiancé; those words knocked some sense into chan. the harsh reality glaring him down: he had been falling short in your relationship. he had been so blind to that fact for who knows how long, listening to you had chan wallowing in guilt.

at one point chan felt like he was a third person watching everything go down, but it felt like he was watching you and a whole different person. he wondered why he wasn't saying anything, why he couldn't move, why he couldn't feel anything other than guilt eating him alive.

when he looked into your eyes, that's when everything came crashing down.

the eyes that once gleamed up at him, washing a wave of comfort and reassurance through his body were boring into his own. the contrast had his blood running cold. the sight of your hollow and dull orbs gazing up at him, even the sources of light around you did nothing to bring back that sparkle. the way your eyes looked incredibly sunken in, tired, swimming with distress as they searched his. he wondered how he hadn't seen the change before.

a change that happened because of him. the light in your eyes is gone all thanks to him. he wanted to be the one to preserve and make sure your eyes light up for the rest of your life, but instead he's the reason you look defeated. he couldn't handle the guilt eating him up at the sight.

"i-i broke her," chan whispers, "you could see it in her eyes how my shortcomings, the ones i was too blind and stupid to notice… that broke her. i broke her."

changbin doesn't say anything.

"i thought it would be better for me to let her go… get her away from me who was sucking the life out of her," chan's hands run through his hair, "she deserves so much more than me."

the older boy cries. his thoughts, feelings, everything just clouded with you.

"hyung," changbin's tone is soft, feeling out the atmosphere, "don't you think that it's sucking the life out of her even more, to be away from you?"

this time chan is the one who doesn't say anything.

"she wanted you to stay, she wanted you to convince her to stay."

"convince me to stay… please."

"i'm sorry."

"yes. from what you told us the day after you broke up, she does deserve better."

changbin's words send a dagger to chan's heart.

"but don't you want to be the one she deserves?"

chan's head turns to look at changbin.

"you need to work to be better, to be the one y/n deserves. that's what she wants, she wants you hyung."

"… m-me?"

"she wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if she didn't want you for the rest of her life."

…

your plan for the day was to wake up around noon, order some takeout or ransack your best friend's freezer for some food (and ice cream), chill on the couch and watch some netflix. instead you're jolted awake, at ten in the morning, by pounding at the front door.

rolling your eyes in annoyance, stretching your arm out, feeling around before grasping a pillow and clutching it over your head, trying your hardest to block out the noises and fall asleep. hoping the longer you hold out, it will give off the illusion that no one's home and come back later. a couple moments pass, a sigh of relief falls from your lips when the knocking stops, allowing you to loosen your grip on the pillow around your head.

maybe the neighbours got annoyed and kicked whoever that was out.

at the silence, you roll onto your side and shift your body around to get comfortable in the mattress. another long breath leaving your lips once that optimal position to fall asleep in is found, closing your eyes and getting ready to be lulled back into dreamland.

now you think someone is fucking with you.

the knocking starts up again, for a second you thought you'd fallen asleep and the knocking was continuing in your dreams but no. sadly, you weren't lulled back into dreamland like you hoped, the pounding in your head making it apparent that this was indeed, reality.

on top of all the things happening in your life lately, being woken up by a stranger relentlessly hammering the life out of their fist on your– actually, your best friend's– door is the kicker to a great day. a whine leaving your lips as you roll out of bed, pouting as you trudge to the door of the guest bedroom and continue your trek down the hall, towards the front door.

sure, you wouldn't have minded if your best friend, the person who lives in this unit, was actually home to answer the door. alas, she's at work whilst you're here; straightening out your pyjamas and plastering the fakest smile on your lips whilst you undo the locks, twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open.

"hello, mis—"

your jaw drops. posture immediately straightening due to the wave of tension that rushes through your veins, your mind comes up with two options: hide behind the door or run. your heart begins to race in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment but your feet are cemented to the ground. any urge you had to run away and hide quickly depleting at the sight of the man in front of you, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"chan… wh-what are you doing here?"

there he is: the man of the hour.

in front of you, in the flesh. standing a couple inches away from you clad in his usual all-black attire. you're avoiding his gaze but can't seem to pry your eyes off the bouquet in the man's hold.

a medley of red and white roses, baby's breath peeking throughout the arrangement.

"i- i needed to see you," chan's voice comes out husky.

shifting awkwardly on your feet, you sigh, "how did you know i was here?"

"multiple calls to your best friend and a long speech," he uses his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous smile on his lips.

'she's getting a long speech from me too.'

"okay, well…" you clear your throat, "you saw me so bye."

you go to shut the door but chan stumbles forward, holding it open as he stands in the doorframe. the gush of air from his sudden movements gives you a whiff of his cologne. that along with the closer proximity has a lump forming in your throat.

"w-wait, i wanted to talk too."

"y-you spoke and so did i so, bye," you choke out, trying to close the door again but to no avail as his body blocks your way, "please chan, what more do you want from me? don't make this harder for me."

chan reaches forward at the sight of a tear falling, wanting to wipe it away but you flinch away from his touch. your reaction has chan recoiling, he shifts awkwardly on his feet. you go to turn away from him.

"i made a mistake," he states, his words coming out rushed.

you gulp, angling your body towards the man again. this time your arms crossed over your chest, your gaze still falling away from his face. chan's throat clears when he realizes that you're not going to speak.

"that night, i shouldn't have let you go," he continues, "i should've told you, said something, said anything to convince you to stay… but… fuck. i- i was scared."

your eyes glance up at his face, only to look away just as quickly.

"you're probably thinking, of what?" chan runs a hand through his hair, "but listening to everything you said, everything that i was stupid, ignorant enough not to notice, all those things that i did– or, uh didn't do… that hurt you. it scared me to tell you i wanted you to stay."

your eyebrows furrow in frustration, this time your gaze stays on his face, making no move to wipe the tears running down your cheeks.

"listening to you, hearing how much i hurt you. i- i thought it would've been selfish of me to tell you to stay," chan's voice cracks, tears falling from his eyes as well, "i thought i would hurt you more if you stayed… that you didn't deserve that, y-you deserved so much more than me."

"god, chan.…" a bitter smile on your lips, "you saying nothing, letting me leave… a-and not fighting for me, for us! fuck… that hurt more than anything."

the memories of that night have your heart aching. whimpering as the tears continue to fall, the sight has chan's gradually getting heavier in his chest. he wants nothing but to pull you into his arms and to never let go.

"i know… i know. baby, i'm so sorry," chan's cheeks are soaked with tears but he makes no effort to wipe them away, "i'm so fucking sorry. i thought i was doing what was best for you, but i fucked up, i fucked up big time."

your eyes lock with chan's. glossy, tear-filled orbs gazing into each other, at that moment the tears only build until the both of you are crying a river in the hallway.

chan quite literally launches himself at you. throwing his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. instinctively, your arms wrap around his torso, nuzzling your head into his shirt. bodies trembling and shaking as the both of you cry in each other's arms.

chan soaks up every single thing about this moment; the warmth of your body radiating onto him, your face nuzzled into his chest, the smell of your hair, the way your hands grip the back of his shirt, the feeling of your body pressed up against his. he isn't even sure that you'll take him back. regardless, he knows he wants to work his hardest to ensure he'll have you in his arms every day for the rest of his life.

in his arms, he holds the person who has been with him every step of the way and supported him day in and day out. the biggest mistakes chan ever made took place on that day: not convincing you to stay, not telling you how he loves you with his entire heart, and holding your engagement ring in his hand while he watched you walk out.

chan wants you to be so much more than just his past and present, he wants you to be his future, his forever. he's always wanted that but he failed at showing you, instead hurting you in ways he was completely ignorant of.

"i love you," chan cries, you can hear his heart racing in his chest, "i love you so much. if you let me, i'll work every single moment of every day to show you that. when i told you i wanted you for the rest of my life, i meant it. i mean it with my whole heart. i fucked up–majorly, but i swear to you! i swear i'll show you that i'm the one you deserve, that i can give you that life you deserve."

chan looks down at you, enveloped in his arms as your gaze naturally lifts to meet his eyes.

chan's heart skips a beat.

there it is.

that sparkle.

main masterlist

[konigbabe]

never define you

DAY 1 ⇢ Exhibitionism Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!teacher!reader (+ Shoko Ieiri) Word count: 1.9k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; exhibitionism; hints of a threesome (F/F/M); jealous!Gojo; playful!Shoko; p-in-v; office sex; table sex; ass slapping; swearing; unprotected sex; innapropriate use of a blindfold; extensive use of euphemisms and poetic descriptions Summary: "Shh, Ieiri will hear us...or do you want her to come and watch?" — to which you simply nod. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

"I said watch, not touch." Shoko's fingertip grazes the curve of her lower lip, a deliberate act that invites her tongue to follow; eyes staying on your swaying form, breasts almost spilling from your bra due to Satoru's thrusts turning erratic. Harsher. More demanding. The scene drenched in a potent blend of Satoru's possessiveness and desire.

You don't know what's louder — your moans or the rhythmic collision of Satoru's hips against yours.

The table beneath your palms exudes a comforting warmth; its sharp edge finding the curve of your hipbone in tandem with each intense meeting of flesh. Sends a wave of ecstasy through your veins. Sets every nerve ablaze.

Ends with his name escaping your lips, falling like a plea that elicits a guttural response from him. His lips curve upward, a mix of desire and satisfaction, as he drinks in the sight of you—legs parted to the limits set by the elastic band of your underwear, the delicate fabric pressing sharply into the tender flesh of your lower thighs. Body angled parallel to Satoru's work desk, skirt gathered around your hips to reveal a tantalizing sliver of the skin on your lower back.

His fingers seek out that revealed fragment of skin, grasping it with a desperate hunger to feel your warmth, your skin. His touch a fervent proclamation of ownership. Reveling in the way your body yields to his touch, how your gasps and moans harmonize with his movements, responding to his skilled touches.

It's not enough though.

Already unbuttoned, your shirt lays open as he seizes the fabric at the back, tugging it gently; exposing the top of your shoulder blades – the canvas for his hungry eyes and roaming hands.

It's not enough.

With a disapproving grunt and cock buried, deeply nestled within you, he tugs more. With caution, not to rip the thin material (he's already received a mouthful the last time he dared to rip your shirt off, left it in pieces).

"Don't rip–"

The words fade into a breathless silence. Instead, a choked-off moan is let out when Satoru's movements take a sudden, forceful turn and he delivers a rather harsh thrust.

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses your warning, "don't worry, I know."

The wooden surface beneath your palms loses its support as you boldly follow the trail of his actions, arms drawn backward in a daring arc, pectoral muscles stretching in a way that brings both delight and strain.

Bathing in the darkness, his blindfold presses gently against your closed eyelids; you feel the material of your shirt bunch around your forearms, cinching them together in a makeshift constraint, Satoru's fingers envelop the material between your wrists, holding it firmly. His cock splits you open with each roll of his hips. Thighs flush against yours. Feet stretching, tiptoes barely reaching the wooden floor of his workplace.

"You're so pretty like this."

The other hand leaves a sharp unexpected sting on the curve of your ass. Earns him a surprised yelp, his name a mix of displeased profanity and something more primal. Loud enough to surpass the door.

"Shh," Satoru murmurs, his tone a gentle hush, and bends down, forceful movements giving way to gentle, shallow motions; savoring the sensation of the way your cunt grips him. Every time he withdraws, you draw him in tighter, your hips synchronizing with his. "Or Ieiri will hear us," he adds, a whisper in the air.

To which you hum in contentment but don't necessarily quiet down.

"Daamn–you got tighter," his breath fans over the shell of your ear, forehead momentarily resting on the back of your head as he stops, stays seated inside. "S'that it? You wanna get heard by her?" His voice is laced with amusement, a playful query that lingers in the space between you.

You answer his teasing proposition with a roll of your hips.

"Mmph–Satoru, please–.”

To which the weight of his clothed body leaves your back as he straightens out. One hand splayed on top of your ass; fingers spread over the juncture where the supple flesh meets the lower arch of your back. Thumb pressing against your perineum while he watches the white ring of your juices cling to his cock whenever he pulls out.

"Or you want her to watch?"

The idea that you let sit. It mingles with the way he pivots his hips until something inside you snaps.

"Wouldn't–ugh," the words tumble from your lips, your back arching involuntarily – calves straining, ass going up with your still-covered breasts pressing into the table."Wouldn't mind her—watching." The admission punctuated with a gasp.

It's as if you could feel the way Satoru grins over your words. Listening to your struggle to form a sentence while relentlessly hitting all the sweet spots in your walls. While listening to the sounds of your wet cunt, how your slick stick to him like glue. And watching; watching the pleasure take you over and the way your hands curl around nothing within his grasp.

He reaches for his phone then. Fishes it out of his back pocket. Casually searches through the contacts, scrolling through the list until it lands on ‘Ieiri Shoko'. All while his hips meet yours, in a languid pace, using the grip he has on you to pull you back; to meet him halfway.

Shortly after the sound of a sent message reaches your ears, the doors open.

"Oh wow," her voice carries a unique texture, a sort of huskiness. A distinct raspy quality. Despite this, her tone maintains a soothing quality, like a well-loved instrument that has gained character over time. And to a non-sorcerer's ear, it would sound simply smooth.

"Wasn't expecting such a delightful sight."

Satoru doesn't stop rolling his hips. Instead, his movements evolve, become more defined – angling himself to lean further over you. With one hand resting on the table, fingertips grazing the curve of your hip. He impels his cock to go deeper; kiss that spot inside your walls, coaxing them to tighten around him. Coat him in slickness.

Makes you drip down your thighs – like liquid silk; you feel it cascade down until it’s caught by your underwear.

Satoru’s hips gradually slow their relentless pace, a momentary respite in the whirlwind of sensation. 

"Well," a low rumble pours from Satoru's chest as he speaks, tone a blend of playful invitation and smoldering desire, "you can watch all you want. She seems to like you."

A hand connects with your asscheek. A gentle slap.

"Isn't that right, pet?"

"Umm," your words are caught in your throat when Satoru untangles your arms from the shirt's confines and brings you up. Forces your arms to support your weight on the table as the arch of your back meets the solid planes of his chest. "So–so right."

The heels click against the wooden floor until Shoko's breath touches your cheeks slick with the sheen of sweat.. The warmth of her breath mingles with yours. Delicate, bony fingers grasp your chin and tilt it slightly up until a thumb swipes over your kiss-bruised lips.

"Always wondered ‘bout the sounds you'd make," every roll of her tongue adds a touch of richness to every word she utters, "the way you'd taste."

Her lips crash into yours. Soft and tender. The delicate pressure sends ripples through your exposed body. Making your heartbeat drop to your cunt, swell around Satoru and push you closer to the luscious end.

With each gentle brush and press of her mouth, time seems to slow, the world around you narrowing down to the meeting of her lips. All accompanied by the heat of his cock pressing against your inner walls until you're filled to the brim with pure blissful agony.

"I said watch, not touch."

A sharp, forceful impact sends you crashing against the table's rough edge, the fleeting touch of your lips disrupted, leaving only a fleeting connection of saliva – almost as if he was chastising you for Shoko's perceived transgression.

"And only her," his words command with an edge of envy, "eyes on her."

Shoko's fingertip grazes the curve of her lower lip, a deliberate act that invites her tongue to follow; eyes staying on your swaying form, breasts almost spilling from your bra due to Satoru's thrusts turning erratic. Harsher. More demanding. The scene drenched in a potent blend of Satoru's possessiveness and desire.

"No one cares about your cock, Gojo," the tone turns annoyed, a lingering playfulness underneath its surface.

"I do," you mumble, slowly feeling the high building up.

Your words make the man smirk at his coworker.

"Come here," he pulls you closer, breasts brushing against the warmth of his forearm. A warm exhalation fans across your neck, gently coaxing you to tilt your head to the side to give him a proper kiss – a gradual melding of mouths, unhurried and deliberate. A delicious tangle of warmth that tingles through your body. "That's my girl."

You finally break apart, lips still tingling with pleasure. You both let out a sigh of contentment, enjoying the afterglow.

"One more," Satoru whispers against your lips, hips moving in a subtle rhythm against yours. Shoko observes the two of you with a curious expression, sweeping your hair aside from one side of your face. Coinciding with Satoru's soft kisses trailing towards your ear on the opposite side.

You feel his hand glide along your hip, tracing the contours with a delicate touch. Fingers exploring the curve of your ass. Middle finger grazing over the apex of your folds, gathering the glistening wetness before circling the tender spot at the center.

A whimper of pleasure unfurls from your mouth like the petals of a blossoming flower. It grows, a crescendo of longing and need, as Satoru follows the same pattern – tracing slow circles around your clit and hood, pressing down whenever his cock kisses the deepest places inside you. Then he draws back. Leaves only the tip in, lets you feel the way your cunt grips his head, tries to suck him back in. And with his hips snapping, he pushes back into your warmth, slick, and flicks your clit in the process.

A tantalizing play that beckons you to clasp onto him whenever he's buried to the hilt.

"Satoru–please," your voice becomes an instrument of pure ecstasy, "m'close–don't stop…please…"

And he listens. To your longing for that sweet high. Skillful rolls of his lips like an artist's brushstrokes painting pleasure across your canvas.

Body slowly giving away, slick walls clamping down on his cock. You feel the sensations ripple through you, each one a tender collision of delicate flames, like feathers brushing against your senses. Touches that converge into points of an exquisite dance that leaves you melting, your very core becoming molten with pleasure.

It's the way your head strains back, finding solace in the crook of Satoru's neck; a sanctuary where his scent and warmth envelop you. Arms extending, gripping the opposite edge of the table until your knuckles feel as if they are going to rip. Thighs flexing, a choked cry of his name frees itself from your lips.

Satoru follows suit, his restraint shattered by the intensity of your tightening embrace, your walls a vice that clutches at him – an embrace that draws him in with an insatiable hunger. A voracious pull. The ripples of your fervor coax him deeper, painting your walls the purest hues of intimacy until you become a canvas that blushes with pearlescent tones. He imprints himself deep within your walls.

"Wish I took my phone with me," Shoko's voice interjects, a distant echo that momentarily breaches the bubble of your orgasm, the ripples of her words brushing against the edges of your pleasure without truly breaking through.

You exhaust a chuckle. A gentle exhale that mingles with the remnants of your euphoria. Hand reaching for the blindfold, all while Satoru keeps his softening cock inside you. Relishing in the squeeze just a little longer.

[starshideurfics]

Daisies

The van is in the shop. And Eddie’s a little high, band practice ran long, so of course he misses Steve. Misses him so bad he *needs* to see him. Right away.

He says as much to Jeff as he stumbles out the door with a wave over his shoulder.

He cuts through a field, distracted for a minute by the wildflowers, thinks how long it’s been since he got Steve flowers. It’s been months, since Valentine’s Day, which *can’t* be right! His baby deserves flowers! To know how much he loves him!

His Stevie deserves pretty things.

Stooping awkwardly, Eddie gathers a small handful of white flowers, not wanting to take too many from their home, to condemn so many to a slow death on Steve’s desk.

He wipes at his eyes, knows he’s overthinking things. He breathes deep, sniffs at the daisies. Smiles again.

Focus renewed on getting to Steve, Eddie tramps along, crossing the field into the woods behind Steve’s house, tripping a little over roots and staying far from the edge of the pool, afraid he’ll lose his balance and fall in, ruin his nice surprise.

He knocks on the sliding glass door, holding out the bouquet expectantly.

Steve answers, smile big as he tugs Eddie inside. “I thought I was supposed to pick you up in an hour,” he says, accepting the flowers.

“You were?” Eddie asks dumbly, trying his hardest to remember said plans, but everything is fuzzy.

“Yeah, but I’m not complaining that you couldn’t wait.” Steve grins, smells his daisies. “I should get these in some water, and I’m guessing you’re thirsty too.”

He leads Eddie to the kitchen, getting the flowers into a vase and handing Eddie a glass of water. Eddie drinks the whole thing in one go, eyes on Steve the entire time. “You take such good care of me, baby. S’why I had to see you.”

“I’m just glad you made it here safely.”

Steve smiles fondly at him and Eddie feels like the sun is shining down on him, warming his whole body. “I’m sorry I don’t bring you flowers more often.”

“Eddie, it’s o—”

“You’re so wonderful, and I need to show you. All the time! You deserve flowers, Stevie.”

“And you brought me such pretty daisies, Ed. You know you don’t need—”

“Daisies. Daisy. Did you know daisy is a contraction of day’s eye? Because it is. And these eyes are all the better off for gazing upon your beauty.”

“How much of band practice was just a smoke sesh?” Steve asks, fond smile still firmly in place as he gently cradles Eddie’s face in his hands.

“We shared a bowl at the end, that’s it. I’m barely feeling it,” Eddie protests.

“Sure.” Eddie can tell Steve doesn’t believe that.

“I can’t help that you inspire the poetry of my heart, Steven! That I look upon your beguiling face and I must let you know the very depth of my love for you! Shouting it from the highest rooftops would not be enough. Filling your house with blossoms would not show my true ardor.

“If only I could place my very heart inside your chest, let it live beside yours, every beat in tandem.” Eddie shrinks then, proclamation finished, throwing his arms around Steve’s ribcage and burying his face against his shoulder.

Steve’s hand comes up to stroke his hair. “I know, love,” he whispers. Presses a kiss to his temple. “You tell me how much you love me with everything you say and do. Thank you, for never making me question how you feel.”

“You’re my Stevie,” Eddie mumbles, muffled a bit by Steve’s shirt. “I’ll always let you know. S’why I should give you more flowers.”

“I love the ones I have already.