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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

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WAYS TO DESTRESS

summary: after a long day, all coriolanus wants to do is blow some steam off. nothing will stop him from getting what he wants…not even your sleepy state

pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, somnophilia, dub non-con, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy spanking, belly bulge (?), LISTEN I KNOW ITS UNLIKELY BUT LET ME BE UNHINGED, a bit rough nothing too crazy, get your holy water though, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please)

a/n: this came to me the moment i opened my eyes this morning. pure filth. i shouldn't be proud but i am. goes to show how much coriolanus is plaguing my thoughts day and night. my new little hyperfixation. a new villain to add to my collection <3

PT. 2

requests open ✨

All Coriolanus feels is anger. It's been pumping through his veins throughout most of the day, almost causing him to lose his composure at all the wrong places. He can never afford to fuck up. He already did it once, and second chances are nonexistent in the Capitol.

He owes a lot to Dr. Gaul. After all, she saw the value in Coriolanus. She saw right through him and his faux kindness and unearthed his true wickedness. He simply needed a nudge in the right direction.

While working for with her is an honor, it is hardly easy. Like all aspects of his life, he's had to adapt to how she runs her lab. Coriolanus is hardly a follower; he's a leader, but as long as he remains under the tutelage of Dr. Gaul, he will have to follow her orders. Which means he has to talk when spoken to and perform how she expects him to.

There are days when it all becomes too much. His pride rises to the surface, forcing him to stifle it as best as he can before he does something he regrets.

He has to think of the scrutinizing gaze of his peers waiting for him to fail. As much as they pretend to be his friend, they want him to make a mistake so they can rise to the occasion. He won't allow that.

His apartment is silent when he steps in. The lavish decor is obscured by the lack of illumination. It's to be expected, seeing it's well past midnight.

Leaving his coat by the door, Coriolanus walks towards the bedroom. He needs to destress now, or he'll carry all his anger and frustration on his shoulders for the rest of the week. He can't have that. He can't lose control and look bad in front of Dr. Gaul and the others.

In the master bedroom, he finds you lying on the soft mattress, tangled in the silky bedsheets. He watches your chest rise and fall with gentle breaths, your pouty lips slightly ajar. It's a shame he's going to disturb your sleep, but he needs to let off some steam. That's one of the numerous reasons he has his pretty little girlfriend.

Coriolanus unbuttons the red waistcoat and removes his shoes, leaving them in the armchair. As he approaches your side of the bed, he notices the bright orange bottle on the nightstand and your book thrown haphazardly on the floor.

It's rare for you to take sleep aid medication because you hate how they knock you out. You only take them when you've had a particularly rough day. It seems Coriolanus is not alone in this. Today has been bad for both you and him.

Still, his plan remains the same. Coriolanus leans over you, kissing your forehead gingerly before his lips continue to trail down to kiss your cheek and lips. You don't stir with the soft touches.

Coriolanus darkly chuckles. It's not often he gets to do this. He'll take it as a treat for his patience throughout the day. He'd say the universe is working in his favor if he believed in such silly things.

Having you so pliable and willing in his hands excites him to no end. Lying on the bed, he digs his head on your shoulder, leaving marks for you to find in the morning. It spurs him on to hear little gasps falling from your lips.

"Beautiful and all mine," he mutters into the silent room as he lowers down the thin straps of your night dress to reveal your chest.

Coriolanus takes his time with your body. Even while asleep, it responds to his touch. He sucks and squeezes on your breasts harshly, biting down on the stiff peaks of your nipples.

He's not as gentle this time around compared to other times in the past. Then, you were simply asleep; now, you're completely doped out. He will miss your whines and the way you berate him.

Coriolanus continues down your body until he settles between your legs. "Fuck, darling," he audible groans when he lifts up your nighty to find a patch on your panties. Who would've thought you'd be as responsive to him while asleep.

He gives into his urges as he presses his nose against your center, smelling your arousal and licking up the wet fabric with his tongue. He only parts for a moment as he roughly slides the thin fabric off.

With you like this, there is no reason to tease. He doesn't have to kiss your thighs or hold himself back. Coriolanus can truly delve into what he wants without a spectacle.

It's why he buries his tongue into your wet cunt as soon as he has the chance. He holds your limp thighs on his shoulders as he presses himself against you, his blue eyes closing in ecstasy at the taste.

Soft noises- moans- come from above him as you slightly stir in your drug-induced sleep. While Coriolanus suck on your pearl of nerves, he wonders what you're dreaming about and if he's the protagonist as well.

His hips roll onto the mattress underneath, soothing the ache on his cock. He could go straight to fucking you but wants this to last. He needs to keep his mind busy, and eating you out is the answer.

Unconsciously, you grind your cunt on his tongue, chasing your release. Coriolanus smiles at this and rewards you with fucking you with his tongue. He's determined to make you cum all over it.

"Oh," he hears you whine when his nose rubs on your sensitive clit. He knows you're close. He feels it in the way your thighs are suddenly clenching around him.

There is no doubt in his mind you're still asleep. If you were awake, you'd be gripping his hair like a vice and calling his name for everyone to hear. You'd be begging him to fuck you silly.

Coriolanus laps up your juices like a starving man when you cum. Despite living in poverty, he never felt the need to act in such a way until he tasted you for the first time. He treats his sweet little girlfriend's cunt like a delicacy.

He stops himself before he almost makes you cum again as he slurps and sucks on your cunt. From up close, he can see the way your clit twitches under the pleasure. He leaves a bruise that will turn purple by morning on the inside of your thigh. It'll be a telltale sign he was there, devouring you while you soundly slept. A reminder you're his to use whenever he pleases.

Taking the rest of his clothes off, Coriolanus returns to your sleeping body. He pumps his cock in his fist as he looks at all the bruises and marks he left behind, and you'll have to hide because you can't have him seem like a pervert in front of his classmates.

Kneeling on the bed, he wraps your legs around his hips. He teases your wet cunt with the fat head of his cock, nudging over your clit repeatedly. He continues this until his cock is slick with your juices. As an extra, he spits down on your cunt, spreading his saliva over you. Not because you need lubrication but because he likes the sight of him on you in every which way.

No matter how many times Coriolanus has fucked you throughout your two years of being together, he's always had trouble pushing his cock in. He has to take a deep breath when he bottoms out as your cunt tries to choke him out. It's one of his favorite things about you, a constant reminder of the day he took your innocence.

It's only when he begins rocking his hips into you that you give any indication of waking up.

"What?" You whine as panic settles into you. Your brain isn't working properly. You're hazy and confused. Not knowing where you are, you get scared, and your heart races.

Coriolanus holds your hands as you begin struggling. As he leans down to talk to you, he pins you down, leaving you impaled with his cock. He immensely enjoys the struggle but can't have you screaming out in panic.

"It's just me, darling," he coo's in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your face. It works as your heart begins settling down.

"Coryo?" You sniff with tears in your eyes as your panic is quickly swept away. You try to speak, but the pills leave your tongue heavy and your brain foggy.

"Yes, your Coryo," he responds, kissing your cheek sweetly.

You've stopped struggling and spread your legs once again, just how he likes it. He even feels you clenching down purposefully around Coriolanus' cock. You're no saint; you enjoy making it hard for him even in your drugged-out state.

"Relax, darling. Go back to sleep," he hushes you, softly rocking into you.

Your eyes are already closed as he utters the words. You have no choice in the matter. Granted, now you sleep calmer, knowing it's Coryo touching you and making you feel food.

Coriolanus calls your name once, twice, and there is no response. You're back with the sandman, peacefully asleep. He takes it as a sign to keep fucking you.

Kneeling back on the bed, Coriolanus brings up your thighs to touch your chest. Your pretty cunt is on full display, showcasing the hues of pink and glistening fluids that shine under the lowlights of the bedroom.

Coriolanus licks the pads on his fingers before they smack down on your center. The only way it'll look even better is if it had that familiar twinge of red. He aims for the center, straight at your pearl, and smacks his hand down several times.

It manages to wake you again, eyes hooded with sleep, staring at him and complaints falling from your lips. Each time the 'smack' reverberates and you flinch, he soothes the sting, spreading the clear strings of arousal that drip from your hole.

Only when your cunt is flushed red and your clit is puffed out of its fleshy covering, does he pull you down on his cock. He fucks in and out of you mercilessly, addicted to the way your tight walls hug his cock even as he pulls out.

He glances towards your face and notes you're back to sleep. If it were up to him, you'd take the pills more often just so he could find you waiting for him asleep, naked on the bed. A real-life doll of his own.

The sound of skin slapping and his desperate moans and grunts fill the room, along with some of your smaller ones. He doesn't tend to be so vocal; he prefers listening to you beg for him, but with no one to hear him, he lets it all out.

Coriolanus places a hand on your lower tummy, pressing down to feel himself through your walls. It's an erotic thing to feel his cock slipping in and out, reaching the deepest parts of you.

He slows the pace of his thrusting, opting to go harder and deeper, just where he can make out the bump on your pelvis of his cock head.

The pressure Coryo is causing doesn't go unnoticed by you. Groggily, you open your eyes to find him with his head dipped down, whispering profanities to himself, a pretty sheen of sweat covering his fair skin.

"Mmm, Co-coryo," you moan, catching his attention.

With a glint in his eyes, he grabs your hand, placing it where you can feel it too, his fingers lacing through yours as he holds it down, "Feel this? No one will ever get you to feel like I do, darling. I'm going to ruin you for all others. Not like I'll let you leave anyways."

It's never crossed your mind to leave Coriolanus. Not for a second. The moment you set eyes on him, you knew he was it, and the ring on your finger is a promise of that. It's why you let him use you as he pleases.

You babble out a response as the darkness consumes you once more. By morning, you'll barely remember a thing as a side effect of the pills, but Coryo won't let you forget.

The mixture of your relaxed state, Coriolanus' hand pressing down on you, and the angle of his thrusts allow for something that hasn't happened before. Something he'll enjoy for the years to come.

As he viciously snaps his hips to chase his release, you wiggle under him. There are words on your heavy tongue neither can make out, a warning.

"Shh," Coriolanus quiets you down, focusing on the way you're milking his cock for all that his worth.

He's in for a surprise when a particularly angled thrust causes you to squirt around him. A stream of your juices covering his cock and abdomen. Although he falters for a moment, he quickly pulls out and rubs at your clit, causing a smaller stream to leak out of you.

His night has become a hundred times better. His eyes widen in wonder as his brain creates new ways to have you and make you do it again. "This is going to be fun."

When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember what happened, but you know something did. It's in the way your cunt aches and how thick cum runs down your leg when you get up.

Brief, blurry memories surface as you shower. Truly, you didn't care. If anything, you're upset you missed out on the fun and can't remember the pleasure. Ultimately, you trust Coriolanus and that he won't hurt you.

You feel well-rested as you dress and make breakfast for the two of you. There is an undeniable ache in your cunt, but that's always welcomed. Your problems from yesterday are only a quiet hum in a dark corner of your brain.

"My love," you softly call out to Coriolanus, touching his naked shoulder.

"Good morning," he says with his eyes closed, although there is an undeniable grin on his lips. All the stress he felt yesterday has dissipated, leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest.

"Good morning to you, too," you giggle as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss. There is a tangy taste attached to them that you recognize well. "Had a good night, did you?"

"I certainly did. Do you remember anything?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. The falling bedsheets reveal his toned chest and stomach. Gently, you grab the tray with food and place it on his lap.

"Barely," you scoff, "It's a shame." You technically haven't had sex with Coriolanus in two long weeks. His stunt from last night did nothing to satiate you or your mind that keeps picturing him in all sorts of compromising positions.

Coriolanus hums as he takes a bite of toast. You know him well enough to know he's amused that you don't remember and that he's hiding something.

"What is it?" You prod, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He's making you work for it. Coryo loves his games, after all.

"Coryo," you speak his name with a warning.

He takes his time, sipping on the glass placed on the tray. "I just…I didn't know you could squirt," he reveals cheekily, stabbing his fork on a piece of fruit.

"What? That's because I don't," you say, taken aback.

A crease forms between your eyebrows. You and Coryo are not ashamed to talk about sex. It took you by surprise at first because he always presents himself so elegantly and no-nonsense. Behind the scenes, though, when he's with you, he's open to discussing everything he wishes to try and his likes and dislikes.

You, in return, have been the same. Admitting that you've never been able to squirt and might never be able to. It's been a topic of conversation numerous times, seeing as it's something Coryo has always been curious about.

"Yes, you do. Last night, you squirted all over my cock and my fingers and my tongue," he boasts with a smirk as he remembers all the times he made you cum after that.

"I did?"

"You were such a good girl for me, darling," Coriolanus responds, putting the tray of food to the side and cupping your face, "All you had to do was relax."

"Hard to do when you're edging me for hours," you roll your eyes at him. Edging you is just one of the fun ways he tortures you.

"Don't be a spoilsport," he frowns, gripping your face harder before planting another kiss on your lips.

"It's not fair. I can't remember anything," you softly murmur. It's a real damn shame you won't remember the first time you squirt or the face Coryo made at the realization.

"Poor thing. I can show you how to do it again. I practiced last night a couple of times," he whispers in your ear, kissing down to your pulse point, "But I can't right now, or I'll be late."

"Huh?" You dumbly respond, enthralled by his words, imagining all the pleasure he'll give you.

"Thanks for breakfast," Coriolanus says, standing from the bed and heading into the bathroom butt-naked.

You watch after him lustfully and angrily, forced to continue your morning as if nothing happened.

In less than an hour, Coriolanus is ready to return to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He has to check for any progress in his experiment before heading to the university for his classes.

He sits you on the bed before he leaves, though, to show you something 'important.' "I'll see you tonight," he says, kissing the crown of your head and turning on the TV.

The screen shows you lying on your back, whining helplessly as Coryo slips two fingers into your cunt rapidly. The rings on his fingers and the palm of his hand glisten with your sticky juices.

He did not lie about your new ability as you watch your hole leak clear liquid. The Coryo on the screen, who had been encouraging you with lewd words, eagerly attaches his mouth to catch it all. When he pulls back, his chin is dripping with your release.

Watching yourself in that fucked out state and Coryo behaving so obscenely gets your silk panties wet. Glancing at the clock, you note you have 30 minutes till you have to be at the door.

In no time, you're spread out on the bed with your hand under your university skirt, panties pushed to the side fucking two fingers into your cunt. Your eyes are focused entirely on the screen, rewatching the clip.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it!

part two for coryo making her squirt while she's actually conscious?

#fanfiction #smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction

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swappermanent · 1 month ago

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Twin Switcheroo

You always hear about identical twins pulling the ol’ switcheroo on their parents or teachers—pretending to be one another just for the thrill. Nobody could tell them apart, so no harm, no foul, right? Well, my brother Aidan and I did that too. Only problem? We’re fraternal twins.

And when I say “fraternal,” I don’t mean the kind where people squint and say, Oh, I can kinda see it if I tilt my head. No, Aidan and I look nothing alike. But somehow, we pulled it off. Not because we were convincing actors, mind you, but because we had something most kids didn’t: the swapping stone.

It all started when we were nine. One of those sketchy, seasonal fairs had rolled into town, the kind that takes over the Walmart parking lot with creaky rides and booths full of cheap plastic prizes. Mom had given us ten bucks each to go wild, and we’d spent the better part of the afternoon losing at ring toss and inhaling cotton candy. That’s when we saw it: a grubby little booth tucked between the Tilt-A-Whirl and the fried dough stand.

The sign said “Mystical Marvels and Curiosities.” Beneath it sat an old woman with a hunched back and a smile full of suspiciously white teeth. Her table was cluttered with all sorts of junk—snow globes, “enchanted” bracelets, a crystal ball that was probably just glass. But in the middle of it all was this smooth, flat stone, about the size of a hockey puck, with strange carvings etched into its surface.

“What’s that?” Aidan had asked, pointing to the stone.

The woman’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, a powerful artifact, young one,” she said in a voice like creaking floorboards. “The Swapstone. Hold it between your hands with someone you trust, and you will trade places—body and soul.”

We’d burst out laughing, of course. It was obviously a gimmick, just like the “magic” wands she was selling for five bucks a pop. But we were nine, and the stone looked cool, so we pooled our money and bought it.

We didn’t think much of it until later that night. We were in our room, half-heartedly squabbling over whose turn it was to play the Xbox, when Aidan picked up the stone and tossed it at me.

“Hey, let’s try it,” he said, grinning.

“Try what? Swapping bodies?” I snorted, catching the stone.

“Yeah,” he said, plopping onto the bed. “What’s the worst that could happen? We hold hands and nothing happens? Big deal.”

I rolled my eyes but sat down across from him. “Fine. But when nothing happens, I get to play Xbox for the rest of the night.”

“Deal,” he said, holding out his hands.

We pressed our palms against the stone, and for a second, nothing happened. Then—

A rush of heat. A flash of light. And suddenly, I wasn’t looking at Aidan anymore. I was looking at... me.

“What the—” I started, but the voice wasn’t mine. It was Aidan’s. I scrambled to my feet, staring down at hands that weren’t my own, arms that were bulkier than I remembered. Across from me, Aidan was doing the same, staring at my scrawny frame with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“No way,” he whispered. “No freaking way.”

We spent the next ten minutes testing it out, poking and prodding at each other like scientists examining an alien specimen. Eventually, we figured out how to switch back—just hold the stone again and focus on wanting to return. The rush of heat came back, and just like that, we were ourselves again.

After that, we couldn’t stop using it. At first, it was just for fun—swapping bodies to mess with each other or pull harmless pranks. But the more we used it, the more blurred the lines became. I spent so much time walking around in Aidan’s body that I’d catch myself forgetting who I really was.

“Sometimes I feel like I am you,” I admitted one night, lying on my bed with the stone resting on my chest.

“Same,” Aidan said, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it. “It’s weird, right? Like, if someone asked me to describe myself, I’d probably say... you.”

We kept it a secret, of course. Our parents were none the wiser, just like all the clueless parents of twins who love a good switcheroo.

---

As much as the lines blurred between our lives and as much as we got confused about who we even were, the swapping had to end eventually. Aidan and I were inseparable when we were younger—two halves of the same chaotic coin—but by the summer before high school, things had started to change.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No big fight, no falling out. It just became... necessary. We weren’t going to be doing the same exact activities in the coming year, and keeping track of who we were supposed to be when we swapped got harder and harder. If I was going to band practice in Aidan’s body while he hit the gym in mine, the whole charade started to unravel fast.

It didn’t stop all at once, but yeah, over time, we just kinda forgot about the stone. We tucked it into an old shoebox under my bed and left it there to gather dust. By the time high school really kicked into gear, we were more focused on our own lives than playing at being each other.

Many years later, Aidan and I both graduated from the same state college—though you’d think we went to completely different schools if you compared the photos of us at graduation. I worked hard, grinding through late nights and endless cups of coffee, and graduated magna cum laude. Aidan? He did just fine, but he never stressed about grades the way I did. While I was holed up in the library, he was out partying, making connections, and leveraging his looks to build a portfolio.

At the end, I got a good job—steady pay, benefits, the whole package—but now I can’t shake this nagging question: What was I doing it all for?

The money’s nice, sure. My apartment’s not fancy, but it’s mine. I don’t have to worry about rent. But beyond that? My life feels... hollow.

I don’t have many friends. The few I made in college drifted away after graduation. And as for my health? Let’s just say I’ve let myself go. I spend more time sitting at a desk than I ever imagined, and my idea of a workout is walking from my couch to the fridge.

It’s not like I didn’t notice the weight creeping on, or how my skin doesn’t have that same glow it used to. But the real kicker? When I show people a photo of my twin now—Aidan, who’s living in New York City and working as a model—their reactions sting.

First, there’s the pause. Then their eyebrows raise, followed by an awkwardly polite, “Oh, wow. You two are twins?” And finally, the cherry on top: the sad, conciliatory look. Like I’m a cautionary tale of what happens when one twin wins the genetic lottery, and the other... doesn’t.

I hate it.

Aidan’s life is better than mine now by just about every metric. He’s got the looks, the friends, the job that sounds glamorous even if it’s exhausting. And me? I’m sitting here, feeling like the second-place prize in a race I didn’t know I was running.

---

That brings me to today.

Our parents had decided to move—downsizing, they called it, though it felt more like an end of an era. They asked me to come back and help clean out my old bedroom, and honestly, I agreed more out of guilt than a sense of duty. It had been years since I’d really spent any time in that room, and I figured the whole process would be a couple of hours, tops. Box up some trophies, toss some old notebooks, and call it a day.

But as I dug through the layers of my childhood—the faded posters, the dusty books, the crumpled notes from middle school friends—I found something I hadn’t thought about in years.

The swapping stone.

It was right there in that old shoebox, exactly where we’d left it. The smooth, dark surface felt cool against my skin as I held it, the carvings still as intricate and mysterious as I remembered. For a moment, I just stared at it, a flood of memories rushing back—late nights laughing with Aidan, testing the limits of what we could get away with, the strange, electric sensation of becoming someone else.

But then I noticed something I didn’t remember: a folded piece of paper tucked beneath the stone.

Curious, I unfolded it carefully, my fingers trembling slightly. The handwriting was unmistakable—messy and uneven, like all the notes Aidan and I passed back and forth as kids.

The note read:

We, Aidan and Griffin, agree to swap bodies forever starting today, August 12th, 2010, because we both like each other’s bodies better than our own. We also agree that if one of us wants to switch back, we must do it.

Signed, Aidan Griffin

I read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, my heart pounding louder with every word.

“What the hell...” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The memories started rushing back, faster now, sharper. That summer before high school, Aidan and I had spent weeks talking about how different we were—not just in how we looked, but in how we felt. I remembered the way he’d always envied my leaner frame, how he said it felt lighter, faster, more comfortable. And me? I’d admired his broad shoulders, his confidence, the way people seemed to notice him when he walked into a room.

We must have talked ourselves into it, convincing each other that staying swapped was the solution to all our problems. I could almost hear my thirteen-year-old voice saying, “It’s not like anyone will know, anyway. We’ll just be... happier this way.”

And the kicker? I’d agreed to it. We both had.

I looked at the note again, my stomach twisting.

Shit.

That means... I’m Aidan.

#Aydin Eyikan

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lemonmaid · 1 month ago

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Poly Taskforce x Baker! Reader

A small part two, I had the idea while working today. It is very apparent that I just started watching Dexter.

Warnings: talks about murder. Gender neutral reader

To say Simon was smitten witn you could be an understatement.

Simon went far along to change his hours, Johnny complained about it for weeks, always mumbling in the ealry morning "why we need to open thus early? No one is gonna wanna have meat at 6 am".

He will always be there whenever you text or call, you want him to double check to make sure the store is locked up? No problem, you're lucky he lives above the shops.

The seasons were changing fast, the forcast called for snow later today. The door slammed open, "Has anyone seen john? I wanted to ask him to get lamb meat for these Shepherd pies I gotta make for the holiday season". Ah there you were in all your glory, you were wrapped up tight in layers of clothing.

"What's wrong with Si's meat- OW! Fuck Si, was kiddin'", Johnny rubbed the back of his head, mumbling before walking to the back freezer.

You looked at the two with an awkward expression, "Nothinh, i just wanted fresher lamb, anyways- Simon do you think you can look at my oven again? I think it's not heating right".

And see you in your cute white apron and pretend your his bonnie? Of course.

Simon hummed, "light probably out again, i can check it later tonight".

You smiled, "thanks Si, probably be lost without you".

The rest of the day was slow, slow to the point Johnny said he is gonna hit the pub early even though it was a bit of a walk. Simon really didn't want to work the front end, he hates talking to people kinda mutish but will carry a conversation if needed. Johnny did the talking for him, been talking and hasn't stop talking since primary school, hell the two were so close that Simon could call Johnny's ma his own. Johnny was always there, even when Simon didn't want to see his ugly mug, Johnny was there.

The front door chimed, Simon groaned, taking off his gloves and walked to the cash register, there was Kyle.

"Needing something Gaz?"

Kyle rolled his eyes at the nickname, they used to play together for their schools Rugby Team, their nicknames sticked together like glue. "Nah I just need your opinion on something".

Simon nodded, "police work?".

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, "Yall need be safe out there tonight, another body was found in miller's creek- which i wanted to ask you simon- what does this look like to you".

Simon looked at the pictures, he's got to hand to the killer, these cuts are professional, "looks like a clear Butcher cut"

Kyle hummed, "do you mind coming down to the station to give a statement? I think we would like your word-"

Simon crossed his arms, "You're not accusing me right Deputy?"

I mean, it was a good guess. There's only two Butcher shops in town, Simon's store was in the middle of no where and the other was three miles out of town, he's got to hand it to the killer, he does know his way around a blade. And after the incident that happened when he was a kid, wouldn't put it past Kyle for assuming him.

"Oh god, of course not Si! Listen the sheriff wants to figured out quick- doesn't want to alarm the folks here or more rumors".

Oh of course, Simon is aware of how people just talk in this town. A couple of years ago there was rumors of him and Johnny being a couple on the count of they don't go to church, old crazy people.

Just as they were bout to leave, Johns truck comes in speeding.

"Kyle! We need a immediate medic attention".

In the passenger seat was Johnny, very bloodied, beaten beyond recognition.

The bastard went to far.

#cod x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny x simon #ghost x soap #cod imagine #poly task force 141 #task force x reader #task force 141 imagine

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mindless-existence1 · 3 months ago

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Imagine Bakugo in the Winter

Authors note: Idk where this came from I've had writers block for weeks but all the sudden it's three am and I'm wiritng baukgo fluff. Anyway I love winter but get winter depression so this makes it better. Ignore the fact winter is like 2 months away.

Requests open for kink and flufftober along with normal fics!!

Imagine Bakugo who claims to hate winter. And he really did! That was before he started dating you. You love winter and drag him into your shenanigans.

Imagine Bakugo who begrudgingly agrees to get in his winter attire so he can go out and be in the snow with you. Mind you it's a hassle since he has to put on basically a hundred layers to stay warm.

Imagine Bakugo who makes a snowman with you, two in fact. One that has your scarf and one that has his. You have to fight him out of the scaf. He pretends not to blush when you suggest the idea of having snowmen you 'holding' hands.

Imagine Bakugo who almost let's out an explosion when you push him down into the thick layer of snow. When you laugh at him he fumes until he sees you fall next to him. In confusion he watches you move your arms and legs. With a grumble of how it's stupid he follows your movement.

Imagine Bakugo who helps yiu out of the snow, careful to not step on your angel as to not mess it up. He smiles and teasingly laughs at you when he notices your red nose from the cold.

Imagine Bakugo who takes forever to take off all of how winter gear but when he does he goes to the kitchen. He warms up hot coco for the two of you as you look up cookie recipes.

Imagine Bakugo who scolds you from his spot behind you on how you stir the batter. He takes over the baking, hiding his loving smile.

Imagine Bakugo who gets flustered when he sees you walk out of your shared room in one of his sweatshirts. His face flushes at the sight of you in the oversized hoodie. He grumbles out a complaint that defies the way his face flushes.

Imagine Bakugo who has never watched a christmas movie in his life. But when you beg him to watch your favorite with him he can't resist. He snuggles up with you on the couch, hot coco and fresh cookies sitting by you.

Imagine Bakugo who feels you fall asleep against him half way through the film. He looks around to see the empty cups and plate. With a smile on his face he slowly falls asleep with you. Maybe winter isn't all that bad if it's like this.

#mha #reader insert #my hero academia #Mha x reader #Mha fluff #Katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #Bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #Bakugo fluff #bakugo x you #Winter fluff #Mha winter fluff #Bakugo winter fluff

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eddiemunsonw · 10 months ago

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Snow Storm

Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Summary: You're on a 'date'. Sort of. You're really not feeling it, especially when you realize that the guy has been lying. Steve, witnessing it all during his shift at Family Video, is more than happy to meddle a little.

CW/Disclaimer: Hmmmm things start to get a little heated and sexy but nothing too dramatic. So... idk. Mention of porn?

Author's note: I have a tendency to post fics out of their season, it seems

Words: 3435

Steve’s POV

He watched as your eyes followed the section of horror movies slowly, scanning each title to try and remember if you had seen them before. Next to you, a guy stood impatiently as he eyed the curtain that separated the adult section. Steve watched with interest, as it was all that was currently happening in the store apart from a regular who looked into the slapstick classics on the other side.

“Come on, I just wanna see.”

The guy sighed, nudged you with his arm. You were having none of it and Steve couldn’t help but wear an amused smile. Eventually, when you had picked out two movies, you followed him towards the curtain. Steve, feeling particularly menacing today, quickly left the counter and approached the curtain just in time.

“Hello there! ID’s please.”

He held his hand open and you took it out immediately, showing that you were 23, a year younger than he was. When the guy handed it over with some reluctance, his curiosity piqued.

“Oof, sorry dude, can’t let you in. It’s 21+”

“What? Since when?” the guy responded, but Steve clocked something much more interesting.

“Clark… You said you were 24. Jesus this is why I never wanna say my age first,” you groaned and rolled your eyes. Steve bit down on his lip to stop himself from smiling, but it was too hard not to.

“Damn, why’d you have to lie to the lady? That’s not cool,” Steve added on.

Your POV

“You weren’t supposed to know. Now come on,” Clark mumbled and attempted to pass the curtain but Steve quickly moved in between, the smooth glide of his body grabbing your attention.

“Still a no, Bud.”

You were already tired of his pushy behavior earlier, so while Steve had him occupied, you entered the adult section. You didn’t even want to go in there, but it was better than staying.

“Grab some deepthroating! And some lesbian porn?”

Steve’s POV

Steve shook his head at him as he leaned against the wall right next to the curtain.

“Jesus, dude. Are you trying to make her run away from you even harder?”

“Shut up,” Clark grumbled, side eyeing him with annoyance.

“Hm, no,” Steve said, a small smile on his face. “Not for a pipsqueak like you.”

“Oh fuck off, says the failed jock whose daddy no longer funds him so he has to do a shitty job like this one, the highlight of his day being to be a total asshole to a guy trying to have sex with a girl.”

Steve stared ahead of him, taking a deep inhale before replying.

“Yeah. Sure. That’s a neat description of you and me both. Emphasis on the trying.”

“The day’s not over yet.”

“Oh but it is, pipsqueak. Cause you’re gonna turn around and leave now.”

They looked at each other, eyes dark and challenging. Steve wasn’t sure what came over him. He just knew that he needed to do you the favor of getting rid of him.

“The hell I am,” Clark bristled.

Steve chuckled darkly. Woah, when did he become this super villain huh? Hmm. Interesting.

“Oh you are. She wants you gone and so do I.”

“You don’t know shit about what she wants.”

“Let me go ask,” Steve said as his hand lazily slid the curtain aside. “What’s her name again?” he asked, pretending like he hadn’t checked your name on your ID. He didn’t wait for his answer and walked behind the curtain despite his protests. This, however, made him miss out on the emergency alert on the radio.

“We interrupt your favorite tunes for an important message. The blizzard is getting worse. If you haven’t yet, go home. Chances are you won’t be able to if you wait much longer.”

Clark, however, did. Besides, he wasn’t that much of an idiot. He knew he had lost his chances with you the moment he tried to get you to grab his favorite porn videos. Whatever.

Your POV

“So… see anything you like?”

His voice startled you, but at the same time it was met with relief from your end that it wasn’t Clark. Steve slowly walked closer and quickly noticed you didn’t seem interested in any of it in the slightest and chuckled.

“Or are you just planning to stay here forever until he leaves?”

You shrugged.

“Something like that. Also, you don’t just ask a lady about her favorite porn, Harrington.”

Delighted by your response, he cocked his hip against the wall as he crossed his arms with a grin.

“I mean… we both already know Clark’s…” Steve said jokingly, earning a smile from you.

“All men are the same,” you sighed. Steve pouted and scanned the titles for something interesting.

“You say that now but… wait until you find out that my favorite is actually… Granny getting a— nope, nope, forget I started that sentence,” Steve said quickly as he put back the tape he just had in his hands.

“All the grannies over the world are crying right now,” you said sadly, a smile on your lips.

“Too bad, I’ve set my eye on girls who actually are the age they say they are.”

“I’ll admit that’s the most interesting belated opening line I’ve ever heard,” you said dryly.

“As long as it catches your intrigue, I’m satisfied,” Steve said with a playful, cocky grin.

You grabbed a tape and smirked, holding it out for him.

“So I’m guessing you don’t need yourself a… Satisfyer 2.0, then?” You asked, holding up the tape which had sensual “instructions” for a vibrator.

Steve laughed and shook his head.

“These satisfy just fine,” Steve said, holding up his hands. Your mind drifted off to what he could do with those big hands. Not just to himself but to—

“… left?”

Steve had apparently just asked you a question.

“Huh?”

He smirked and nodded towards the curtain.

“I think he left. Just heard the bell above the door.”

“Maybe someone came in though…” you wondered out loud.

“Maybe. I’ll go check.” He spun on his heel and approached the curtain when—

“Wait—” It was out before you knew it. Steve halted, turned back around and looked at you patiently.

“Yeah?”

“If he is in fact not gone, can you… get rid of him somehow? I normally wouldn’t ask but he’s just such a—”

“Dick.”

“Yeah…” You smiled a small smile and watched as he approached you again. His eyes were on you, taking in even the smallest changes in your expression.

“So is he like… your boyfriend?” Steve asked softly. “Or uh, was?”

You chuckled and shook your head.

“Nah, this was the second date which I had reluctantly agreed to.”

“Why’d you say yes?” Steve asked curiously. He followed your movement as you skimmed some more tapes and smiled at the playfully quipped corner of your mouth. “I mean, it didn’t look like you wanted to be here.”

“I didn’t. I just… I kind of never said yes but he just showed up on my doorstep and then I felt too bad to not go with him, so… yeah. Didn’t know he had plans to rent some porn and spend the second date in his bedroom or whatever.”

Steve crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmmh… yeah that sucks. Well, I’ll make sure there won’t be a next time,” he said as he shortly winked at you and once again turned on his heel, this time actually continuing his walk through the curtain. He was out there for a few minutes when he turned back with a frown.

“Uh… Y/N? We’ve got a little… hiccup.”

You approached him with a frown of your own and followed him to the front, unsure what to expect. What you certainly didn’t expect, was to see a snow storm going on outside.

“Apparently there’s a code red. Just heard a repeat of it on the radio but it keeps breaking up. They urge everyone to stay inside until it’s over.”

Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared ahead. It was the worst storm he had ever witnessed and the fact that nothing had seemed to be going on apart from some gentle snowfall surprised him.

“Stay… here?” you asked eventually.

“I mean, yeah? You can’t drive in this weather, it’s too dangerous. So is walking. So…”

“But I can’t just…”

“Hey, I don’t bite,” Steve said softly, nudging your arm with his own. “Besides, Clark seems to have left after all. Maybe he heard the warning and decided to bolt? If so, very nice to let us know as well but I will say that I wasn’t nice to him, so…”

You smirked.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing, nothing. I mean, genuinely, I didn’t say much. Just that he had to fuck off, using different wording. He didn’t seem all that ready to leave when I went to look for you though.”

“Oh well, good riddance.”

“Agreed.”

Steve walked forward and locked the door, putting the closed sign up front just in case.

“Let’s go to the back, it’s warmer there. And there’s a coffee machine.”

And so your “Stuck at Family Video with heartthrob Steve Harrington” began.

Once you were settled around the table in the break room, Steve gave you an odd glance. It was hard to figure out what he meant by it, although his frown disappeared the moment he got up from his chair.

“Coffee? Tea? I think we even got a few of those instant hot choc packages,” he offered, his back already turned to you as he searched the cabinets.

“Oh, hot chocolate sounds nice actually. Is it just me or is it… still kinda cold, even here?” you asked hesitantly. Steve nodded ruefully and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet he was currently facing.

“Ah, yeah… it looks like the heating is struggling again. I could kick it to see if it helps but… chances are it’ll get worse.”

“How could it get worse?”

Steve shrugged.

“Beats me, but I’m speaking from experience. Sometimes it does the trick and other times it really, really doesn’t.”

“Let’s not risk it then. At least we have a warm drink, right?”

Steve nodded and grabbed the kettle. You watched him busy himself with putting it on, emptying the hot chocolate powder and grabbing two spoons. He was humming along softly to whichever song he seemed to have stuck in his head and shot you a smile when he caught you looking.

“So what do you usually—”

Suddenly, the room turned pitch dark. You heard Steve swear softly when he shuffled back towards the table and bumped into a chair.

“Uh… okay. That’s… kind of a problem,” he mumbled as he managed to sit back down. “No hot choc I guess, sorry. No… heating either. Maybe we should check how the weather’s doing?” he opted.

“Yeah, sure.”

There was a small strip of light seeping in from the doorway, slowly turning brighter as you adjusted to your surroundings again. Warm fingers teased your arm before your wrist was grabbed and Steve helped you up. As he opened the door, the brightness of the snow outside was almost blinding. The thin windows made it a lot colder at the front, making you shiver as you watched the outside. It wasn’t just snow anymore, as heavy hail rained down, large enough to leave dents into cars. Steve groaned and let go of your wrist.

“Let me check if I can get the power back on,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. He grabbed a flashlight from below the counter and went to the back again. After a few minutes, he returned, looking apologetic.

“Sorry, nothing. I guess it’s my fault you’re stuck here, huh?” he sighed. “If I hadn’t bothered Clark as much you’d be on your way already. Or if I just… I don’t know. Sorry, I guess.”

“It’s not your fault the weather decided to fuck us over, Steve,” you said with a soft smile which he returned with some hesitance. “What do you usually do for fun around here?”

Steve gave you a wry smile.

“Watch movies?”

“Ah, yeah.”

There was a short silence until Steve clapped in his hands and rubbed them together. “I’ve got this huge blanket in the back, brought it here once because Rob, Robin, my colleague, gets very cold easily so sometimes we’d just huddle under the blanket during breaks and stuff. I think we might as well sit out here, at least it’s light… for now.”

You nodded, smiling as you thought of Robin Buckley. You knew her of course. Not super well, but well enough to know she was nice.

“Yeah, it’s already getting dark, huh? A blanket sounds good though.”

Steve nodded and once again disappeared for a short moment, until he returned with a bright blue blanket, which he partially draped on the floor in front of the counter before he motioned for you to sit down and wrapped it around your shoulders. He joined you after grabbing you both some water and put the other end around his shoulders once he settled down.

“How’s this?”

You were really trying not to let it get to you that you were cozying up to Steve right now. Heat was radiating off of him and it made you wonder if he was actually cold, or if he was basically doing the whole “it’s better to stick together for body warmth” kind of thing. With the addition of clothes, of course.

“It’s nice. Better than without for sure,” you told him softly. Steve’s shoulder brushed yours and soon enough you felt the pressure build up until he was actually resting against you. Not in an uncomfortable way at all. It was really… nice, actually.

“Your parents? Do you think they’ll worry?”

“Ah, no. My mom’s visiting my grandma in another state actually and my dad’s no longer around, so. Doubt he can worry,” you joked lightly. “What about yours?”

Steve snorted, then realized it probably wasn’t all that funny and shrugged.

“Dunno, they’re somewhere in Europe now, I think? So no.”

Another silence. It was by that point that you remembered how little you actually knew about Steve Harrington. Sure, he had been popular in school for some time, and then he wasn’t, and then he graduated. But you had never really talked to him other than giving him a pen or two in English class. You were from different social ladders, really. Although, right now you felt quite equal to him, somehow. Which felt weird, considering he looked like a freshly cut out of a painting model and you were… you. Mr handsome decided to steal you away from your brain, which honestly, was a good thing.

“Hey, wanna play a game?” he asked, peering into your eyes as he leaned forward a little. You watched him with newfound curiosity.

“What kind of game?”

“I spy with my little eye.”

“Isn’t that just called “I spy”?” you wondered aloud.

“Dunno. So. Yes?”

“What else is there, right?”

Steve grinned and rested his head against the counter.

“That’s right. Okay. I spy with my little eye… something green.”

“That tape,” you said as you pointed. Steve leaned into your space, following your hand.

“Which one?”

“The green one.”

“There are maaaany green ones.”

“The green one with… Fuck I can’t read,” you sighed as you tried to squint. Steve laughed warmly, which you could feel the tremble of against your shoulder. “Okay so. The sci-fi shelf, yes? Fifth on the second row.”

“Aaaah, I see it now. Nope!”

“You knew that wasn’t it from the start.”

“I had to make sure.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Steve grinned and nudged you with his shoulder before tapping your thigh with his hand.

“Your turn, your turn!”

He left his hand on your thigh. Oh shit. Yeah, you were totally normal about that. You could still think. You could definitely still find some kind of object that you could use—

“Wait, I didn’t even guess it, how is it my turn?!” you questioned. Steve, who had been looking at… somewhere that wasn’t your eyes, quickly lifted his eyes to meet yours and grinned.

“Right. Guess!” “Your vest?”

“You are absolutely right. See? Your turn.”

“It wasn’t— okay. Hm… I spy with my little eye… something red.”

“Your cheeks.”

“Shut up, my cheeks aren’t red.”

“They are a little.”

“If you keep talking about it, yes, they will turn red.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Once again Steve leaned forward to look you straight in the eye, this time lifting a hand to cup your cheek gently. “Hm, they’re a little pink at the very least.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and took his hand off your cheek as you looked away. Steve chuckled softly and turned his hand around so he could grab yours.

“Fine, then… the bike outside?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, I thought that was it for sure. That red blob of paint that Keith never managed to get off the ceiling?”

“That’s it!”

Steve grinned at you and gave your hand a squeeze. For a moment you had forgotten about his hand, too drunk on his animated face. Fuck.

“I spy with my little eye…” Steve turned his head to look at you and smiled. “Something pretty.”

“What?”

“Purple! Purple.”

“My shirt.”

“So clever.”

It was getting darker rapidly and soon enough, even your little game became harder to play. You did some other ones, word games, guessing games, whatever you could think of. The blanket was wrapped closer around you both now, as the store became colder without the heating. You sat hip to hip, your arms a little awkward sometimes although neither of you really minded.

“Would you have stayed here if I hadn’t been around?” you asked softly.

“Hmm, nah, I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t really care if— I mean, I’d only be risking myself in that case.”

“That’s a bad reason. You’re just as important.”

“Am I?” Steve asked, and for some reason you felt like he needed an honest answer.

“Yeah, you are, Steve.”

“Hm…” A beat of silence. “I spy with my little eye… someone pretty.”

“You can’t even see.”

“I’ve memorized her by now.”

“Is it the blonde babe cardboard cutout?”

Steve, not expecting that answer at all, burst out laughing.

“Fuck, no,” a giggle, “it wasn’t.”

“Oh… hm. What about that girl from the ring? Samara?”

“Shush.”

“Or the woman from that movie where—” “Ssshh.”

You felt his hand cup your cheek and it was as if your heart was gonna jump out of your chest at any moment now. His breath tickled your cheek, warm and comfortable against your cold nose. Your lips parted on their own, eyes closing even though there was only an outline of his face to see.

“You sure it’s not the blond babe?” you murmured teasingly.

Steve giggled softly and shook his head, causing the stray strands of his hair to tickle you a little.

“Positive.”

A faint sound of lips being licked, and then his lips brushed against yours. Soft and pliable, eager to taste yours. He hummed softly, pleased, as he pulled you closer. You were easily pulled into his lap as his tongue teased your bottom lip for access. Hands smoothed up and down your waist, the blanket forgotten as your kiss provided enough heat between the two of you. It was silent, save from the gasps and soft, pleasant hums leaving you both. He gently moved his hips while simultaneously guiding yours, a gentle moan leaving him as he found a rhythm. His lips found your neck and your hand made its way into his hair to have something to grasp onto. One hand found the hem of your shirt and he was about to lift it up when—

Brightness. Light. The electricity was back on. Meaning… everyone outside could see you. If there had been anyone, that is. Still, it broke the moment instantly as Steve dropped his hand to your thigh and looked up at you.

“Shit,” he murmured, a lopsided grin on his face. “They really know how to spoil the fun today, huh?”

You smiled down at him and turned around to look outside, one hand resting on his chest for balance.

“Hm… I don’t know. It seems safe to go back home.”

Steve dug his fingers into your hips with eagerness before leaving a soft kiss on your lips.

“Your place or mine?”

end.

If you enjoyed reading this, please know that comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Likes are lovely but sadly do nothing to spread the fics around! Help your favorite writers (not saying me - in general) out like that so you can continue to enjoy consuming the free work they put out, it's a win-win.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fanfics #joe keery #i'm so great at promoting my fics with a cool description #not

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catiuskaa · 1 year ago

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clingy denials —bf!seungmin thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because i won’t ever recover from cover me. [simping])

suggestive/horny ending, [still absolute fluff].

seungmin, who sits with you on the sofa in the comfort of your shared appartment, covered from the snow and cold outside.

seungmin, who is mindlessly scrolling down his phone, but still paying enough attention to notice that you have finished your hot chocolate.

seungmin, who takes both his and your mug and leaves them on the small table next to the sofa, then ushers you to lay your head on his lap.

seungmin, who is back at his phone as you read one of your newly Christmas-acquired book.

seungmin, who is unable to focus when you giggle and kick your legs softly, squirming with a goofy smile.

seungmin, who lowers his phone, staring at you. “What’s got you all smiley?” He grins, his heart tugging fluffily in his chest.

seungmin, who pretends not to listen, halfly still looking to his phone, which you can’t see, but it’s turned off. “This book uses so many cliches, but it’s so good!” You laugh again, childishly, and he blushes softly at your happiness.

seungmin, who can’t help the sheepish smile on his face as he keeps passing his slender fingers through your hair. “What’s the catch?” he asks, and as stated before, failing to play his part of ‘uninterested bystander number 4’.

seungmin, who can’t deny you his attention when your eyes shine when you look at him, glistening, soft-coloured irises telling a million stories that he’d listen to, any day you’d like.

seungmin, who now listens closely. “He got injured and is in the hospital, and normally he has this black cat energy, but he’s being so clingy when she visits…! It’s so cute.” You giggle, and he snorts.

seungmin, who raises his brows when you do the same. “You’re one to talk.” You snort back, teasingly, and he pouted unconciously.

seungmin, who huffs. “Me? I am not clingy, you are.” He sticks his tongue out at you, snarkily, and you take his cheeks in your hand, playing with his face, your book laying open against your chest.

seungmin, who blushes. “Hello, I’m clingy puppy seungmin, and I am a liar.” You mock him in a high-pitched tone that sounds nothing like the man you love, yet you cackle loudly as he brushes your hands off.

seungmin, who puts his phone back in his pocket. “Whatever.” He’s joking, and you know it because he’s still flustered and all red and cute. “Jeongin texted. Some of the boys are going shopping for the Three Kings Day. We can go and then grab some drinks after.”

seungmin, who you know is offering you to leave and letting you choose, but your chest warms because you know if you didn’t want to go, he’d stay with you.

seungmin, who smiles at your nod, and quickly goes to take your and his coat, like a little puppy waiting for his late walk.

seungmin, who finds himself staring at you while you put your earings on, eyes soft as you look at your reflection in the mirror, lips slightly parted in concentration.

seungmin, who blushes when you apply lip balm before going outside. “Can I?” He asks, and you smile, handing it to him.

seungmin, who clearly isn’t clingy, yet he only uses lip balm right after you do, and still claims not to know what an indirect kiss is.

seungmin, who, isn’t clingy at all, but as you both walk down the street to meet the guys, he shoves the hand closest to you into your pocket. “What?” His fake deadpan would be perfect if he wasn’t blushing. “Your jacket is thicker than mine. Warms up sooner.”

seungmin, who can’t even try to lie, because his hand engulfes yours in your pocket, fingers interlinked, his cold hands in contrast to yours, always a bit warmer.

seungmin, who follows you, Jeongin and Felix after meeting the boys, not really interested in the clothes inside the cozy shops you browsed in, but tags along still.

seungmin, who just shrugs at any suggestion the boys try to make regarding what clothes he could like. “Why did you even come with us, hyung?” The younger one teases. Felix snickers, elbowing you cheekily.

seungmin, who blushes, ignoring the question. A while after, he follows you to the dressing rooms, and you start to hang your clothes inside, noticing him in the reflection of the big mirrors. “You can wait outside.”

seungmin, who just doesn’t want to wait outside, but it’s not because he’s clingy. Definetely not.

seungmin, who is pouting unconciously, trying to come up with an excuse. “Um. The sofa outside is full of people.” He starts. You’re sneakily waiting for him, almost a menace you are, considering the poor flustered boy just wants to be with you. But it’s ok. He’s as much a menace as you.

seungmin, who relaxes when his awkward excuse of, well, an excuse, actually ‘works’. He steps inside, only because you took a small bit of pity in him (a.k.a., you want to be with him too.)

seungmin, who expresses his love and want for you in soft, secret glances and lingering touches, struggling to keep his hands to himself as you try out the clothes, snickering to yourself.

seungmin, who’s almost sulking in the side of the dresser. “What’s wrong, puppy?” You’re trying out a party dress that’s more bold than usual, and when you bend down and stroke his cheek, he’s a weak mess.

seungmin, who sighs, so flustered. “…n-nothing.” He’s blushing so much it’s almost like how it was before you started dating,

seungmin, who takes his hands to your cheeks and prompts you forward, messily ending sitting on his lap as he kisses you.

seungmin, who bites your lip. “Fuck.” He whispers, and you have to hold back a shiver. “Fuck— yeah, I’m clingy. I’m a motherfucking sea limpet if you want to call me that. You’re stuck with me.” He breathes heavily.

seungmin, whose hands roam all over your body. “You’ve been wanting to do that all day, huh?” You pant teasingly, your forehead on his as his hands press you tighter against his body.

seungmin, who smirks, kissing all over your face and neck. “You bet I was.” He snickers, sending chills through your skin. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.

seungmin, who kisses you again when he sees your slightly confused face. “I still haven’t done what I’ve been thinking for the night.”

~kats, spontaniously combusting bc oh god i never planned for this to end this horny YET OMFG I LOVE IT qjifbwkfnsknfks

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lost-in-fandoms · 12 days ago

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Winter Warmers Day 8: Holiday baking. Maxiel. About 1.1k words.

When Max asks Daniel if he wants to go with him to walk his mother's dogs, Daniel refuses. He is curled up in an armchair, a blanket in his lap, chatting with Victoria, and he's way too comfortable and warm to think about going out in the cold.

It's not snowing, not really, but the ground is frozen, and there's a humid chill in the air that digs its cold fingers into Daniel's bones as soon as he dares stepping foot outside.

Max just shrugs, not pushing for it, bends down to kiss Daniel and goes to put on his shoes. Daniel does his very best to ignore Victoria's teasing smile and his own pink cheeks.

It's not that Max is not affectionate, or that he doesn't love kissing Daniel at any given opportunity, it's just that usually they can't do it in public. Even if Max wasn't such a private person, they wouldn't want to deal with the shit storm it would cause to be papped kissing, and even when they are in friends' company they keep it very PG, brushing hands and bumping hips.

But it's clear that Max feels safe here, comfortable and happy in a way Daniel rarely sees him outside of their own home, so he apparently has no problem with PDA in front of his mother.

Daniel loves it for him, really, he would love Max to always be this open, but he also wants to disappear under the blanket when both women look at him with matching grins and he has to try really hard to pretend nothing has just happened.

He slightly regrets not accepting Max's invite when a few minutes later Sophie gets up, looking at the clock on the wall.

"I will go make cookies, for when the boys wake up," she says, her accent curling around the words. Then she points at Daniel, "you will come help me?"

And what can Daniel do, if not get up too?

He doesn't want to offend her, or to get on her bad side, if Sophie even has a bad side, especially not when it's the first time they spend Christmas together, so he follows her to the kitchen, dutifully washing his hands.

"I am not much of a baker," he warns her, accepting the light blue apron she hands him, hoping Max's walk will be long enough to allow him to take it off before he's back.

"Just sit, do what I say," Sophie says, shrugging in a very similar motion to her son, before starting to take out ingredients.

Daniel gets tasked with whisking the butter and sugar, as Sophie melts butter and chocolate on the stove. It's peaceful, despite it being an arm workout, and it reminds him a little of helping his own mom when he was little, sneaking bites of whatever she was cooking when she pretended to look the other way.

"He's a sweet boy."

Daniel jumps a little in surprise at Sophie's voice, turning his head to look at her, still fully focused on the chocolate.

"He is," he says carefully, not really knowing where she is going with it.

"Keep whisking," she reminds him, pointing him back to his task. "He loves you very much."

Daniel wonders if this is what Dutch shovel talk feels like. And also wonders why it wouldn't have come a couple years ago, when Max had told her about their relationship.

"I love him too," he replies, still confused but truthful.

Sophie leaves the chocolate to hand Daniel two eggs.

"Those go in," she tells him, grabbing a second bowl to start weighting the dry ingredients.

Daniel luckily doesn't get any shell in, gives himself a second to feel very proud about it, and then goes back to whisking.

"Do you want to marry him?"

Daniel chokes on his spit. He looks up sharply to find Sophie hiding a smile behind her hand, and to hear Victoria giggle in the other room, clearly listening in.

"I..we...yes? We haven't really talked about it," he stammers.

It's not lack of commitment. Daniel knows Max is it for him, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, but marriage? A wedding seems very complicated to plan, and very tiring to go through with, and he's pretty sure both their families would kill them if they eloped.

"You should," Sophie tells him, taking the now melted chocolate off the stove, drying the condensation at the bottom of the bowl with a tea towel.

"He is..." she pauses, methodically sifting the flour. "complicated. About marriage. He thinks he ruined mine."

Daniel nods, looking down at the light yellow contents of his own bowl.

"It is of course nonsense, Jos and I broke it ourselves, but he is very stubborn."

"He got that from you, mama," Victoria says, sliding into the kitchen and sitting down on one of the free chairs, apparently done with pretending she's not listening in.

Sophie smiles at her, unapologetic.

"He loved my wedding," Victoria adds, turning towards Daniel, "and he loves love. He's a romantic, deep down. But he worries."

"I don't need to marry him to never leave him," Daniel says, a bit defensive.

Both women smile at him, Victoria bright and knowing, like he just won something, and Sophie soft and sweet, reaching out to gently pat Daniel's hand.

"You should tell him that," Victoria tells him, making Daniel frown. He's pretty sure Max knows how much Daniel loves him, how much he wants their futures to be together.

"He worries," Sophie says, echoing Victoria's words. "He worries that marriage will ruin you, and that not being married will also do it."

"He's very stupid."

Daniel snorts at Victoria's words, and Sophie frowns at them both, shaking her head. Then she takes Daniel's bowl and starts slowly combining the ingredients.

"He is a very smart boy," she defends, folding the chocolate in, "but he can be very stupid."

Daniel laughs again, and this time Victoria joins him, leaning forward on the table, body folding with it just like Max's.

"I'll tell him," Daniel promises once he's serious again, feeling like he has just done something very right when Sophie just nods at him, offering him a ice cream scoop.

"Do the cookies, I will do the dishes," she tells him.

Victoria steals the bowl where the melted chocolate had been, earning herself another eye roll from Sophie, and Daniel dutifully starts scooping the batter into neat little rows on the baking sheet.

When Max comes home, cheeks red from the cold, Victoria is upstairs, waking the boys from their nap, the house smells like chocolate, and Daniel is waiting for him in the kitchen, ready to be teased about the apron he's still wearing.

#maxiel #my writing #winter warmers 2024 #it was supposed to go in a slightly different direction but then sophie took over so...yeah #the cookies are real btw brownie cookies are the best

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silkscream · 1 year ago

Text

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist.

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling.

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you.

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression.

“What was that?”

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly.

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice.

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him.

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement.

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion.

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself.

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table.

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same.

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it.

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery.

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that.

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor.

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend.

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery.

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind.

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself.

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues.

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things.

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder.

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students.

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!”

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less.

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it.

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since.

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases.

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it.

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.”

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.”

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.”

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different.

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him.

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout.

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s.

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it.

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him.

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly.

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him.

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.”

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal.

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie.

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles.

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins.

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist.

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace.

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.”

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes.

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously.

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother.

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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angel-eyes05 · 2 years ago

Text

a spider in the snow

pairing: fem!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: you help rehabilitate an injured miguel after he returns from one of his late night patrols…in more ways than one

warnings: nsfw, fluff then smut then fluff, handjob (both m and f recieving), blood mention, an incy wincy tincy bit of angst

word count: 2.5k

notes: heyyyyy i've come back from the dead. i don't really write a lot of one shots so go easy on me for this one. just like every horny person on the internet, i’ve fallen head over heels in love with miguel o’hara. this is me giving into my impulses lmao. sorry if i do anything thats out of character idk him that well so just work with me here. i also don't know everything about nueva york and if names are different than here or something so im just gonna pretend they’re the same. if they are, great! if not, just go with it lmao. one more thing, despite being cuban i am a no sabo kid (rip me) so i had to use a translator for some of this so apologies in advance if some things aren't super accurate. ok lets get on with the show.

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Snowy nights in Nueva York have always been one of your favorite parts about moving up north. Seeing all the lit up buildings illuminated in the snow, all the people ice skating in Rockefeller Center rink just below your apartment window, the reminders of Christmas coming soon. It kept your heart warm against the freezing temperatures outside. You also loved the feeling of being able to bundle yourself up in blankets and hoodies, a mix of yours and your boyfriend’s, having an excuse to make hot chocolate, and finally being able to use the fireplace that normally laid dormant in the middle of your living room. The one con about the snow was when it would land on Miguel’s patrol nights. Your already nervous mind was only heightened by the added uncertainty of everything that could happen while he was out there. What if he got too cold while out there and it affected his ability to fight? What if it started snowing too hard and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the apartment? You knew some of your concerns were probably dumb, but they felt serious to you.

This was one of those nights. One of the nights where you would sit on your couch, next to the cracked window, unable to sleep until you could see him come back safe. You flipped through the channels of the tv aimlessly, trying to find something to keep your mind off of the growing cold outside. You eventually turn it off after coming across the weather channel, claiming a snowstorm would be rolling into the city in about 15 minutes. Deciding there was nothing you could do about your situation, you walked over to your bedroom and wrapped yourself in your massive duvet to shield from the cold. Worries dashed around your mind about everything that could happen. Despite being verbally supportive about Miguel and his…hobbies, you really hated the idea of him sneaking out in basically pajamas almost every night to “beat up the bad guys” essentially. Even though he had explained everything to you by this point, having been dating for about three years now, you still couldn’t quite understand everything. Radioactive spiders? Corrupt businesses? Fangs and claws? Mutations? A multiverse? It was a lot to wrap your head around. But, despite all of this, all of your worries and concerns over Miguel, you stayed. Because you knew you didn’t start dating him because of his whole superhero business or whatever. You were dating him because you loved him. The real him. The way he would always press gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. How on his days off, you would be woken up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen just for you. How he would always whisper sweet praises to you while you would give him head. How easily he could be crumbled down beneath his rock hard exterior. The Miguel underneath the red and blue spandex. You dreamt of this as you slowly fell into a calm slumber. You fell asleep bundled up in all the blankets on your bed, arm outstretched to the opposite side the bed, almost as if you were reaching for something that wasn’t there.

After some time had passed, you’re not sure exactly how much, you were awoken by a thud coming from your bathroom. You lazily rubbed your eyes and grabbed your alarm clock to check the time. 3:47 am. Yeah, that’s definitely Miguel in there. You dragged yourself out of bed to help him out, throwing one of this hoodies over your tank top for extra warmth. You also liked how it still smelled like him after three times in the wash. You opened the door, eyes squinting from the bright fluorescent light. And there he was. You found it endearing. How Miguel was trying, and failing, to reach this massive scratch on his back to clean it instead of just waking you up to ask for your help. You look to the floor to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting there on the rug, probably what caused the thudding sound. You stood there leaning in the doorframe, waiting for him to notice you, even though he probably already heard every step you’ve taken from the bed up to the door now. “You need any help there?” you ask him, jokingly. You had seen him in much worse conditions, so you took moments like these to be more comedic, an attempt to lighten his mood sort of. It didn’t usually work. “No, I got it. Please go back to sleep,” he said, still attempting to wrap his arms around himself. You rolled your eyes and walked over to sit behind him, picking up the hydrogen peroxide off the floor and grabbing a couple of cotton balls from the first aid basket. “Mi amor, please go back to sleep, I promise I can do this by myself,” he argued. Before he could get another word in, you poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his wound. He groaned in response and squeezed your thigh to help level out the pain. “That’s for worrying me all night,” you said to him, just over the volume of a whisper. As you began to dab the blood off of his cut, he responded. “You know I don’t want you to worry.” Once you could see he was turning his head around to look at you, you turned your eyes away. You didn’t really want to look at him right now. It’s not that you were mad at him. Ok that’s a lie, you were a little mad. But it was more of a helplessness you felt when you would see him like this. Beat up, cut, scratched, bruised. And there wasn’t anything you could do to help. Not until after at least. And it wasn’t like you were a trained nurse or anything. You dreaded the day that he would come stumbling through the window, too injured for you to take care of yourself. Or worse. The day he wouldn’t come home at all. “Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I don’t,” you said sort of coldly. You stood up from your position, waiting to patch up his back until after he showered. You changed your positions to sit from behind him to in front, ready to take care of his front side now. “I don’t want to talk about that right now tho-.” You cut yourself off when you finally saw his face

Cuts were scattered across his face, one above his eyebrow still dripping blood catching your attention first. He also had a bruise quickly forming on his left cheekbone. Once you moved your eyes more, you saw his nose marked with a deep cut going through the middle. His beautiful nose. It was one of your favorite parts of his appearance. Done scanning his face, your eyes moved down to his chest and his torso. His chest was marked with similar cuts to the one on his back. You kept your eyes on his chest in an attempt to hide the fact you were holding back tears right now. “I’m sorry mi cariño. I really am.” You knew he was. But sorry wasn’t going to keep him safe. This was one apology among many. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t sorry for getting hurt again and again and again. He was sorry for the fact you had to see him like this. If you wouldn’t have seen that he was injured, he wouldn’t have said anything And you knew after this apology as well, he would go out tomorrow night and do the same thing over again. You didn’t respond to his words. All you could manage to do was pull him into an embrace and apologize when he winced from your hands hitting his cuts. You sat there for a bit, running your hands through his hair and trying to hold yourself back from crying. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted gentle kisses there, each a little apology from him. Once you finally pulled away and wiped your face, you started to clean the scrapes on his face, this time more gentle than his back. You dabbed the cotton ball on his forehead as he held you straddled on his lap. He admired your features as you concentrated on him, rubbing your back with his fingers in the process. You didn’t say much, only a simple “sorry” if you were a little too rough with cleaning. Despite the stern face you were putting on, Miguel knew you secretly liked the way he would grab at your thighs and hips with his claws when you did something that hurt.

Once you were finished, you silently put the first aid equipment away and left the bathroom so he could take a shower. He planted a soft kiss into your forehead before you left the room. Once you crawled back into bed, you sighed to yourself. How did you end up here anyways? There’s no way you were expecting all of this when you first saw Miguel at the concert bar that day. Some days were amazing with him. Others were much harder. And while you’ve definitely had worse days with him, today was leaning on the latter option. You contemplated all of this until you heard the door to the bathroom behind you open, Miguel stepping out of the steaming room with his towel wrapped around his lower body. You were very quickly reminded of one of the reasons you’ve stayed with him for so long. The way his wet curls were laying around his head. How his chest glistened while it was damp, despite currently being tattered with cuts at the current moment. He sleepily shuffled over to the bed, dropping his towel before crawling up close to you in bed. The warmth of Miguel’s freshly showered body against yours helped to melt the majority of your worries away. It also helped that you could feel his his cock getting harder against your leg while he cuddled against you. You finally turned around to face him, cupping his jaw in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his face. He grasped your hand and pressed soft kisses into it. “I love you so much Miggy,” you finally said, breaking the silence and drawing his eyes towards you. “I really do, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem like I don’t. You just…you scare me sometimes.” You quickly realize those weren’t the words you meant. You begin to stutter and take back your words a bit, until you see that Miguel has given you his full attention. You take a deep breath and continue. “You don’t scare me. It’s more of what you do that scares me. I never know when you’re gonna come back or if you even are. If you think I take joy in taking care of you after you come back, I really don’t. I hate seeing my boy like this. And it makes me scared that one day you’re gonna come back in a shape I can’t fix. It scares me so bad Miggy you don’t even know,” you say, choking back your tears. Once Miguel notices you’re about to start crying, he wraps his arms around you immediately. “Shhh it’s ok preciosa,” he comforts as you quietly cry into his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he says in between kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, and I love you too.”

You pull away from his hug and stare into his beautiful crimson eyes as he wipes away your tears. You suddenly fall into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He returns the kiss with even more passion than you put into it. You quickly found yourself exploring his body with your hands, moans escaping his lips whenever you would graze over one of his wounds. You drew yourself closer to him to absorb more of his body heat, though you were quickly reminded of his bare cock as you could feel it hardening on your leg. Your hands eventually made it down there, teasing Miguel along the way as you felt him up on the way down. You then took his hard, already wet cock into your hands, caressing every ridge you could find on it. You could hear more moans exit his mouth and slide into yours as you handled him like putty. He would let out messier sounds, even a growl at one point, and jerk forward into your hand when you would tease around his tip. “F-fuck baby. Y-you’re s-so good to me. ‘N pr-retty too,” he would blurb out Feeling his cock get increasingly hard in your hand began to make you slightly wet as well. This only increased as Miguel began to take off your underwear as well, sliding two of his fingers into your pussy and placing his thumb to draw circles onto your clit. Your grip on his length becomes lazy and sloppy as you’re stimulated as well. You’re surprised at how quickly Miguel is able to find your clit, but then again you expect him to know your body so well after three years. After both of you have been at it for a while, you’re the first one to get close to your orgasm. “Fuck M-Miggy, I-I’m gonna cum,” you manage to moan out. His kisses on you get sloppy as he reaches his as well. It’s over for you once he begins to put more pressure onto your core. You let out an inhuman noise as your stomach fills with the white heat of your orgasm, shaking your entire body. Miguel takes his fingers out of your entrance and licks your cum off of his fingers. It’s then over for him when you eventually put the pressure of your fingers onto his cock. You hand is then covered in his cum once he reaches his climax in your fist, moaning intensely into the air. While he’s in the middle of his orgasm, his claws pop out of his fingers and into your hips and underneath your thigh where his hands are placed. Then, he lets out his fangs and uses them to leave hickeys into your neck, making sure not to let out any of his poison while doing so. “Just stay here with me Miggy,” you sigh out, his fangs deep into your neck. “You don’t ever need to go back out there again. Just stay here with me forever.” He simply nods at first, still sucking into your neck. Once he lets go and and begins to calm down, he responds with “Forever and always mi corazón,” whispering the words into your ear as he lays more kisses along your collarbone and neck.

You stare outside the window at the falling snow, hoping this time he’ll keep his word, but knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to. But for now, you could just appreciate your time with him now. He was all yours right now. Everything. And that was enough.

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A/N: uhhhh sorry but i didn't feel like proofreading this cause its super late for me rn sorry not sorry lmao

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #x reader #smut #marvel smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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oddinary4bts · 7 months ago

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 5.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: explicit content: mentions of jerking off and of fingering/cum play

☆word count: 2k

☆a/n: i am drunk have fun i love jin <3

☆join the discord server here!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook has been confused. He’s been confused since he woke up tangled up in bed with you, remembering the events of the night before. Remembering the feeling of you on his dick - how right it felt, yet how wrong it was.

It was wrong, because you’re Taehyung’s sister. You aren’t supposed to be together like that. Hell, without Taehyung, your paths would have never crossed. So he pulled away. Locked himself in a dark part of his mind, some place he doesn’t want you to ever set foot in, and he forced himself to distance himself from you.

He knows you noticed. Maybe that’s why, when the power came back on, he didn’t immediately leave like he originally thought he would. But when you teased him from crying over the anime you watched, he knew your time was over.

No matter how much he didn’t want it to be.

Does he blame you for growing annoyed? No. He understands. He understands why you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. He thinks he deserves it, yet when he sees you at the library during his shift, he can’t help the way his heartbeat picks up in his chest, recognizing you for what you are.

Something he’ll never dare name.

So maybe it’s on purpose that he steps in your way when you’re walking out of the library. Maybe it’s to see what you’ll do, if you’ll speak the words he so desperately wanted you to say when he said it was time to go back to normal. Words he’ll also never dare think, because what if Taehyung knows?

What if Taehyung knows and he simultaneously loses his best friend and you?

Jungkook meets your gaze, a smile reaching for his lips, though he doesn’t let it reach its destination. Your friend Ria snorts, and Jungkook steps aside, frowning slightly. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks slowly turn red, even more so as you say, “Ignore her.”

His eyes find yours again. “Noted,” he lets out, and then it’s like the moment is stretching. It’s like it’s you and him alone in the library, Ria fading out of focus. He can almost imagine the power being out, and the bubble you’d been wrapped in still floating around the two of you.

But the bubble bursts when a girl speaks next to him - Allison, he thinks - though he reckons the bubble probably burst when he told you you should pretend nothing ever happened.

Allison says she needs help, and he has no reason to refuse considering that it’s part of his job, so he has to walk away, unable to tell you anything more.

To his surprise, you don’t get home until much later that evening, while he’s a beer and a half in with Jimin, playing video games to decompress after work. Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, and he finds himself asking, “Done studying?”

You nod as you shrug, saying, “I can’t retain any more information. My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Maybe I could help with that,” he teases you, if only so that he can see that blush on your cheeks again.

The one that almost makes him forget that your brother is Taehyung.

Almost.

“You wish, JK.”

He does. He fucking does, and it’s all kinds of stupid that he does. Especially as Jimin is right there, hidden in the bathroom.

“Want a beer?” Jungkook asks even though he knows he shouldn’t. He just doesn’t want you to disappear in your room, not when you’re finally talking to him again.

Jimin intervenes before you answer, convincing you to indeed share a beer with them, and a few seconds later, you’re joining Jungkook in the living room while Jimin goes to fetch a beer for you and him. You sit on Jungkook’s left, as far as you possibly can, and his heart does that weird thing again. It makes him feel awkward, and he clenches his jaw.

“Feel free to grab this if you get cold,” he says, motioning to the blanket on the table, if only so that he can cut through the awkwardness. He offers you a smile, gaze meeting yours, but you gulp as you look away.

“We should talk about…” you whisper.

His heart rate increases so suddenly he thinks he might be about to go into cardiac arrest. “What about it?”

You shoot him a warning glance, probably because it’s likely that Jimin heard, and it settles Jungkook’s heart in his chest. It makes no sense, especially not to himself, and he offers you a smirk.

You blush, and he thinks he’s floating, but then Jimin walks out of the kitchen, interrupting the moment. He falls back down to Earth, and when Jimin suggests watching Attack on Titan, Jungkook finds himself saying.

Maybe because your gravity is pulling him in, and he doesn’t want the distraction of having to focus on a game. Hell, he’s not even sure he’d be able to focus - all he manages to do as the anime advances is lean infinitely closer to you.

Action speaks louder than words, he reckons, because he finds himself half-sprawled on you, and it feels like heaven. For this peaceful moment, he doesn’t care that Jimin is right there, eyeing you suspiciously. He’s just happy to be with you, and he thinks it’ll have to suffice.

Jimin leaves right as the episode ends, claiming Sera is waiting for him. Jungkook knows that she isn’t - she was with Lisa tonight, but he won’t call Jimin out. Not when he thinks it might be because Jimin wants to leave you two alone, something he’s been craving more than he thought he did.

“So,” Jungkook lets out when Jimin has left. “You wanted to talk?”

His heart immediately starts beating wildly in his chest, and he disguises it by tilting his head to the side in what he hopes is an innocent gesture.

You nod once. “Yes.”

His heartbeat is so loud he barely can even hear you say the simple word, yet he replies, “I’m listening.”

“What should we do about Taehyung?”

The question lands like a blow to the face, and he sucks in a breath as regrets swirl within him. “Nothing.” He has to force the next sentence out, and it tastes bitter on his tongue. “We just pretend nothing happened, no?”

You don’t like it. He can tell that you don’t - you stiffen, turning ashen.

“Is that what you want?” you ask.

No. Not at all. Not in a million years. But it’s the only possible outcome, so he hides his hands in the pockets of his pants, if only to hide the slight tremble that’s taken over them, tremble that he’s able to keep to a minimum, unaffecting his voice.

“Yeah. I don’t see why it would need to be a big deal,” he says.

But it is. It’s a big deal, and he never realized how good of an actor he is before today.

“It’s not a big deal,” you mutter. “‘I’m not trying to make it into a big deal.”

He’s an asshole, he knows he is. Rotten to the bone, as he says, “Right,” a smirk on his lips.

You’re annoyed. You shut your eyes, shaking your head. “No, for real,” you insist. “If you want us to just pretend that nothing happened, then we do that.”

He doesn’t want it, but isn’t it the safest option? Isn’t it saving you both the embarrassment and heartbreak that Taehyung would cause you if he knew?

“You awfully sound like that’s not what you want,” he forces himself to say, though he hopes you can hear the true meaning in his words. That it isn’t what he wants, though he can’t say it aloud.

“I just don’t want things to get weird.” You pause, and then add, “Since we live together.”

On that Jungkook can reassure you. He’d never let things grow weird between the two of you.

“Don’t worry about it, peach,” he says. “I won’t make things weird.”

Yet, as he says the words, something aches. Especially as the silence stretches while you hold each other’s gaze until your eyes fall to the beer in your hand. Jungkook almost wants to tell you to look at him, to never stop looking at him.

Instead, he heads towards his room, wishing you good night over his shoulder.

*****

Emily is a nice girl. She’s gorgeous, Jungkook is entirely aware of it, yet he doesn’t find in her eyes what he’s looking for.

He doesn’t think he’ll be able to find it again. Not when he sees you walking into the bar, carrying yourself with that gentle elegance that attracts the gaze. You eye him up and down, and then glance away. He follows your line of gaze to notice Hoseok walking towards you, and something very ugly settles deep in his chest as he watches Hoseok pressing a kiss on your temple. Jungkook clenches his jaw, and then forces himself to focus on Emily, even though he’d rather not be stuck with her right now.

And he remains stuck for a while until she says she has to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t miss it for the invitation that it is, yet he ignores it, telling her he’ll wait for her at the bar.

Especially considering that you’re in his vicinity again, talking to a long-haired blond guy, and you look uncomfortable as all hell. It shows in the tense spread of your shoulders, and in the way your eyes keep darting to the side. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, stepping closer.

“I realized that none of them compared to you,” Jungkook hears as he stops behind you, and his heart squeezes uncomfortably in his chest at the blatant flirting.

You take a step back, bumping into Jungkook, and he asks, “Hey, everything okay here?”

You meet his gaze, your eyes panicked, and Jungkook moves closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, trying to reassure you. The guy scoffs, and Jungkook holds you a little tighter, only because he can.

“You’re fucking your brother’s friend?” he asks.

Jungkook almost wants to say ‘What about it?’, but you push him off of you, and he stumbles back, eyes going round.

“I am not,” you spit, and it hurts far more than it should. “Maybe he just tried to step in because you can’t fucking take a clue, can you?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence as Jungkook finds himself stifling a surprised laugh.

“Excuse me?” the guy eventually says.

“You heard the lady,” Jungkook intervenes. “Fuck off.”

The seething look you throw Jungkook’s way almost makes him cower from how unexpected it was.

“I don’t fucking need your help,” you throw at him.

Something definitely aches now, and Jungkook frowns, watching as you slightly shake your head, an apologetic look on your features. But he’s stunned silent, stunned realizing how much he wanted to protect you.

How you didn’t want him to protect you. Because why would you? He only fucked you once because the circumstances aligned for it, and now he’s told you you should pretend nothing happened.

He barely minds the animosity then. He thinks he deserves it. So when Emily pulls on his arm, telling him she’s been waiting for him, and then adding for just him to hear that Eunwoo, one of his close friends, is throwing up in the hallway next to the bathroom, Jungkook finds himself following her.

Even though all his instincts tell him to stay with you.

Much later that night, after Jungkook has gotten drunk alone back at the apartment after dropping Eunwoo off at his, Jungkook stares at the text he sent you.

It sits unanswered, and Jungkook thinks, maybe he is the problem after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

hihihi i am actually very drunk but i hope you guys liked it!! please let me know what you think about the drabble and about our baby simp jungkook

#chasing cars ch 5.5 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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crownofgildedlilies · 1 month ago

Text

snow

pairing: t. todoroki x reader summary: Touya can’t stand the cold, but he’s more stubborn than he’d ever admit. wc: 1.4k event masterlist

There were a few downsides to being a wanted villain.

First, and most obvious, was the constant paranoia of being found out and brought in for questioning. There was the pain of being ostracized from polite society—not that you ever belonged there, anyways. Daily tasks were nearly impossible to complete without committing some crime.

Maybe you never should have joined the League. You just wanted to go outside for a little bit.

“Don’t,”

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” You huffed, glaring across the dingy hideout you were left in with Dabi. Touya. He’d confided in you one night his true name, threatening to burn you to ash if you ever told anyone, and you’d kept your mouth shut about it. Especially when you’d traded one of your secrets to him that night, too.

I think if I could love, I’d be in love with you, you had told him. Surprisingly, the sentiment had been returned, and you’d entered some sort of relationship limbo with him. Not exactly dating, but far more than just friends.

“You were thinking something stupid.” He accused, and you narrowed your eyes at him, only to be met with a flat look. He was sprawled across the hideout’s dingy couch, checking something on his phone while you perched in the windowsill and overlooked the city outside.

“No, I wasn’t.” You defended, pouting as you turned your back to him. You swear, you weren’t. You were just studying the outside world, watching as the first snowfall of the season cascaded over the city. Snowflakes that weren’t quite sticking to the sidewalk fell gently through the air and you felt a longing in your bones to be out there, experiencing it. You’d been stuck inside after a job gone wrong for weeks, and you were itching for some time to enjoy the changing of the seasons.

You were a villain, not a monster, after all.

“I’m going for a walk.” You decided, pushing yourself off the windowsill with ease. You had barely touched the group before Touya was scoffing, dropping his phone onto the couch beside him.

“The hell you are.” He countered, causing you to roll your eyes. His tone didn’t give away much, but the fact that he responded at all was evidence enough that he had an opinion on the matter. Twice had joked once that Touya would only save you if pros ever raided—then disagreed with himself—but you had laughed him off and claimed that Dabi didn’t care about you either way.

And then an hour later, Touya stole you away to his room in the headquarters to show you just how little he cared about you.

“Yeah, I am.” You disagreed with a careless shrug, if only to agitate him with your nonchalance. Wandering towards the door, you felt his eyes trailing your figure the entire way. “Wanna come with me?”

“No.” His answer was quick, but you saw how he sat up on the couch to watch you dress in your coat and scarf. You made sure to grab one that had a hood to cover your hair—being a wanted villain, and all. “Why do you even want to go?”

“It’s snowing.” You said casually, as if it answered all his questions. He looked at you like you had three heads and he didn’t understand what was so appealing about the snow. Sighing, you turned with your hand on the doorknob to turn and face him. “It’s the first time it’s snowed all season and I want to enjoy it instead of being cooped up in here. I’m bored, Touya.”

He frowned, and if you squinted you could have convinced yourself it looked like a pout.

“You’ll get cold.”

“Hm,” You pretended to think about it, dramatically scrunching up your face and tapping a finger on your chin. “If only I knew someone with a naturally high body temperature that I asked to come with me and help keep me warm. Oh wait.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, not moving from his spot on the couch. There was no real heat in his words, just an empty threat you knew he had no plans on backing up.

“So that’s a no?” You hummed, opening the door in preparation for your departure, whether or not he was coming with you.

“What do you think?” His voice was dry, edged with his usual rasp. You were a little annoyed by his dismissal, but you could tell by the way he was tapping his finger against the arm of the couch he wouldn’t be sitting still for long. “I don’t want to.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.” You blew a dramatic kiss in his direction just to tease him, watching him roll his eyes and scowl before you shut the door in his face.

The start of your walk was peaceful, but it only took you about five minutes to notice it. You knew it was coming no matter what, but you kept your attention forward and tried to smother your smug grin. The snow continued to fall around you, sticking to the sleeve of your jacket and your eyelashes.

It was nice to be alone in the real world for a while, watching as the first snow of the season fell.

But after a while, you figured you’d put him out of his misery.

Ducking down an alleyway and away from prying eyes, you went far enough that no reasonable person would be able to see you. You stopped after a while and spun back around towards the entrance of the alleyway. Smirking, you dug your hands deep in your pockets and waited expectantly.

“You know, you can come out. I won’t say anything.” You called into the seemingly empty air. Biting the inside of your cheek, you waited patiently.

At first, it seemed like you were only talking to yourself, but you knew better. Seconds ticked by as snow continued to fall over you, though less fast now that you stood in the mostly protected alleyway. But finally, a head of dark hair poked out from one of the recesses you knew he’d been hiding in.

“Somebody had to make sure you didn’t run into trouble.” He explained with a growl, acting uninterested as he closed the distance between the two of you. You shrug one shoulder, stepping close enough to tug on the front of his coat to bring him even closer. His staples glinted in the sunlight as he kept his composure, so you decided you needed to tease him, just a little.

“I think trouble was following me this whole time.” You murmured, smirking. He rolled his eyes at your joke, but his reaction only made you more determined to rile him up.

“Shut up.”

“Warm me up?” Cooing, you batted your eyes at him. You distantly wondered how long you could keep up the teasing before he snapped and got you back. Part of you was waiting for the moment that he would—Touya was nothing if not dramatic.

“Let’s go back. It’s not my job to warm you up.” He took half a step back towards the entrance to the alleyway, and with your hands still knotted in the front of his jacket, you moved with him.

“Aw, you do care.” Though you were taunting him, you knew there was a certain amount of truth to your words. Obviously he cared about you, in his own crazy, Touya way. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have followed you out on your walk.

“You’re insane.” He frowned at you, but the words felt almost like a compliment, coming from him.

“Yeah, but so are you.” You shrugged, brushing a snowflake from his hair. He scowled at you, unamused, and you had half a mind to kiss him. Smirking, you continued your teasing. “That’s why we get along so well.”

“I’m leaving.” He turned and left, his jacket falling through your finger tips and robbing you of his excessive body heat.

“Wait for me,” You whined, hurrying to catch up to him with a roll of your eyes. You’d get him to break and fall for your taunting charm.

“No,”

“You know you’re going to, anyways.” Teasing, your words were sing-songy and cheerful, a complete opposite to Touya’s gruff demeanor. He didn’t turn around, but you did notice how he slowed his pace to allow you to catch up.

“Are you coming or not?”

heyyy yall....

lowkey feel like I could go further w this

like the possibility was there

..............

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amethystarachnid · 8 days ago

Note

hi! i hope im not too late but can i request lost holiday spirit for loki x female reader?

maybe it could go something like loki and (avenger) reader both live at the tower and aren’t that close but reader hears about lokis lost holiday spirit and tries to get him to celebrate christmas in really cute ways and they end up together at the end? maybe due to some mistletoe and loki ends up celebrating christmas with the rest of the avengers. thank you!!

MR. GRINCH

⤷ LOKI LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ After this event is done I was thinking of writing a part two with Loki meeting the rest of her family if y'all want to read it!!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Avengers Tower sparkles like a snow globe come to life. Twinkling lights are draped over every railing and banister, a giant Christmas tree dominates the common room, and stockings hang above the roaring fireplace, despite its purely decorative function. You flit around like a sugar-fueled elf, adjusting ornaments, humming along to Mariah Carey, and basking in the glow of your favorite time of year.

Your enthusiasm is infectious to most. Tony grumbles about the electricity bill but still orders another dozen boxes of lights. Steve pretends to roll his eyes but secretly joins you for late-night cocoa sessions by the tree. Even Natasha doesn’t protest when you drape a little tinsel around her chair.

Loki, however, is a different story.

The resident God of Mischief is an enigma at the best of times. His presence at the Tower is still a relatively new and tentative arrangement, a diplomatic olive branch between Asgard and Earth. You’re not sure if he’s here to redeem himself, learn from Thor, or just avoid Odin’s wrath. Either way, he’s the ultimate Grinch in your holiday wonderland.

You first notice it when he steps into the kitchen one frosty morning. You’re perched on a stool, munching on gingerbread cookies and debating whether the kitchen needs a wreath (it does). Loki glides in, all dark robes and haughty demeanor, and pauses mid-stride when he spots the garlands you hung around the cabinets.

“What is this excessive display?” he asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

You blink. “Christmas decorations.”

He narrows his eyes as if you’ve just declared your allegiance to an enemy kingdom. “Why?”

“Why?” You repeat, incredulous. “Because it’s Christmas! It’s festive and joyful and magical. Why wouldn’t you want decorations?”

“Because,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “it is frivolous and nonsensical. A mortal invention to distract from the bleakness of winter.”

You gasp, clutching a cookie to your chest as though he’s just insulted your firstborn. “You don’t like Christmas?”

“I don’t dislike it,” he replies coolly. “I am indifferent.”

Indifferent. To Christmas. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not just an opinion—it’s an affront to everything you hold dear.

“Loki,” you say, your tone turning serious. “You can’t live here, surrounded by all this cheer, and not feel even a tiny bit of joy. I won’t allow it.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I was unaware my emotional state required your approval.”

“It does now,” you announce. “Because I’ve just decided that you’re my new project.”

His lips twitch, almost forming a smirk. “A project?”

“Yes. I’m going to make you fall in love with Christmas.”

“And how, pray tell, do you intend to accomplish such a feat?” His voice drips with sarcasm, but you detect a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You grin, undeterred. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Day One

The next morning, Loki walks into the living room to find you perched by the stereo, scrolling through your phone. He doesn’t need to ask what you’re doing—Bing Crosby croons “White Christmas” as your grin widens.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you chirp. “I’ve made a Christmas playlist for the Tower, and I’m sure you’re going to love it.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Ignoring him, you press play, and the room fills with the unmistakable harmonies of Wham!’s Last Christmas. Loki sighs loudly, but you’re already dancing around him, singing off-key and attempting to get him to join in.

“You might as well embrace it,” you say. “There’s no escaping Christmas music in December. Resistance is futile.”

“I am not ‘resisting.’” He makes air quotes that somehow look aristocratic. “I simply fail to see the appeal.”

“Come on,” you coax. “Even you must have some fondness for a holiday that inspires such happy tunes.”

Loki regards you as if you’ve sprouted antlers. “My ‘fondness,’ if it exists, is reserved for silence.”

You pout dramatically. “Not even a little head bop?”

He ignores you, sweeping past toward the library. But later, when you catch him humming faintly under his breath—whether to mock you or not—you count it as a small victory.

Day Two

Your next strategy involves decorating the massive tree in the common room. Everyone else is busy, so you commandeer Loki, much to his chagrin.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, holding a string of lights like it’s a venomous snake.

“You’re tall,” you counter. “And I need help with the top branches.”

With great reluctance, he levitates to reach the higher sections. His magic comes in handy, and despite his complaints, you catch him inspecting the ornaments with genuine curiosity.

“What is the purpose of these trinkets?” he asks, turning a glittery bauble over in his hands.

“They’re not trinkets—they’re memories,” you explain. “See this one?” You point to a slightly crooked star. “Steve made it during his first Christmas in the Tower.”

Loki snorts softly. “It’s hideous.”

“Hey! It has character.”

You work side by side for an hour, and though he pretends to hate every moment, you catch him smirking when you struggle to untangle a particularly stubborn string of lights. By the time the tree is finished, it’s a masterpiece of shimmering ornaments and warm golden lights.

“You did good, Mischief,” you say, nudging his arm. “Admit it—you had fun.”

“I did no such thing,” he replies, but his tone lacks its usual venom.

Day Three

You escalate your efforts with a Christmas movie marathon, complete with a platter of cookies and the richest hot cocoa you can muster. Loki takes one sip and eyes you suspiciously.

“What is this concoction?”

“Hot chocolate,” you say, waving a candy cane for emphasis. “A Christmas essential.”

He takes another cautious sip. Then another. When the cup is empty, you wordlessly slide him a second.

You spend the evening watching Home Alone and Elf. Loki scoffs at the absurdity but doesn’t leave the room. You can’t tell if it’s the cocoa or the ridiculous antics of Will Ferrell that keep him seated, but you’ll take it.

By the time December 5th rolls around, you’re cautiously optimistic. Sure, Loki still rolls his eyes at your caroling and glares at mistletoe like it’s cursed, but there’s a softness in his demeanor. A flicker of something you can’t quite place.

And if he lingers a little longer by the tree at night, bathed in its golden glow, you don’t mention it. Not yet, anyway.

Day Four

You’ve discovered Loki’s Achilles’ heel, and it’s not his ego or his penchant for dramatics. It’s hot cocoa. Rich, creamy, decadent hot cocoa. Since the movie night, he’s been making increasingly frequent appearances in the kitchen whenever you’re whipping up a batch.

Today, you’re prepared.

You’ve set up a veritable hot cocoa bar: steaming milk, bowls of chocolate shavings, marshmallows, whipped cream, and even a jar of crushed peppermint. When Loki strolls in, feigning nonchalance, his gaze lands on the spread and narrows suspiciously.

“What is this?” he asks, though his tone betrays faint curiosity.

“It’s called variety,” you reply, grinning. “I figured if you’re going to keep stealing my cocoa, you might as well have options.”

“Stealing is an exaggeration,” he counters, but he steps closer, eyeing the setup. “What is the purpose of… these?” He gestures at the candy canes like they might attack him.

“Toppings! You can customize your drink.”

You demonstrate by ladling hot cocoa into a mug, adding a mountain of whipped cream, and delicately balancing a candy cane on the rim. Loki watches, his expression unreadable, before taking the ladle himself. He prepares a cup with precise movements, eschewing the whipped cream and opting instead for a sprinkling of chocolate shavings.

He takes a cautious sip. His expression remains stoic, but the way his eyes briefly close in satisfaction doesn’t escape your notice.

“Good, right?” you prod.

He nods minutely, still cradling the mug. You bite back a triumphant grin and lean against the counter, watching him sip the drink like it’s an elixir of the gods. Which, to be fair, it might as well be.

“You know,” you say casually, “you’re starting to get the hang of this Christmas thing.”

He snorts. “Do not mistake my tolerance for enthusiasm.”

But there’s no bite in his words, and you’re certain you’ve won another tiny battle.

Day Five

You decide to escalate your plan with a baking session. After all, what’s Christmas without cookies? Loki is less than thrilled when you inform him of this.

“You expect me to assist you with… baking?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” you reply cheerfully, tossing him an apron. “Think of it as alchemy. But delicious.”

He glares at the apron like it’s made of nettles. “This is beneath me.”

“Oh, come on,” you cajole. “You’ve got magic. Surely you can handle a little dough.”

He grumbles but ties the apron on with a dramatic flourish. The sight of Loki, Prince of Asgard and God of Mischief, wearing a plaid apron that reads “Santa’s Favorite Helper” is almost enough to make you collapse in laughter, but you wisely keep it to yourself.

The baking session is… an adventure. Loki’s “assistance” involves levitating ingredients and conjuring unnecessary bursts of green light for dramatic effect. At one point, he grows bored and attempts to enchant the cookie dough, resulting in a sentient lump that tries to crawl off the counter.

“Loki!” you shriek, swatting at the rogue dough with a spatula. “This is not what I meant by teamwork!”

He smirks, watching your struggle with barely concealed amusement. “You did say I should use my talents.”

By some miracle, you manage to wrangle the dough back into submission. When the cookies finally emerge from the oven, golden and fragrant, you plop one onto a plate and shove it toward Loki.

“Taste it,” you demand.

He takes a cautious bite, his expression neutral. Then he takes another, slower bite.

“Well?” you press, bouncing on your heels.

“Adequate,” he says, but the way he reaches for a second cookie says otherwise.

Day Seven

It snows overnight, blanketing the city in a layer of white. The morning brings a rare moment of quiet in the Tower. You’re staring out the window, a steaming mug of cocoa in hand, when Loki appears beside you.

“Do you often waste time staring at frozen precipitation?” he asks, though his tone lacks its usual bite.

“It’s beautiful,” you say simply. “Have you ever played in the snow?”

He looks at you like you’ve suggested he jump into the Hudson River. “Play?”

“Yeah. You know, snow angels, snowball fights, building a snowman?”

“You forget that I hail from Jotunheim,” he says dryly. “I am quite familiar with snow.”

“Great,” you say, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the door. “Then you’re already a pro.”

Despite his protests, you manage to drag him outside. The courtyard is pristine, untouched by footsteps, and you can’t resist flopping down to make a snow angel. Loki stands over you, his arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

“You’re missing out,” you tell him, brushing snow off your gloves.

“Am I?”

You decide to take matters into your own hands—literally. Scooping up a handful of snow, you pack it into a ball and lob it at him. It hits him square in the chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then he looks down at the snow on his robes, then back at you, his expression unreadable.

“You dare?” he says softly.

“I dare,” you reply, grinning.

What follows is an all-out snowball war. Loki cheats, of course, conjuring multiple snowballs at once and launching them with precision. You counter with a combination of speed and sheer determination, laughing so hard your sides ache.

By the time you call a truce, you’re both soaked and breathless. Loki’s hair is damp, and there’s snow clinging to his robes, but his eyes are bright, his lips curved into a genuine smile.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly happy.

Day Ten

You’re sitting by the fire, sipping yet another mug of cocoa, when Loki joins you unprompted. He’s carrying his own mug, which you’re fairly certain he made himself—a small but significant victory.

“You’ve been unusually persistent,” he says, settling into the chair beside you.

“It’s called holiday spirit,” you reply with a grin. “And I’m rubbing off on you. Admit it.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gazes at the twinkling lights on the tree, his expression thoughtful.

“I will admit,” he says slowly, “that there is… a certain charm to this season. Though your methods are insufferable.”

You laugh, raising your mug in a mock toast. “I’ll take it.”

For the first time since you started this endeavor, you feel like you’ve genuinely reached him. And as you sit there, sharing the quiet warmth of the fire, you realize that maybe—just maybe—Loki is starting to believe in the magic of Christmas after all.

Day Eleven

The fireplace mantel remains unfinished—a glaring imperfection in your otherwise flawless Christmas wonderland. You’ve been putting it off, unsure of how to best arrange the garlands, candles, and lights. This morning, however, you find Loki standing in front of it, arms crossed, a contemplative look on his face.

“Are you admiring my handiwork?” you tease, stepping up beside him.

“I’m considering how to fix it,” he replies. “It’s… lopsided.”

You tilt your head, squinting at the decorations. “It’s supposed to look whimsical.”

“It looks haphazard,” he counters, glancing down at you with a faint smirk.

“Fine, Mr. Perfect. Show me how you’d do it.”

What starts as a playful challenge turns into a surprisingly intimate collaboration. Loki’s hands brush against yours as he passes you a strand of lights, his touch sending an unexpected warmth up your arm. He leans close to adjust a garland, his voice low as he critiques your “questionable” taste in ribbon colors.

By the time the mantel is complete, the room feels cozier—not just from the flickering candlelight but from the unspoken connection simmering between you.

“Admit it,” you say softly. “This was fun.”

Loki’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary. “Moderately enjoyable,” he murmurs, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

Day Thirteen

You’re perched on a ladder in the common room, attempting to hang a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling beam. The ladder wobbles precariously, and just as you’re about to lose your balance, strong hands grip your waist, steadying you.

“Careful,” Loki chides, his voice unusually gentle.

You glance down at him, your heart racing—not just from the near fall. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering as he helps you down from the ladder. When your feet touch the ground, you realize just how close you are. The mistletoe dangles above you, unnoticed, as you find yourself caught in his intense gaze.

“Traditionally,” Loki says, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper, “there’s a custom associated with this particular plant.”

You swallow hard, your cheeks heating. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”

His lips curve into a sly smile, but he steps back, breaking the moment. “Perhaps next time,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious.

Your pulse remains uneven long after he’s gone.

Day Fifteen

You can’t sleep. The glow of the Christmas tree calls to you, and you find yourself padding into the common room, wrapped in a blanket. To your surprise, Loki is already there, seated on the couch with a book in hand.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, settling into the armchair across from him.

He closes the book, regarding you with a softness you’ve come to recognize in these quiet moments. “I find the stillness… agreeable.”

The conversation flows easily, shifting from light banter to deeper topics. He talks about Asgardian winters, and you share memories of childhood Christmases. There’s an openness to him tonight, a vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

At one point, you notice him watching you intently, his gaze tracing your features as if committing them to memory. “What is it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve met,” he says, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. “Your insistence on joy, your… stubborn optimism. It’s infuriating. And yet…”

“And yet?” you prompt, your heart pounding.

He leans forward slightly, the space between you charged with unspoken possibilities. “And yet, I find myself drawn to it. To you.”

The admission leaves you breathless. You don’t know what to say, so you settle for a soft smile, hoping it conveys everything you’re feeling.

Day Seventeen

A freak snowstorm traps everyone inside the Tower. While most of the team grumbles about canceled plans, you can’t help but see it as an opportunity. You organize a board game marathon, but when Loki declines to participate, you seek him out in his room.

“Too good for Monopoly?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe.

“I prefer my games to involve a certain level of sophistication,” he replies, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“Come on,” you coax. “It’ll be fun.” But when you understand the won't give in you try another tactic, just sto spend time with him. "Teach me chess instead,” you say, pulling a dusty board from a shelf.

The two of you spend hours by the fire, the snowstorm raging outside, as he teaches you the intricacies of the game. His patience surprises you, as does the way he occasionally lets you win, though he denies it every time.

At some point, you realize you’re no longer focused on the game. Instead, you’re studying the way his hair falls over his shoulders, the way his lips curve when he’s explaining a strategy.

“You’re not paying attention,” he accuses, though his tone is amused.

“Sorry,” you murmur, feeling your cheeks heat.

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps I’m more distracting than the game.”

You don’t deny it.

Day Twenty

The Tower is quiet after dinner, most of the team having retreated to their rooms. You and Loki are the last ones in the common room, the tree lights casting soft shadows across his features.

“You’ve done well,” he says, nodding toward the decorations. “This place feels… alive.”

“Thanks to you,” you reply, nudging his shoulder. “You helped more than you’d like to admit.”

“I admit nothing,” he says, though there’s a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

You fall into a comfortable silence, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension. When he reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, your breath catches. His fingers linger, his gaze dropping to your lips.

For a moment, time seems to stop. You’re certain he’s going to kiss you, and you lean in ever so slightly, your heart pounding. But then—

“Y/N!” Tony’s voice booms from the hallway, shattering the moment.

You both pull back, flustered, as Tony strides into the room, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I swear he has the worst timing,” you mutter after Tony leaves.

Loki smirks, but there’s a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Indeed.”

Day Twenty-Four

The Tower hums with a warm energy on Christmas Eve. The team is gathered around the massive tree in the common room, the scent of pine mingling with the aroma of spiced cider and freshly baked cookies. You sit cross-legged on the floor beside Loki, the two of you half-listening as Thor attempts to recount a boisterous Asgardian holiday tradition.

Despite the chaos around you—Steve trying to untangle fairy lights, Clint stealing cookies from the tray, and Tony programming a robotic Santa to distribute presents—you feel grounded. Loki’s presence beside you has a magnetic pull, and you find yourself sneaking glances at him every few moments.

He looks relaxed, a rarity for the God of Mischief. His usual sharp edges seem softer tonight, the flickering glow of the fireplace highlighting his high cheekbones and the glint in his emerald eyes.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask quietly, leaning slightly toward him.

His lips curve into a faint smirk. “More than I expected.”

The gift exchange begins, the room filling with laughter and playful banter as everyone tears into their wrapping paper. You watch with amusement as Natasha tries not to laugh at the gaudy scarf Clint has given her, and Bruce chuckles at the chemistry-themed mug he receives.

Loki remains apart from the main commotion, though his eyes sparkle with quiet amusement. As the night winds down, the others begin to retreat to their rooms, leaving the two of you alone by the tree.

“You didn’t join the exchange,” you say, turning to him.

“I prefer to give gifts with intention,” he replies, reaching into his pocket.

He produces a small, elegantly wrapped box and hands it to you. “For you.”

Your heart stutters as you carefully undo the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside lies a delicate silver charm bracelet, each charm meticulously chosen: a snowflake, a steaming mug of cocoa, a tiny chess piece, and a star. You recognize each one as a symbol of a moment you’ve shared this month.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, your fingers trembling slightly as you lift it from the box.

“I thought you might appreciate a memento of your… relentless holiday enthusiasm,” Loki says, though his tone is soft, almost vulnerable.

“I love it,” you say, looking up at him with a wide smile. “Thank you.”

You hesitate for a moment, then reach for the small gift bag you’d hidden earlier. “I, uh, got you something too.”

He raises an eyebrow but accepts the bag, pulling out the contents with a curious expression. Inside is a beautifully bound leather journal, embossed with intricate patterns that remind you of Asgardian designs.

“For your thoughts,” you explain, suddenly shy. “Or plans, or whatever it is you write about. I thought you might like it.”

His fingers brush over the cover reverently. “It’s… thoughtful,” he says, his voice unusually gentle.

Before you can reply, a movement above catches your eye. You tilt your head back and groan. “Oh no.”

Loki follows your gaze, his expression shifting into one of amusement as he spots the sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you.

“Ah,” he murmurs, his smirk returning. “The infamous custom.”

You open your mouth to say something witty, but the words evaporate as Loki steps closer, his gaze fixed on yours. The air between you feels charged, and your heart hammers in your chest.

“Wouldn’t want to break tradition,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

Before you can second-guess yourself, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, unhurried, and yet it sends a spark through your entire body. His hand finds your cheek, his touch warm against your skin, and you melt into him, forgetting everything else in the world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless. Loki’s hand lingers on your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone.

“Mistletoe,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Convenient,” he replies, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile.

The two of you stand there for a moment, the world around you quiet and still. You glance down at the bracelet on your wrist, then back up at Loki, and you can’t help but think that this is the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had.

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sunasassdealer · 20 days ago

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𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇: Nagi Seishiro 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 1.6k 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈: fem!reader, fluff, comedy, pet names used, cuddles turned into a snowball fight. 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: none

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: I have fallen deep and I don't feel like pulling myself out of it. I hope you enjoy it. I haven't written in a while, so if its bad forgive me pls :x

It was freezing.

Curled up in bed as you turned your gaze to the window, white flakes fell from the sky and covered the ground in a blanket of snow. It really did feel like no matter how many layers you put on or how high you turned the heat up you simply couldn't get warm. Seishiro was at his desk, headset over his ears playing his game. The sound of fingers tapping against the keyboard and mouse clicks filled the room with his huffs when he died which you just giggled at as you played on your phone waiting for his little gaming session to be over.

A warning flashed across the top of your screen with a travel warning due to the snow storm. High winds possible as you grumbled about being cold again as you sat up removing yourself from the warm cocoon you had made for yourself. Barefeet pressing against the cold wooden floors as you walked over to Seishiro leaning over the back of his chair, arms wrapping around his shoulders peeking over as you uncovered one of his ears.

“Sei, you gunna come cuddle me soon or am I gunna die from hypothermia?” You spoke amusement in your tone as your eyes met with his grey ones. His brow rising at you, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips as he paused the game and switched the screen off.

“My little dramatic baby come, you're lucky that I love you, ya know” Seishiro mused as he pushed from his chair moving it under the desk as he towered over your frame leaning down to grab the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up pressing a kiss against your lips.

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty lucky, actually I think you're the lucky one for putting up with your gaming addiction” You teased as his brows raised again at your antics, a dramatic gasp leaving his lips as he looked at you with faux annoyance.

“Hateful and hurtful” Seishiro pouts as he walks over to the bed plopping you back down against the mattress. His arms coming to wrap around your torso pulling you against his frame as he huffed. “Ya know, your words, wound me angel they wound me” Nagi spoke, his words as dramatic, as he nuzzled against your warm frame, his nose cold against your exposed skin. You laughed lightly at his dramatics and pressed a kiss against his forehead in return. “You know what wounds me Seishiro? When you leave me all alone in bed, and refuse to turn the heat up, and then I start shivering and shaking from how cold it is” You mused once more as he rolled his eyes at your antics. “Look, the heat isn't even on Sei, not all of us have all the muscle mass to keep us heated” A pout took over your features as he scoffed at you.

“Well my poor baby, why don't we get you warmed up then hm? Seems like we are having big feelings because we didn't have a nap today and a bit cold” His tone seemingly condescending as you kicked him. Nagi grumbled as he nearly fell out of the bed as he blinked at you a few times. “Okay that's it” He huffed, strong arms coming to yank you from the bed, screams of protest laced with laughter filled the air. Clinging onto him, you knew exactly what was going to happen.

Heavy footsteps echoed the apartment, holding you in his arms as he opened the door to the wintery elements outside. Nagi made his way down the stairs, the crisp cold air filling your lungs making it harder to breathe as your protests continued all the way down.

“Sei! Please no! I'm sorry I beg for forgiveness!! Uncle! Uncle!!” You plead as he hummed pretending to think as he looked at you with a smug expression before tossing you into the large pile of snow. A screech ripped from your throat as the cold snow consumed you. Standing up as you gripped the front of his hoodie yanking him down into the snow with you. Shoving snow down his hoodie as you huffed.

“Hey! That's not fair!” He barked out as his chest began to rumble with laughter, sitting on your knees as you threw a snowball at him watching it crumble against his chest. “Fair is fair when you're thrown into the snow. Now I’m freezing and can't feel my hands or my feet Seishiro.” You went to stand as he tugged you back down wrapping his strong arms around you, an icy hand coming to the back of your head as he pressed a long kiss against your lips. Melting into it as you returned it in kind. Although the heartfelt moment came to a holting stop feeling snow being poured down your back.

“Seishiro Nagi..” Your voice low as you looked at him, an amused expression on his lips as he looked at you “yes? My darling angel, love of my life?” He spoke, voice dripping with adoration. “You better sleep with one eye open.” You threatened, although, when you threaten people it should have some bite to it, not a dopey smile with love twinkling in your eyes. “Yeah yeah come on you little fake criminal, let's get you inside before you turn into a snowman or something” Nagi stood, nearly slipping on the frozen ground under his feet. A laugh pulled from your chest as you stood up with him shaking your head. “I think hot cocoa and a movie might be on the table for the rest of the night.” You suggested as he only nodded in agreement.

The two of you walked back inside, his gaze on the thermostat as he finally switched it over to heat, the smell of something burning filling his nose as it scrunched up. “See I have a reason to not turn it on” Nagi mumbled, earning a glare from you, “Well maybe if you used it more, then it wouldn't smell like burnt hair Seishiro.” You grumbled as you stomped to his bedroom discarding the now wet clothes and putting on one of his hoodies and some leggings with some fluffy socks.

Making your way around the apartment, plugging in the blow dryer to dry your hair and his when he finally joined you in the bathroom. He had changed as well and sat on the toilet. “Look at you, how did I get lucky.. Hm?” You rolled your eyes at him with a small smile on your lips. “I don't know, maybe it was your persistent need to tell me to get online to play matches with you because I was your lucky charm or something.”

“We both know you aren't as good as I am baby” he said, making you switch the setting on the blow dryer to cold, earning a whine from him.

“Heyyyy turn it back to warm” Nagis voice drawed out, shivered from the cold running down his spine, cold that was already swimming through his body and now from the blow dryer was not the combination he desired. Hands seeking more warmth as he slid them up your thighs to under the hoodie where he hummed feeling your warm skin against his finger tips.

“Take it back, you wouldn't have won half of those games without your beloved healer” You grumbled as you switched the setting once more back to high heat running your fingers through his messy hair getting it to dry out. Hissing as his icy fingers slid against your back a shiver rippled through your body. “Seishiro..” you warned, however he did not move his hands from your body

Nagi sighed as his hands slid back down and rested against your thighs rubbing them through the fabric. “Yeah yeah, I guess you're right. But you wouldn't have made it out of half of those matches without me” Nagi said, which earned him yet another eye roll. “Yeah yeah whatever you say” you sighed as you felt around his hair making sure there was no wet spots left.

With both of your hair now dry, there was still a pressing matter, now the both of you were freezing due to his actions. Grabbing his hand and leading the both of you to the bedroom. You grabbed the remote for the tv and turned on some movie to have in the background as you crawled into the bed and clicked on the heating blanket. A staple for you as it was needed in this household. Nagi followed in after, crawling in next to you, resuming the comfortable position you both were in before he had yanked you outside.

“See how much nicer it is when you aren't mean to me.” you said with a giggle in your voice, pulling him closer as he rested his head on your chest. Curling your fingers in his hair, as he just hummed in response. Nagis fingers dug into the fabric of your (his) sweater as he pulled you impossibly closer. It wasn't before long that his eyes grew tired and his soft snores filled more of the space. Your eyes were trained on the tv for a bit, drawing circles and absent minded patterns before you had fallen asleep as well.

The snow was still falling, freezing temperatures trying to penetrate the safe haven you both called home. But yet the two of you stayed warm in each others arms with playful banter and sweet hot cocoa. Just the way you liked it.

the Nagi brainrot has infested me and im okay with that.

Tags: @pixelcafe-network @hayatoseyepatch @eevees-hobbies

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