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luveline · 7 months

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.

Total quiet.

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.

“Spencer?” you ask quietly.

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.

“Where are you?”

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”

“Where was I?”

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.

“Still where?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”

“…What?”

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”

“I annoy people.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.

“I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.

“She kind of looked like you.”

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Is that why you make all your jokes?”

“What jokes, babe?”

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”

“Spencer, you remember everything.”

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.

You’re happy to.

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.

“Can I come home with you?” he asks.

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”

— —

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”

“So you want three?”

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.

The avocado is making him feel sick.

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”

“I think I'm gonna throw up.”

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.”

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said.

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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lexirosewrites · 2 months

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autistic omega steve who is stunningly beautiful… and masks terribly

the first time he sees eddie, he stares at the alpha for 30 seconds straight before walking right up to him and declaring “you should be my mate and we should have pups together”

rockstars aren’t used to that

steve sees nice hair and kind eyes and he is committed though. ready to change his last name and bare his neck because why wait? he already found what he wants

robin has to practically scruff him in the meet and greet line in order to remind him that he shouldn’t speak like that to strangers, even celebrities!

but eddie, frontman of one of the biggest bands in the world, is utterly charmed by the encounter

sure, the omega is probably the prettiest guy he’s ever seen. but his vulnerability and honesty?

irresistible

“alrighty then. come over here, sweetheart. what’s your name?”

“i’m steve. i’m an omega,” he states with the cutest smile, coming around the table to meet him as eddie stands

god, eddie sort of wants to bite him right then and there. which is. probably insane?

“eddie,” he replies, “an alpha”

steve nods matter of factly

“i know. you smell like mine”

wow. okay yeah, eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone wasn’t selling him bullshit flattery

“can’t argue with that.” eddie spots a group of pups where steve’s friend waits. they’re staring at them. “so did you enjoy the concert?”

steve winces, reaching into his pocket to show him a pair of crumpled earplugs

ah. right, it can be quite loud. not everyone enjoys that

“hurt my head,” steve explains sheepishly

eddie nods sympathetically, reaching out to cradle steve’s flushed cheeks without thinking

the omega flinches slightly and he looks like he’s going to pull back, but then he stops and just meets eddie’s gaze

“sorry…” he whispers

eddie shakes his head, but doesn’t remove his hand

“i should’ve asked you first. you’re just- uh, you’re very beautiful, steve,” he says with a nervous laugh, filter out the window apparently

steve beams at that sweetly

“so you’ll be my alpha and put your pups in me?”

eddie’s beyond fucked

#steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #omegaverse #a/b/o

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utahimeow · 10 months

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even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep.

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk.

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory.

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief.

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest.

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses.

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do.

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer.

He does just that.

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed.

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him.

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery.

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love.

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern.

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don��t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you.

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask.

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow.

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not.

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures.

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you.

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being.

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible.

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time.

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks.

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan.

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?”

“Please.”

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes.

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care.

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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bro-atz · 3 months

Text

if it's not too much to ask [bro's 1k — hongjoong]

in which: you visit your brother in the dorm and end up being left alone with the captain.

pair: idol!hongjoong/abaf!reader

word count: 1.8k

content: smut, reader is jongho's little sister, netflix and chill?, sofa sex, (pretty tame compared to my other fics ngl), safe sex, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

You visited your brother's dorm frequently— he hated it, but his roommates genuinely enjoyed your company, so he was powerless to stop you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Jongho groaned the second he saw you walk through the door.

“Hongjoong and Wooyoung invited me over to watch a movie with them,” you replied.

Jongho sighed loudly before retreating to his room. You met Hongjoong and Wooyoung in the common area with a smile and a wave, the other two men greeting you in the same fashion.

“So what movie are we watching?” you asked as soon as you plopped down on the couch between the two of them.

“I had nothing in mind, so I thought we would just pick something random,” Hongjoong suggested.

“God, that sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Wooyoung complained. “At least choose a good genre.”

“Y/N, what do you think we should watch?” Hongjoong asked you.

“Uh… A rom-com?”

Both men grimaced slightly before sighing. Hongjoong reluctantly turned on a random rom-com, and the three of you sat and watched the movie in complete silence. Even during the comedy bits, the jokes weren’t landing, so none of you were laughing. It was a really poor choice for a movie.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Wooyoung yawned loudly. “I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy the rest of this snooze-fest.”

You and Hongjoong both kept your eyes glued to the TV screen as you waved to Wooyoung. As soon as Wooyoung retreated to his room, you were suddenly aware of the fact that it was you and Hongjoong left in the room. While it shouldn’t have been an issue for you, it was an issue.

You had an insanely huge crush on Hongjoong, after all.

As the movie continued to drone on in the background, you couldn’t help but sneak secret glances at Hongjoong. He seemed to be drawn into the movie (despite it being the most boring thing of all time), and you couldn’t help but want for him to show you that same level of attention. So, scooting closer to him slightly, you whispered to him.

“Hey, Hongjoong?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

You didn’t know what possessed you to be so bold. Maybe it was the fact that you knew that you and Hongjoong flirted every so often, that he could potentially share the same feelings for you, or the fact that you were just that desperate for physical contact with him. You watched a light blush cross his face before he nodded slowly.

Despite asking him if you could, you didn’t quite sit in his lap. Your ass was pressing into the sofa cushion, but your legs were dangling off of his, and you were leaning into him as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He kept his eyes glued to the TV, which irritated you slightly because the whole point of asking him was to get him to pay attention to you. So, you cupped his face with both of your hands and looked him in the eye, Hongjoong finally giving you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly.

“You have very lovely facial features, Hongjoong,” you answered with a whisper. Tracing your thumb along his cheekbone, you continued, “I want to admire them all day long.”

Hongjoong stifled a little pleasureful sigh the more you stroked his face with your fingers. When you were about to withdraw your hands, Hongjoong pushed his face further in your hands. He looked at you with the most beautiful, sparkling eyes that made your heart skip several beats— especially when he leaned into you.

"Y/N, do you know what you're doing?" Hongjoong asked, the sparkles in his eyes turning into a devilish glint.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently while fully knowing exactly what you were doing.

Hongjoong grunted in frustration when he felt your fingers brush his ears, your fingers rubbing his earlobes as your palms no longer rested on his face. Hongjoong wrapped both his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your ass actually resting on his lap at that point.

"Hey, Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, and Hongjoong kissed you. It was a soft kiss, his lips just barely pressing against yours. Before he could lean back and gauge your reaction, you moved your fingers from his ears to the back of his head and pulled him close to you. You pressed your lips firmly against his, and he immediately took your lower lip in between his lips. He exhaled softly as he kissed you sensually, his hands slowly moving under your shirt and along the curve of your waist.

Hongjoong guided you so that you were properly sitting on his lap and facing him, your lips still passionately entangled with his. He let out soft sighs as he completely immersed himself in you. His lips moved away from yours, and before you could whine in disappointment, you let out a soft moan when he trailed his lips down your neck and bit your skin lightly. You felt his hands move up your back, his fingers making quick work of your bra clasp, and you felt his hips move restlessly below you.

“Hey, wait,” Hongjoong suddenly stopped, making you actually whine in disappointment. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

“I would’ve pushed you away if I didn’t want to.”

A small smile appeared on Hongjoong’s face as he looked up at you, his eyes soft and sparkling. He planted a tiny kiss on your lips before moving his gaze downwards. He pushed your shirt and bra up to reveal your breasts, the man inhaling sharply as he gazed at them. Your hands moved from his neck to his shoulders the second you felt his tongue run flatly along one of your nipples, and you moaned softly.

“Shh, darling, keep it down unless you want Wooyoung and your brother to hear.”

Fuck, that was the first time Hongjoong called you anything but your name, and it made your heart and cunt flutter like anything. You listened to him and bit harshly on your lower lip to keep all of your sounds to a minimum. However, it was getting more and more difficult to as you felt him suck on your breast and his teeth nibble on your nipple.

At some point, Hongjoong couldn’t take it anymore. He moved away from you to undo his pants and slip them down slightly, his cock springing up the second it was released from its clothed jail. You mouth immediately watered upon seeing his rosy pink cock tremble, precum slowly dripping down his length. His hands then moved to the small of your back, his fingers pushing down on the waistband of your pants.

“Take your pants off for me, darling.”

There that nickname was again. You practically flew out of your pants and panties before returning to straddling Hongjoong. You didn’t realize it, but while you were removing your clothes, Hongjoong managed to roll a condom on and toss the discarded wrapper to the side.

“Where’d you get the condom from?” you teasingly asked.

“Is where I got it from really important right now?” Hongjoong sighed as he buried his nose in the nook of your neck. “The important thing is that I have one on, darling. Now, come. Sit.”

Hongjoong had a firm grasp on your waist as you sat up and held his dick. You could hear him groan softly at your touch, that groan getting slightly louder when you rubbed him along your folds. You thought he was going to groan loudly as you sat down, his cock pushing through, but instead, his breathing hitched. You were kind of disappointed to not have gotten a stronger reaction from him, but when you saw his jaw tense and his eyes flutter, you knew that he was desperately attempting to hold back his noises.

The movie droned on in the background as you and Hongjoong focused on each other. You were bouncing slowly on his cock, his hands on your hips as he guided you at the pace that he wanted.

“You feeling good, darling?” Hongjoong murmured when he felt your grip on his shoulders relax.

“I want more…” you whispered breathily as you pressed your forehead against his.

You nearly yelped when Hongjoong thrusted his hips upwards sharply, a slight slapping noise echoing in the room. The fabric of his shirt got bunched up in your fists as he continued to thrust upwards while pushing your waist down. You could feel your brain emptying out as Hongjoong fucked you, each thrust more rough than the last. You eyes fluttered as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your breathing getting more erratic by the second.

“J-Joong, I’m— Hnngh— Fu-uck,” you whined softly.

Hongjoong pressed his lips against yours again, making you moan slightly into his mouth. He didn’t have to shush you again for you to know that he was telling you to stay quiet. Your brain went completely blank by that point, and your entire body was reacting to every single thing he did. Your back arched when his hand moved up to your breast, his other hand still forcefully pushing your waist down as you weakly continued bouncing on his lap. It was when his fingers tugged on your nipple and his tongue slipped into your mouth did your vision go white and the knot in your stomach unravel. The sounds of your cries were thankfully muffled as you came. Your walls fluttered and tensed up as you came, making Hongjoong’s entire body jolt.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming,” Hongjoong hissed as he broke your chain of kisses and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

You felt Hongjoong’s cock spasm inside you as he filled the condom with his seed. He groaned sensually into your ear as his arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you close.

Both you and the man under you were breathing heavily by the time Hongjoong and the movie completely finished. You remained seated on his lap until you could find the strength in your legs to get up and off his now soft cock.

“Fuck, Y/N, that was amazing,” Hongjoong sighed blissfully as he removed his condom.

You hummed in agreement as you bent over to grab your clothes. However, the second you did, Hongjoong stood up and took your clothes out of your hands.

“Shouldn’t we get dressed before my brother or Wooyoung come back?” you whispered urgently.

“I never said we were done here, darling. Come with me.”

Hongjoong, grabbing your clothes with one hand and your arm with the other, led you to his bedroom. He closed and locked his door the second you entered the room before pulling you into his embrace, his lips teasing yours.

“And remember, don’t make a sound.”

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mrskokushibo · 2 months

Text

Warnings: Sex, Smut, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Funny

Summary: It gets both steamy and funny when you manage to rile up Sanemi. And the man really has a short fuse. Modern AU.

A/N: For all you MHA fans, you are welcome to replace Sanemi with aged-up Bakugo. I can almost hear his voice in Sanemi's lines.

Masterlist

The afternoon was going well until you made the fatal decision to go to the arcade. It was ages since you both last been and the silly in you wanted to try if it was as much fun as you remembered it to be. At first, Sanemi was enjoying himself but very soon things went south. You were winning, time after time, beginner luck at first, but when your winning streak continued, he was no longer able to contain his frustration.

‘This shit is rigged. How the fuck can you be winning all the time?’

You laughed impulsively.

‘Seriously Nemi, how can it be rigged? Do you think I am in cahoots with the owner?’

Your grin became vicious and you lowered your voice into a conspiratorial whisper while leaning closer to him.

‘Maybe I slept with him to get ahead?’ You followed this with a wink.

He was not amused. He glared at you pursing his lips and continued the game.

‘Fuck. How do you do it?’ He almost growled out after losing yet again.

You shrugged and gave him an innocent but triumphant smile, and even did a little victory dance. And…you shouldn’t have.

‘Enough! We are going. This was not a good idea and I am not coming back here again.’

You giggled and put your hand into his as you began walking out of the noisy arcade.

The cool evening air and your mild hand softened his mood and by the time you came back home, he was seemingly fine. But, once on the sofa, his eyes flared up in vicious intent.

‘Let’s play Battlefield. I bet you can’t beat me there.’

It was his favourite online shooter that you only played a handful of times. You did not take to it and, to be honest, you weren't interested in gaming that much anyway.

‘Yeah, whatever. But don’t you just want to watch a movie and cuddle?’ You asked with a flirtatious smile.

‘We can do that later.’ He was already pulling out the controllers and logging in to the online portal.

He passed you the controller and a few moments later you were moving through a village in the middle of a desert, first-person view of your surroundings, trying to avoid or shoot the enemy. For each time Sanemi got shot and revived, you stayed alive and kicking. When you quickly glanced at him, his jaw was tensed and his eyes had that half-insane focused look in them.

‘Nemi, you are taking this far too seriously.’

‘This is serious.’ He barked out, which caused you to burst out laughing.

He paused the game and looked at you. A long, drawn-out, crazy stare. “If looks could kill” was probably the best description of what was being projected from his light-purple pupils.

‘Relax, babe.’ You put your hand on his thigh and began riding up to his groin. ‘Let me help you.’

You cooed and started rubbing him through his jeans, the bulge slowly growing from your treatment. He was alternating staring at you and down at your hand.

‘Do you really think I am some primitive gorilla that can be pacified with sex?’ He was seething with increasing irritation.

‘No, of course not, I don’t think that. Why would I?’ You cocked your head and smiled, biting your lip while continuing to rub his now quite prominent hardness.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Yes, fuck me, Nemi… ‘

This was followed by a moment of silence after which he suddenly growled quietly and flipped you over on your stomach.

‘Alright, I will fuck you. But don’t say you didn’t ask for it. Because I don’t intend on holding back.’

You bit your lip in anticipation. You liked it when he was rough, but it would probably piss him off even more to know that right now you wanted him to be exactly that, heavy-handed. So instead, you just lay still, tiny, pinching, shivers running down your spine as his hands touched your ass and began pulling up your skirt.

His hand disappeared momentarily, and the sound of his zipper being pulled down sent even more electricity up your spine. He grunted as you could hear him get up and pull down his trousers. And then he was back at you, slapping your ass repeatedly, you moaning in response.

‘Now, bitch, I will show you who is boss here.’ He rubbed you to excessive wetness and began pressing his cock into you, without much consideration for positioning himself properly. He was too eager to be tough.

‘Nemi, that’s my other hole. You need to reposition.’

‘Argh! You don’t need to tell me what to do. I know what I am doing.’

He shifted and slammed into you, missing your opening entirely and burrowing himself into the sofa. He was so consumed with the combination of rage and arousal that he managed to give the sofa a few hard thrusts.

‘Babe, you are not inside.’

‘Stop talking. I know I am not.’

‘Should I assist you? In finding the hole? It’s like pinball, you know..’ You giggled. You could not help yourself to make the arcade allusion, because his reactions were simply too entertaining.

‘Do you think I’m funny, huh? Let’s see if you think this is funny then.’

This time around, he pumped his fingers into your pussy, positioned himself correctly, and slammed into you causing you to gasp.

‘How do you like this?’

‘I like it.’

His bare teeth were now grazing up your back and finished up on the side of your neck, the proximity of his warm, strong body causing you to clench a little extra. His breath was near your mouth and he hissed in a raspy voice:

‘Brace yourself, fuckdoll.’ You loved it when he called you that.

He kept his proximity to you and started to hammer his hips into the softness of your ass. You were a little shaken as his pace increased. Your breath started to sync with his thrusts, but he kept it up so fast you were left gasping for air. He pushed deeper and harder until you were whimpering from his force.

He then pushed the whole length of his cock into you, and you could feel the head pushing at your cervix. The pain and pleasure sent shivers throughout your body. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably now, and you could feel your pussy start to gush. He continued his thrusting as if you weren't even there. Your knees were about to buckle, but he pulled you up again by the waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, and started his relentless thrusting once again.

You could barely breathe, and you were starting to see stars, the only sounds you could hear were your own heartbeat, his ragged breathing, and the sound of his cock driving into your soaked pussy. You started to lose consciousness, your vision narrowing to a point.

‘Nemi, I’m coming.’ You whimpered out as the familiar feeling of needing to pee was turning into a full-blown climax accompanied by your pussy gushing like a fountain.

As you slipped into a blissful abyss, his cock finally erupted and released the thick, white cum that had been building up. It coated your womb and dripped out onto the sofa. His breathing started to slow down, and he released his grip on your waist. Your legs gave out, and you slumped forward, resting your head on the soft cushions.

He grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor and cleaned himself and your leaking pussy. He then pulled you upright and wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder. You placed a hand on his head and caressed his hair.

‘Are you calm again now, my dear?’ You whispered into his ear.

‘I was never agitated. What are you implying? That I lost control?’ Irritation was beginning to simmer up in him again. You let out a giggle. You could feel him tense up behind you, and his hands went for your throat. You tried to get away, but his grip tightened.

'What's so funny, hmm?'

You struggled to get out a few words. 'Nemi...please.' You begged.

'Please what, slut?' He replied, his grip getting tighter.

Your head was going fuzzy again, but his grip was not tight enough to make you black out. He was not a monster, after all, and besides, you did enjoy it, your juices running down your leg from his grip on your delicate flesh. You felt his cock growing stiff again. He really was insatiable. He let go of your throat and turned you around. He sat down on the sofa and pulled you into his lap.

'Now, we need to get a few things straight, doll. If I am going to continue to put with you, then you are going to need to understand that I am the one in control here, do you understand?' This was his usual way of asserting himself, that never really worked on you other than make your pussy drip.

‘Just like you were in control of the game controllers just a moment ago?’ You giggled while grabbing his cock and lowering your full weight onto him.

He could no longer keep up the tough façade, the cracks showing by a playful spark appearing in his eyes. He laughed through closed lips and shrugged.

‘Yeah…just like that. Well, I guess we both know that you are the boss here, my kitten.’ He groaned as you began riding him. And this was the beginning of a long, adrenaline-fueled night filled with sensual and passionate sex. Lesson learned? Annoying Sanemi was well worth it.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Hope I can make you laugh with this oldie but goodie. Imagine Bakugo instead of Nemi 😅 @doumadono @crystalwolfblog

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steddiehyperfixation · 10 months

Text

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay.

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway.

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks.

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.”

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees.

Steve asks, “How much time?”

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.”

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough.

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids.

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did.

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.”

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.”

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond.

“And us,” Erica adds as well.

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.”

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him.

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?”

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally.

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.”

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.”

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital.

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them.

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.”

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.”

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.”

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.”

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...”

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase.

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.”

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.”

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.”

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children.

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.”

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him.

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!”

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.”

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!”

“So you guys joined the club, then?”

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed.

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?”

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.”

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says.

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.”

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.”

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.”

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

#still angsty sorry #we're getting there tho! this will have a happy ending eventually! i promise!#i finally get what ppl mean when they talk abt setting out to write a oneshot and ending up with a longfic bc it's happening to me rn #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #1k #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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rafeandonlyrafe · 11 months

Text

fake fight

words: 800

warnings: 18+ only, smut, dry humping

“come on baby, you were the one who was so sure that you could beat me in a fight.” rafe says, whipping his shirt off. you know it’s going to give him an advantage, always getting distracted by his bare chest.

it was mostly a joke. you know you’d never actually beat rafe in a fight, but you’re stubborn and continued to say that you could, that while rafe was obviously stronger, you were quicker and had better reflexes. you should have known it was a mistake and rafe would actually call you out on your bluff.

“fine.” you shrug, taking your necklace off, with a diamond ‘R’ on it, gifted to you by none other than the man you know you’re about to lose to. he’s cleared the living room, pushed all of the furniture back so you have plenty of space to spar.

“alright. i’ll go gentle on you.”

you drop the fake overconfidence. you really don’t want rafe to go hard on you, not that he would anyways. you know in your ‘fight’ that rafe would never actually be rough with you.

you give a nod, signaling that you are ready. you move quickly, knowing that you’re going to get maybe one chance to get rafe before you’re on the ground.

you manage to strike out at his shoulder before he can pull back, but then his arms are around your waist, lowering you to the floor, a hand coming up to the back of your head to cushion the fall. rafe drops on top of you, using his body weight to keep you down. he grabs your wrists, holding them on either side of your head.

“i expected it to be quick, but not that quick. tap out.” rafe laughs, right in your face. your brow scrunches, too proud to give up just because you’re pinned. you test if you can get your arms free, but it’s no use. he just pushes them harder into the carpet until you stop. you wiggle your hips instead, seeing if you can get free that way, but all that you manage to do is rub against rafe’s hips.

rafe lets out a half moan half grunt, and you’re suddenly aware of how your wiggling is affecting rafe. your eyes widen as rafe smirks, hips suddenly pushing forward, thrusting his clothed cock over your covered cunt.

you shouldn’t encourage him, but you can’t help it. you wrap your hips around his legs, feigning like you're trying to flip him over, but all it does is make you grind against rafe.

he rubs right back, directly over your clit now that your legs are spread wide for him. you hold back a moan, trying again to flip so you’re on top.

it feels so dirty, both getting off during the (albeit fake) fight. you know you’d look insane to anyone who walked in, rafe shamelessly rubbing his cock against you while you’re pinned to the floor.

“give up.” rafe says. “give up and i’ll fuck you.”

“no.” no matter how bad you want it, you're too headstrong to agree.

“fine.” rafe resists the urge to kiss you, moving his hips away and then back in as he practically fucks you, if only the clothes weren’t in the way.

you squeeze your eyes shut, testing the hold on your wrists, but rafe still has an iron grip on them.

“good try, princess. only way you’re getting out is if you tap out.” rafe says. you shake your head no, so rafe just shrugs, bucking his hips. he won’t last long. it’ll be embarrassing, cumming in his shorts, but you just look so small and helpless underneath him, trapped, unable to get away even if you wanted to (which you definitely don’t at this point).

you’re not unaffected by this either. rafe grinds against your clit, and you know you’re close as well.

“fuck.” rafe grunts out, completely losing his cool demeanor when you start to wiggle against him again, bucking your hips to join his thrusts.

rafe cries out as he spills in his shorts, cum spurting into the fabric just as you also reach the edge, clit pulsing as you moan, rafe grinding against you as you both ride out your orgasms.

rafe takes a deep breath and then sinks into you, body going slack. it’s your chance. you’re exhausted from the struggle and the orgasm, but you manage to flip over so rafe is on the bottom, and you’re sitting right in his lap.

rafe smiles, proud that you got the jump on him. he could easily flip you back over, but he’s tired and just wants to actually fuck you, so he slaps his hand against the ground twice, tapping out. “i win!” you squeal, bending down to kiss rafe. “i told you i would win.”

“you were right, honey.” rafe laughs. “let me help you celebrate.”

#reupload!#rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Note

59 Leona, it'd take a lot for him to admit but he would say it eventually. (Also I know you'd recognize me but I'm shy, so anon it is)

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 59: "People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being harsh on you."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You are nice, and you are stupid. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes you’re nice because you’re stupid, and sometimes you do stupid things because you’re too nice for your own stupid, stupid good. And it drives Leona half insane.

Which it shouldn’t, because nice, stupid people like you are just as annoying as his brother. Goody-two-shoes with buttoned vests and sparkly, star-shaped stickers on their term papers.

“Did you remember your homework?”

Leona flicked his tail in your face and you scrunched your nose over your notebook.

“Well?”

“Of course I remembered,” he scoffed, lazing back against the roots of one of his favorite trees. This spot used to be so much quieter, so much more peaceful, before you decided to trail after him like a duck quacking for its mother.

“Did you do the homework?” you clarified, and Leona rolled his eyes.

You sighed and starting ruffling around in your bookbag. “I brought a spare copy of the worksheet. You’re going to drive Ruggie insane, y’know. If he winds up stuck with you for another year because you failed for not turning in assignments.”

“Yeah. Sure. Another three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to rifle through my wallet. Worst news of his life.”

You huffed good naturedly and handed him the sheet of crisp, white copy paper and a pen. “Get to work, Kingscholar.”

“Oh?” he drawled, closing his eyes and settling back, loose limbed and all long, lean leisure, against the tree trunk. Clearly ready for an afternoon snooze. “Make me.”

You sighed again and reached over to flick your own well-used pen against his ear. It twitched under your fingers—soft, and tufted. The finest of the pale, tan fur brushing up against your fingertips. “Fine. Be that way. See if I bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“You will,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sounding resigned and foolishly fond. “I probably will.”

See? Stupid. So easy to manipulate. So willing to let yourself be squashed under his clawed thumb. It was a wonder you’d managed to survive in this school at all. Nevertheless by clinging onto the coattails of someone like him. He’d never made anyone’s existence easier a day in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, just because you were too soft-hearted and slow to see a looming predator for what it was.

“Just give me that stupid fucking paper,” he snapped, sitting upright and swatting away your poking pen with a sneer. You laughed into your palms like a secret—bright, and merry, and dumb as a fucking rock.

“Whatever you say, Leona.”

You’d handled his Overblot with a strange sort of aplomb that at first Leona had attributed to perhaps a lingering, hidden confidence that he’d just never bothered to unearth. You were just some herbivore, and even the littlest rabbits could bite back when you put them in a corner. But then he’d come to the decision that that easy conviction was just another symptom of your rampant stupidity.

“I know you guys don’t want to hurt me, or any of us. Not really,” you shrugged around a wad of cotton—the blood dripping from your nose slowly drying up to a tacky, sticky dribble. Leona gaped at you outright.

That was your grand explanation. For why you’d been so eager to charge forward when he’d collapsed in a pool of inky nightmares and self-loathing. And the very same reason apparently thatyou’d felt so comfortable rushing forward to treat Azul Ashengrotto’s blubbering, hysterical, breakdown with the same urgency.

“That octo-prick would have ripped you in half,” he sneered, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm against his palms as he watched the nurse wrap another layer or bandages around your head.

You shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

You were going to give him an aneurism.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled, ignoring the horrible, twisty thing curling like bile through his chest. “And I’m not going to bother paying for some self-sacrificing idiot’s funeral.”

Another shrug.

“That’s alright,” you hummed, a soft sort of crooked smile on your mouth. “Would’ve been a waste of money anyways.”

Leona didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Surely because your stupidity had reached such a fever pitch that it was no doubt contagious, and he needed to protect his far superior and more valuable brain. Not because the image of you smiling and nodding along to his declarations that he wouldn’t put the effort into mourning your death had soured something so deep in his gut that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scrape it out.

When he received a letter from home asking him to return for some shitty coronation nonsense for his equally shitty brother, Leona had debated just skipping it outright. Who was going to stop him? You?

Well. Yes, apparently.

“It sounds important,” you hummed, peering over his shoulder at the neat, formal scrawl of the summons. “You should go.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to be there, they don’t want me to be there. What’s the point.”

You frowned, brow crinkling in the middle.

“Well, that’s not true,” you said, perplexed. “They wouldn’t write to you if that was the case.”

Leona snorted, eyes darting away to glare bitterly off into the corner. “Not like they have a choice.”

“Well then you don’t have a choice either,” you argued, firm. “I’ll go with you. See? It says you can have a plus one. You can camp out in your fancy, princey, bedroom. And I can siphon you snacks from the fancy, princey hors d'oeuvres tables. That way we both win. You get to be a reclusive asshole and rub the fact that that you still went in everyone’s faces, and I can get access to some tasty, royal food that I’ll probably never be able to afford again for the rest of my life.”

“Should’ve known you’d be like Ruggie—only using me for the free food,” he sighed, melodramatic and obviously put on.

“Well, also because I thought you could use the emotional support,” you added, a touch too soft and far too genuine. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear that bit.”

“You’re right,” he scoffed, turning onto his side to hide the strange, miserable heat pricking at his skin. “Don’t ever say corny shit like that again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you grinned, flicking at his ear, and Leona added another mental tab to his never-ending list of reasons that you were really far too brainless to keep functioning at all.

You were nice, and you were stupid. And Seven, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“My brother hasn’t ever brought someone to one of these events before,” Falena had said, to your face. Idiot to idiot communication.

“I didn’t give him much of an option,” you’d chirped, perfectly pleasant. “I don’t think he wants me anywhere near here, to be fair. Or around him in general. But I’m like a cockroach. Can’t get rid of me.”

And Falena had laughed. Because he was terrible. And said, “I’m sure he must care about you very much, little cockroach.”

And then because you were more terrible, you laughed back and said very assuredly, “Oh, not at all.”

Which was—was—

“Do you really think that?” he snapped, once the two of you were alone. And you blinked back at him with wide, owlish eyes.

“Think what?”

Think at all,he wanted to sneer, but just glared silently and bitterly into the middle distance—fighting the nonsensical, irritated swishing of his tail.

But you just kept staring at him. Like he was the moron here. Which was unacceptable.

“Look,” he frowned, sharp and miserable. “I get it. People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you. Whatever gods exist out there were playing a shitty fucking joke on you when they dropped you in my lap. But you’re stuck with me. So stop—” he bit out, fighting that awful, twisty thing in his gut that never seemed to fully go away. “Stop talking like I can’t stand you.”

“…oh,” you mumbled, whisper quiet—that wide, startled gaze flicking away in embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, sharp, and you snorted a laugh that seemed to surprise even you.

“You’re stuck with me too then, y’know,” you said after a long moment. “Even when I make you grumpy.”

“You don’t make me grumpy. I am grumpy. You make me—” he cut off quick, eyes darting away petulantly and an absolutely unfair heat rising along his cheekbones.

“Itchy,” you piped in, and he gaped at you in shock.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, awkward, and reached up to wiggle your fingers. “Cockroach. Many legs. Squirming. Itchy.”

“Never say any of those words again.”

You laughed into your palm—inelegant and a touch too loud. Leona felt his lips quirk.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, once your giggles were a bit more under control. And leaned forward quick as a whip to press a nervous peck against his cheek. “For being kind to me.”

Kind.

Leona reached up to press a hand against the too-warm skin with a terrible, unfamiliar sensation in his head not unlike the fuzzy, white drone of TV static. And a horrible thought managed to filter its way through the floating, buzzing sensation curling through the whole of him.

Oh, fuck. It is contagious.

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Leona x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #My Writing #Writing Prompts #Leona Kingscholar

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samaraxmorgan · 5 months

Text

Crack JJK headcanons based on nothing but vibes:

I never see headcanons that aren’t smut/romance based so I decided to post some of mine that make me laugh!! :) if you have any goofy headcanons pleeeease add them in a rb/reply I would LOVE to read them!!!

Gojo is sick and tired of people telling him he looks like Jack Frost.

Yuuji’s favorite game as a kid was Kirby Air Ride on the GameCube.

Inumaki runs the Dril account on Twitter.

Choso asked Yuki for K-Goth recommendations but she thought he said K-Pop, he ended up unintentionally getting really into BlackPink.

Megumi refuses to tell anyone (especially Gojo) that he likes My Chemical Romance because he already gets called emo enough.

Higuruma had a flip phone until 2016.

Gojo called Geto the n word one time in high school and Meimei still won’t let him live it down.

Choso sends Yuuji sibling TikToks (like “when you and your brother have opposite vibes”) and says “this is us.”

Nobara is the worst driver out of the first years (which is scary because Yuuji can’t shouldn’t drive).

Nobara has an early 2000s bug and she put eyelashes on the headlights.

Yuuji drives a Jeep Wrangler and audibly says “skrrrt” every time he makes a sharp turn even if no one else is in the car.

Nanami never watches the TikToks Gojo sends him (and it offends Gojo so much).

Choso knows how to do trad goth makeup and he’s actually insanely good at it.

Since Gojo can see through his eyelids, sometimes he accidentally sleeps with his eyes open and wakes up with a massive migraine because of it.

Yaga ends every email with “Sent from my iPhone.”

Choso is really interested in watching fish, he could sit in front of a fish tank and just watch a fish swim around for hours like he’s in a trance.

Megumi is a total metal head and goes unexpectedly hard in a mosh pit.

Yuuji was genuinely devastated when mango Juul pods were discontinued.

Gojo has a Bitmoji and uses it constantly (to the point where it’s kinda cringey).

Meimei has a standard poodle.

Whenever someone sends Higuruma a meme he’ll just reply with a thumbs up or thumbs down emoji based on if he thought it was funny or not.

Nobara hit a curb so hard she popped her tire, and Maki had to drive out and change it for her.

#I wanna bring tradgoth choso to an aquarium #samaras yapping #jjk #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori x reader #nobara kugisaki #kugisaki x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #choso kamo #choso x reader #my writing #headcanons ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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nyarumie · 2 months

Note

i love the suit anomaly + continuation 🤍 its so well written! i imagine that no. 10 can hear/sense hoshina’s (inappropriate) thoughts about reader and snitches on him.

Another ask in relation with Suit Anomaly! Each can be read as a standalone (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ This is the 3rd part. Author's Reply: It took me a while to come up with something but I hope it didn't disappoint! I didn't expect that oneshot to be such a hit I'm actually so happy 😭 it's starting to turn into a mini series but i don't mind at all HAHAH Author's Note: the number of your suit in this oneshot is up to your imagination! also i hope i didn't mess the description for reader's suit design </3 i struggled with some terminologies Requests and messages are welcome on my ask box! I can also write for Narumi and Mina. Please view my navigation too ♡

Today is finally the trial schedule for your very own numbered suit.

You wanted to fight with style, thus rejecting designs offered to you that might’ve already resembled the other numbered suits. Izumo Tech tailored it with a pencil style skirt that goes around your mid-thigh and the upper body is styled to appear as a crop top, with the regular numbered bodysuit underneath both of these layers. To some, it might be uncomfortable; but to you, it’s beyond perfect.

This, by all means, is not necessary, but Headquarters insisted—the reason being “acknowledgement of strength” and “just in case another nationwide cataclysm ensues”. Which is fairly valid; anything can happen anytime. Such as the situation you’re in right now.

For some reason, Soshiro’s suit started attacking him. Not by mistake, no; it’s obviously deliberate! You badly wanted to stop them, but you know you can’t, not with how hostile the tail currently is. The suit’s trial result is more credible when sparring with another numbered suit, hence Soshiro’s required presence. Watching from a safe distance, you hear Soshiro yell.

“What’s gotten into ya?! We were perfectly in sync just minutes ago ‘n now you’re actin’ insane!” He’s deflecting the tail expertly with his dual blades, but obviously struggles with it because he can’t put distance between himself and his very own suit. “Are you tryin’ to kill me?! And here I thought you’re one heck of an admirer!”

“I’M NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU! I’m stalling time!” the Kaiju countered.

You then hear Kaiju no. 10 address you, “Oi, Girlie! Run while you’re at it!”

Confusion took over your features and you pointed at yourself, saying, “Me? What for? Aren’t we uh, supposed to actually fight? I don’t have any plans to run from a fight—”

“Run from HOSHINA! Not from a fight!” it bellowed.

Ah, now you’re even more confused. “Shouldn’t I be escaping from you, not him?”

Kaiju No. 10 seemed to get angry at this, finally spilling the beans for his sudden attack. “I think this guy’s turning into a Kaiju himself! He’s gotten insane, what a lunatic! One moment he’s coming up with fighting strategies, the next he’s thinking of ruining your suit and devouring you the moment you stepped in!” Its tail tried to smack Soshiro at the back of his head. “You bastard!”

“Pfft…”

“This guy was also thinking of something like, blowing out your back til you see stars?! The hell even is that! Is that a new way to kill?! Hoshina, you’re a traitor!”

Upon hearing it, you can’t help but burst into laughter, forearm holding your stomach. Tears formed in your eyes and you ended up rolling on the floor, stopping their fight midway and looking over at you. “I’m sorry— it’s just too funny!” you tried holding back your laughter again, “I-it’s just, pfft…, I’m sorry!” and you laughed again.

Soshiro sighed and sheathed his blades, scratching the back of his head. “Told ya to listen to me. You just made a fool of yourself, No. 10. And ya didn’t need to air out my business!”

“O-oi! Stop laughing! I tried to protect you from this bowlcut, what’s so funny about it?!”

Finally, you managed to calm yourself down. “Nothing, nothing! I’m pretty sure Soshiro meant that metaphorically. I’ll tell you if you need to attack him again though, I promise!” you hear Soshiro mumble, ‘But I meant that literally’ in which you playfully smacked his head.

“Can we proceed to the suit trial now? Thanks for giving me a good laugh.” you said. “And dear, I’ll be looking forward to that later.” you winked.

#axia writes for fun #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 writing #kn8 x reader #kn8 x you #soshiro hoshina #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro fluff #hoshina soshiro x reader

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writing-makes-me-human · 2 years

Text

🌊Love And Guests🌊

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Aonung x reader

PART TWO: HERE

Summary: Aonung has put out your usual sass with his recent flirting and it’s driving you insane. When he finally gets to speak with you alone as he shows off his spear throwing expertise it gets heated quickly

Warnings: Sexual tension and heated word choices, no smut but it gets close, mention of genitals

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: No updates, I’m getting back into writing after months of breaks so I’m sorry if i’m rusty. Also I feel like it goes without saying that Aonung is of age in all of my writing. I am not just writing about a minor, you are close in age. 19 years old.

┕━»•» 🌺 «•«━━━━━┙

"I still don't know why you think it's better that I teach you instead of my brother", Tsireya warmly suggested as she handed you a beginner's spear to practice with.

"Because I want to learn from the best", was all you managed to say as you took the spear in your hands and inspected it with wandering hands.

The real reason you were so eager to meet up with Tsireya instead of Aonung was laughable. Aonung had been playing a dangerous game with your feelings, making you feel a way you shouldn't to fuel your thoughts about the chief's son. Avoiding the brat to the best of your abilities for weeks now was the only way you could fight the fact you were slowly starting to become infatuated with the boy that was growing into a young man.

He had become cocky now that he was of age, and while he still had a few years of learning left before becoming chief, it had become clear his training was making him more and more defined. The way his body moved with every hearty laugh or every faux wrestling match with his friends drove you up the wall, so you decided it was best to try and stop seeing him altogether.

However, this was becoming a challenge as he had recently decided to spend more of his free time harassing you than anyone else. It was very confusing, as you thought you had put this bullying behind you when you were children. That could easily be forgotten, though, as he was indeed still the next leader, and that could explain his rudeness, but what couldn't be helped was the blush that overgrew you every time he towered over you with that smirk that he didn't know affected you in such unforgiving ways.

"Well, thank you, I'm flattered", she giggled, then continued, "but Aonung is the top in the clan at spear throwing, and he's not gonna be happy if he finds out you asked me instead of him", she never felt bad for her brother. Still, when it came to the matter of his undying yet, painfully expressed crush on you, she felt merciful.

You scoffed, squaring yourself next to her as you looked towards the targets drawn on the ground.

The target range for spear-throwing was closer to the village than any of the other training areas because you needed the clear ground to allow a large windup for hurling the stick through the air. It was still private, which you enjoyed because you had a feeling this was going to be an embarrassingly miserable display of physical prowess.

The targets were set up in the distance and made up of 3 circles of fine white sand sprinkled in precise shapes on the ground. Tsireya had already collected the sand earlier in the day and laid out the rings in exchange for you to be the one that churned the sand into the dirt when you were done so the next person who came to train could easily set up the rings and get started.

"I don't think I could handle his smugness at having me asking him a favor", you smiled at her, holding up the spear like you had seen Aonung and his friends do when they came here to learn when you were younger.

It was the truth. Honestly, you wouldn't have been able to handle his smug looks or laugh or the fact that to teach you meant one on one time by yourselves. You would prefer being lectured by Ronal, and that was saying something.

She nodded, trying to copy you as she held up the pointed end of the spear into the air, getting herself ready to fling the wooden spike. The artillery was too large for her, and you watched in curiosity as she heaved it up a little higher with a grunt.

"Alright, so what you want to do is pull back and using your back leg, you want to push--" she was cut off by the sound of laughter in the near vicinity. Before she could resume her instructions, you heard the sound of foliage and leafs being broken as a group of four boys emerged into the clearing, each of them but one with their spears by their side.

Aonung was still laughing at something Rotxo had said, but when he looked up and saw you, with your arms still raised as his sister mirrored you, he felt his heart skip a beat and his face light up with delight.

You cursed under your breath and dropped the stick like it was a venomous snake, instantly turning around to hide your slightly tinged face.

This was so unfair! He hadn't even said anything so far. All he had done was smile and laugh! He never had this much of a hold on you when he was younger. As he got older and his hair grew past his shoulders, and his muscles became larger, you became less aware of what to do with yourself.

"I have to go", you mumbled, feeling the tinge fade as you turned to pick up the burlap sack you had brought with you and leave for the village.

"Well, what is going on here?" Aonung called out in the conceited tone he saved for when he was talking to you. His deep voice boomed around the clearing, forcing its way into your ears and silencing the chatter between his other friends.

You didn't respond and instead made your way in the opposite direction they had come from, but before you could escape, a few words were yelled out, making your face nearly melt off your skull and onto the floor below you.

"Somewhere to be, pretty girl?" Aonung called out while his friends spread out, tossing down their training gear and lunches they had packed in preparation for a few hours of training.

You turned sharply, trying to calm your breathing so the blood would move from the gathering in your cheeks down to your heart which desperately needed the extra help because the poor thing was beating overtime.

"Just remembered I have somewhere to be", you said rather awkwardly, not allowing yourself to come across as timid but not quite having the energy to yell back at him with the same enthusiasm.

"Oh, come on! You said you wanted to learn from the best, and he's right here!" Tsireya spoke. She lay down her spear next to yours and jogged up to you. She grinned as she gently tugged on your hand, coaxing you to come and stand to talk to the boys who were checking over their weapons.

You sighed, then gave in, dropping the sack and letting her drag you over to Aonung, who was still standing in the same spot. As you walked over, he had a proud smile etched on his face, and you wanted nothing more than to slap it off.

Your face dropped so you could look anywhere but into his eyes that would have caught you in his dangerous trap of good looks and gentle teasing and never let you go.

"Come on, teach her!" Tsireya was far too excited, nearly jumping up and down while her older brother rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Who said I wanted to help?" He snarkly asked, then continued, "and next time you're thinking of using my spear, ask!" He spat, gesturing to the spike that was laid on the ground rather carelessly. That cleared up the question of why the spear had nearly tipped her over when she held it up.

She elbowed him roughly in the chest with her free arm causing him to bend down a little in pain and scowl at her, but no sound of agony came out.

He quickly straightened himself and snarled at Tsireya, but she gave him a pointed look before her eyes darted to you several times. After a few seconds, he finally got her unspoken threat and sighed, pushing past the both of you to walk over to collect his projectile.

You ignored the feeling of his hand burning on your shoulder as he pushed between you two, breaking the hold Tsireya had on you.

"Come on, pretty girl, let's see what you can do", he called out, not bothering to turn around because he knew you'd be following.

You looked over to Tsireya before you elbowed her yourself, questioning her with a look. She knew you didn't want to speak with him, yet here he was and instead of ushering him away, she had insisted he teaches you.

She simply shrugged at you and pushed you forward before running off to sit next to her brother's friends.

You passed by Rotxo and nodded to him in greetings which he returned before tucking into the fruits he had brought with him. He was chatting with his friends, who all found a spot under a nearby tree that was far enough away from the targets that they wouldn't hear you and Aonung's words to each other but still close enough that they could still see any funny failings.Your eyes settled on Aonung's back, and you took a deep breath, you didn't even have the shame to look away when he crouched down and picked up his spear, checking it over for dirt or marks.

"You watch me first, then you try", he said, glancing over to see you were watching him with eyes slightly wide at the idea of trying to copy his expert throw with an audience.

He smiled at you, which caused you to blush and break the stare you had been holding on his body, which only made him grin, thus continuing the terrible cycle.

"Eyes on me, nobody else is watching, so you can look at me as much as you want", he called you out with a smirk when you finally scowled, giving him a reaction that he couldn't help but chuckle at.

"I worry for anybody that enjoys looking at you", you hissed while taking a step back, knowing he would have to have some space to move when he threw the spike.

He didn't say anything this time but didn't have to. His eyes spoke for him as they shone like the sea on a sunny day.

"So she speaks! I was beginning to worry!" He watched you roll your eyes in amusement with a slight smile on your face, and he silently swore at himself in his head for turning so you wouldn't see his sly grin that he only got when he made you happy.

"Let's start", he wasted no more time and held the wooden stick over his head. You watched with slightly awestruck eyes as his body moved so purposefully.

He raised the spear, and using his other arm, he aimed to secure the direction he was throwing in. He could feel your eyes on him, and it made him cocky. He wanted to show off, to show you he was strong and worthy of praise.

He pulled back his left leg, then after taking a breath, he threw it with as much strength as it took to land directly in the centre of the target. They were far closer than he usually had them, but it was to be expected since you were a beginner.

The weapon shot through the air before the sharp spearhead dug into the ground with a thud, landing directly in the centre of the most petite ring. A perfect bullseye.

He leaned back with a satisfied grin. He turned to look at you with the hopes you would be at least slightly impressed. You were still staring, mouth open in an 'o' shape, struck somewhat by just how gifted at the sport he was, and it made a part of his internal body tingle when you turned with the look changing from amazement to an affectionate smile.

"I'll admit you aren't bad, I've seen worse", you couldn't help the smile anymore. He always had a way of killing off your anxiety, and right now was no different. His cocky grin made your heart speed up, but your mind just wanted to insult him until he dropped.

"If that's all it takes to impress you, I am afraid to know how easy it is to please you", he took no shame in his words, and your smile quickly dropped to embarrassed growls as you hid your face, turning to look over at his friends that were all talking to Tsireya about something at the same time. The discussion looked heated, and none of them paid attention to you two.

You watched, eyes as focused as ever.

"Arrogant brat", was all you could get out as you looked down at your feet and kicked at the dirt.

"Oh, did I touch a nerve? I didn't know you were such a goody-goody", he didn't wait for your smart-ass answer and walked off to tug his spear out of the ground sharply. Your mind was reeling as you heard a soft grunt escape his lips as he yanked his prize out of the ground.

You shook your head and bent down to pick up the training spear you had been given, not taking notice of your position that had your back to the sky until you felt a hand smack into your backside harshly.

The slap was loud, making your face turn scarlet red as you jumped up, abandoning the spike to glare at Aonung with a death stare.

You were shocked, he had never been so bold with his teasing, and while it wouldn't have crossed a line had you been alone, you could feel the four pairs of eyes gawking at the back of your head.

"Don't", you gently warned. You didn't want to admit it, and you knew it was wrong, and the pompous imp should have been ashamed of himself, Aonung should have been on his hands and knees begging to be forgiven, but a part of your brain was fighting not to jump his bones right now and embarrass him in front of his friends.

And he dared to look proud of himself as he laughed at your face, raising his hand in a half-assed attempt to hide the smile while you geared up to smack him across the face.

He noted how livid you looked and sighed. He hadn't meant to offend you. But when he was walking back and saw how your ass was staring at him like that, he couldn't resist the temptation.

"All right, I'm sorry" he held his hands up in surrender as a beam of playfulness poured from his eyes as a flirtatious grin overtook him.

"If you want to touch my body, ask, coward", you bit back, letting yourself grin as he took his turn of letting his mouth go slack at your actions.

"What's wrong pretty boy? Need some help?" you chuckled, nodding your head south. His eyes followed yours with a confused quirk on his brow as he looked down, and his eyes widened as he nervously took in that he had a half chub under his loin cloth.

You took a step back from him, feeling the heat between your legs signal it was time to go before you made some terrible mistakes that led you both behind a tree somewhere doing things you wanted to make him wait for.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, and as you felt the roles reversing, you suddenly understood why Aonung found the teasing so fun.

He looked back up at your smug face and peeked toward the group behind you with a silent plea in his eyes. Don't drag their attention down to his excitement.

"You need to learn some manners, Aonung, it's not becoming of the next chief to be so blatant in public, you've really hurt my feelings", you gave a dramatic exaggeration of a pout to him while your hands came to lay on your heart.

He was blocked from the sight line of his peers by where you were standing, but one step to the left or right and even from this distance, it was undeniable that he was hard.

He hadn't moved to cover his crotch yet but he dropped the spear, staring at you with begging eyes. It seemed that your sudden 360 from being a blushed-out lovesick moron to a vengeful demon had done nothing to ease him down, if anything, you made it worse.

You leaned forward, taking great pleasure in standing on your feet a little to get even with his ear, your hot breath panted onto his neck and he couldn't do anything to stop you. One move, and you'd be exposing him to his closest friends.

"Compared to me, I think it's you that's easy to please", you smiled, and he hated how he could feel the heat from your mouth as your teeth came so close to his neck that it drove him mad.

You quickly pulled away and smiled when you saw his eyes were closed, he was focusing on his breathing like he had you doing from his actions so many times before, and it felt so good to see him like this. A grown man that was bigger than you in every way imaginable was trying to calm his breath over you and your words.

"Well, this has been fun, but I'll see you later, Aonung", you felt confident for the first time in weeks and slowly, you felt the old you coming back, the sarcastic you that had just as much bark in you as Aonung.

You turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him, not quite flush against his body, lest one of the others looked up again and saw you two so close.

"Wait a few minutes, then follow me", he didn't give you the time to reply once again as he picked up the spear and finally had the dignity to cover himself with his free hand before walking off to go deeper into the forest without so much as a glance back.

Oh, you knew you shouldn't. You should turn around and leave, let the warrior get himself off in the forest like the animal he was acting like. Still, the heat that had signaled you to go nearly 5 minutes ago had grown, and you knew that even if it wasn't visible, your body was nearly 10x as horny as Aonung was.

You wanted him.

But you knew you couldn't mate here, and certainly not like this.

'Leave, leave leave', your mind screamed as your feet took step after step of their own volition after him.

You worried for a second that somebody would call out to you and ask where you were going, but a part of you knew that everyone had already worked out the nature of what was going on with you two. They had all been staring at you after he slapped your ass, so they must have.

"I'll just talk to him", you finally muttered to yourself as you set off in a faster pace, going off to find him.

#aonung #aonung x reader #aonung x you #ao'nung #ao'nung x y/n #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you #aonung x y/n #way of water #avatar 2 #avatar 2023 #avatar way of water #x reader #romance #aonung imagine #aoung x reader #atwow x reader #atwow headcanons #female reader

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

Text

Steve and Gareth as Cousins, no longer a warm-up and now called Lifelines, part three! I’ll throw it up on A03 when I finish the fourth part.

Prior parts can be read here: Part One / Part Two

First things first, the most amazing @ sereinpetrichor managed to track down the OG Twitter thread this runaway train is based off of!

It was this thread by @gatorthots, the Tumblr version of which can be read, here. All blame for this idea firmly rests on their brilliant, plot bunny inducing shoulders.

The other, follow up thread I mentioned was this one by Silas, whose tumblr name I do not know.

As always and forever, shout out to the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire who helps me edit/plot/pats my head while I’m crying in their inbox bc the words aren’t wording right.

Warnings: Steve and Robin are canon (S3) drugged. I took a slightly (kinda sorta) more realistic approach. Vomit mention, canon threat of violence/guns (the Russian guards) Mention of pantsing/past bullying, Steve and Robin’s drugged asses not understanding personal space, Dustin’s canon...Im gonna go with assholishness? but like, I think its more than he’s a young kid and doesn't quite have the emotional growth/awareness yet in this kind of insane situation to know how to react to the whole address/torture bit (really who does)/its a defense mechanism--and Gareth sort of has a panic attack.

Whatever the hell they had been drugged with, Steve and Robin went from 'giggly happy fun time' to 'vomiting into toilet bowls while loudly wishing for death’ awfully fast.

Gareth was not an expert on drugs. He knew Eddie wasn't either (the guy never dealt anything stronger than your average psychedelic--had some agreement with his Uncle about only selling "the 70s basics") and repeated looks towards him proved Eddie was still trying to figure out what Steve and Robin were on.

Answers hadn't exactly been forthcoming--Eddie's gently made attempts at ferreting out information had only caused more confusion.

Like why the two of them were so freaked out about a gate, or what had made Robin gasp, and then laugh so hard she cried when Steve had made a particularly rough noise then muttered; "Even that sounds better than Tammy Thompson."

Either way, Gareth was mostly trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do, because sobering up in a busy, public mall wasn't exactly the best idea.

"I regret," Robin tried to say, in-between gagging. "I regret--hrk--"

"Me too." Steve moaned, head resting against the stall wall. Gareth, still caught up in panic, had been permanently regulated to door guard while Eddie alternated between sweet talking, rubbing backs and offering quietly whispered advice.

"Let's go back in time and ignore the whole silver cat thing." Robin continued, slumping back down onto the floor.

"Wouldn't have mattered." Steve muttered. "Dustin would have figured it out without us. Kid’s too damn smart."

"So?" Robin grumbled, quietly thanking Eddie as he once again brushed her hair out of her face.

"So he would have gone down there anyway, which means I'd be down there anyway." Steve concluded. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved though."

He shakily pushed himself up, staggering to his feet and looking like bambi on ice while doing it.

Eddie quickly came round to offer his help, hands spread as Steve groaned out a curse and clutched his head.

The older took a step forward right as Steve lurched back, unbalanced and shaky.

"Oh shit." He said, eyes wide as he crashed backwards into Eddie, the latter catching him with a grunt.

Despite the entire situation, Gareth found himself stifling a laugh as Eddie wrapped his noodle arms around Steve's chest, trying to hold the other up without falling himself.

"Come on big boy, why don't we just siiiit back down." Eddie said, slightly breathless as he helped guide Steve back to the floor. "There we go…"

They did so outside the bathroom stall, Eddie sinking into a kneel as Steve sort of flopped down on top of him.

Blinked a few times, like the drop had rattled what little sense he’d managed to recover in the last few minutes.

A pleased noise came out of his cousin's throat, and holy shit was Gareth going to have blackmail for life, because rather than vacate Eddie's lap, Steve just turned around in it.

Reached up with one finger outstretched and proved himself to be very much still under the influence as he touched Eddie's nose.

"Boop!" He said, and then giggled as Eddie dropped onto his ass in surprise.

Gareth watched Robin as she took the whole thing in, from Steve's snickers to Eddie's shocked expression, eyes growing wide in excitement.

He failed entirely to cover his own amusement when Eddie abruptly found himself with two sailors invading his personal space, each taking turns to boop his nose.

“Uh.” He managed to get out, blinking rapidly and at a loss for words. “Ah.”

Steve caught the metalhead’s awkward, red-faced expression and proceeded to drop his head to Eddie's shoulder, muffling his laughter against the man's vest.

The helpless look his best friend sent him was one Gareth would remember for a long time.

“O-kay.” Eddie said, frazzled, as Steve recovered far too quickly, turning to rest his cheek against a slim shoulder as he walked two fingers up Eddie’s battle vest and towards his hair. Likewise, Robin had discovered Eddie’s wallet chain, and had begun fiddling with it.

One finger curled around a strand of brown hair and Eddie jerked his head, removing the tempting piece away from Steve’s hands.

“I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, your highness.” He said, his own hand smacking against his waist before Robin figured out the other end of his chain ended in a handcuff, “But you of all people should know the hair is off limits.”

Completely undeterred, Steve just gave him a loose, easy grin. “It’s so pretty though.” He complained, fluttering his eyelashes in a blatant attempt to try and turn on the ol’ Harrington charm. “You can touch mine if you want.”

Yeah, Gareth’s blackmail was getting better by the second.

He might even get a new piece for his drum kit out of it, if this kept up.

Free weed too, considering Eddie’s blush was now fire-engine red.

“Man,” Eddie said in a clear bid to deflect the entire situation (and Steve’s fingers) away from his hair, “the last time someone called me pretty was right before I got pantsed—-is Tommy H hiding in one of the stalls again?”

Steve picked his head up, confusion crashing down his face.

“Did he do that?” He asked.

Then, with growing horror; “Do you think I’d do that?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your whole little court’s M.O.?”

Steve sucked in a breath, looking downright hurt. "I wouldn’t do that." He insisted, eyes wheeling from Eddie to Gareth and back, as though hoping Gareth would back him up.

“I’m not--I’m not friends with Tommy anymore.” Steve continued, voice growing smaller as he spoke. “I’m not friends with anybody anymore, except maybe Dustin.”

It sounded so defeated; trodden on and subdued that Gareth stepped forward automatically, to do--something.

Provide the fucking comfort his cousin was oft denied and hug the guy.

As always, it turned out to be the wrong move.

"Oh thank god." A kid said, seconds after bulldozing through the main door and nearly bowling Gareth over in the process. "I found them!" He shouted over his shoulder as swept into the room.

“Speak of the devil.” Steve said flatly, and even drugged, he managed to pull himself back together from distressed to stoic in mere seconds.

The curly-haired kid--Dustin apparently--stormed right up to the pile of humans splayed on the floor, hands on his hips. "What the hell. We told you two to stay put!"

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin booed him.

“Have you forgotten what’s happening? Or how we’re kinda in a Red Dawn situation?” Dustin continued, looking like he’d just escaped from a summer camp.

The kid even had a walkie talkie clutched in one hand, of all things.

“We know.” Steve and Robin deadpanned at once, before looking at each other; Steve pointing a finger towards Robin and Robin pointing one back.

This caused the kids to trade their own long suffering, “can you believe this shit” faces.

"We need to go, and the only way we’re gonna get out of here unnoticed is if we blend in with the crowd." Dustin said impatiently. “Now come on Steve, get up already, you've had worse.”

"I really don't think I have." Steve muttered, but moved to push himself to his feet anyway.

Eddie beat him to it, and he and Gareth both hovered nearby in case Steve was still unsteady.

Thankfully, the kids' presence seemed to sober up Robin and Steve both.

Not actually sober, that wasn't how drugs worked, but whatever was left of the fun was sucked right out of the bathroom, replaced by two teenagers who were sort of functional on whatever they'd been drugged with.

Stress and adrenaline, Gareth knew, could overcome a lot of things. Including Russian "truth serum" apparently.

“Yeah well you're lucky you got found by these guys and not anyone else. " Dustin continued pointedly, before turning his attention towards Gareth and Eddie both. "Thanks for watching our friends, but we've got them from here."

Gareth made a sort of unhinged, disbelieving noise.

“No, no you do not.” He declared, anxiety clawing at his gut at the mere thought of abandoning Steve to two children.

"I don't think you heard him." The girl stepped forward, braids swinging about her face as she lifted her chin and nailed him with a cold glare.

As if this entire situation couldn’t possibly get weirder, Gareth suddenly realized she had a helmet in her hands and knee pads on.

"He said we got this. So scram." She flicked her fingers out in a dismissive sort of "shoo" gesture.

"And leave my drugged cousin with his new girlfriend behind!?" Gareth challenged right back, emotions far too raw and frayed to care he was snarling at a little girl. "I don’t think so!”

"Cousin!?" Dustin bit out, sounding almost betrayed for some reason, at the same time Robin who'd been climbing to her feet with Eddie’s help, shouted; "I am not his girlfriend!"

Steve, clearly unwilling to entertain whatever fight was brewing, clapped his hands together.

"Yes cousin, Dustin. It's a type of family member." Steve said, after they all flinched and looked to him. He at least looked steadier on his feet this time, though Gareth still lingered nearby in case he took a wrong step.

"I know what a cousin is, Steve!" Dustin shot back.

“Then why are you acting like a lunatic?” Steve complained, and Gareth got to watch in real time as Steve pulled on the persona he often wore in high school down around him. “You said it yourself, we don’t have a lot of time. Worse, I don't know if anyone saw Gareth and Munson here with us.”

He jerked a thumb sideways in Eddie’s direction, not that anyone couldn’t figure out who “Munson” was.

“They stay with us until we’re out of this mall.” Steve finished, before he started towards the door.

One step he was Gareth’s cousin, drugged and vulnerable because of it.

The next he stood taller, talked smoother, took charge with an aurora that said he expected everyone to listen to him.

It was fake as hell, but it worked.

“I know you’ve got a plan Dustin, so spill it.” He commanded as he walked.

Dustin, despite all the squawking, did just that.

xXx

Of all the things Gareth had expected to see upon escorting their little ragtag crew out of the bathroom, groups of intimidating, mean looking assholes wasn’t on the list.

He found himself repeatedly nudging Eddie in the ribs, unable to take his eyes off what was clearly a checkpoint as he staggered to a halt.

It was one thing to be told people were after Steve and the “Scoop’s Troop” As Robin had jokingly named them.

It was another entirely to see the security guard directly in front of him look over a woman’s ID before apologizing to her, a sleazy grin matching his oily pony-tail as he waved her on.

They really were looking for someone.

Not someone, Gareth realized in dawning horror.

Them.

Robin apparently, came to the same conclusion seconds later, because she snatched Steve and Dustin’s arms both, hauling them backwards.

“Argue about Dustin’s address later, we need to find a different way out.” She hissed quietly as she tried to slowly reversed direction, movements still a bit sloppy.

She might have even gotten away with it, had Sleazy Pony-Tail not turned and made eye contact with Gareth right after she spoke.

His eyes swept over him, then to the rest of the group, freezing like a cat that had spotted its prey.

“Abort, abort!” Dustin sputtered, wheeling about on his heel.

Erica, whose name Gareth had learned when she kicked him in the shin after he asked why an actual infant was running around with Steve and Robin, pointed towards the escalators before she beelined over to it, ducking into the center and riding it down like a slide.

Something Eddied was downright delighted to copy.

Gareth might have enjoyed it himself, had he not been looking over his shoulder to see not one, not two, but four security guards giving chase--and gaining.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckikity fuck.” He heard Robin chant as she shot past, Steve planting himself at the top as he made sure everyone got down to the next level before sliding down himself.

"Do not let them leave!" One of the guards yelled to the others, accent clear as a bell.

"Holy shit that guy's actually Russian." Gareth found himself saying as he skidded across the floor and bolted after the others, Steve hot on his heels.

He had kinda expected the Russian thing to be some sort of drug influenced inside joke and not an actual, honest-to-God Soviet.

Which led to the question of why the fuck adult men in security uniforms had drugged random teenage retail workers.

Food workers.

Whatever the fuck one called a two people who scooped ice-cream in sailor costumes.

"There's another group up ahead!" Eddie yelped, swerving sideways and nearly taking Erica out while doing it.

Noise erupted ahead of them in the form of foreign shouting and loud, harshly barked commands to “Freeze!”

‘Oh hell no.’ Gareth thought wildly, as he caught the form of the giant fricken gun the guard closest to him held.

“Split up!” Dustin howled, and before anyone could comment about how bad an idea that was, Gareth found himself being yanked sideways.

Steve swore loudly behind him as Robin, who’d crashed backwards, pulled him in the opposite direction and in a second their group broke in two. Gareth, Eddie and Dustin going one way, Steve, Robin and Erica another.

"This isn’t happening." Gareth muttered, words made in a sort of pleading denial as he and Eddie turned the corner and immediately vaulted over the counter of an Orange Julius. “I smoked or drank or did something and this is a hallucination that is not. Actually. Happening.”

Dustin at least, was smart enough to dive around the counter instead of over it, sliding towards them on his knees.

Eddie quickly yanked him down to the floor in-between himself and Gareth once he was close enough to grab, one hand going over the hat to shove the kids head down.

Annoying or not, he was at least several years younger than them, and Gareth could practically feel Eddie’s protective instinct kick in as he kept his hand on Dustin’s head.

Together they tried to silence their breathing as the guards’ shouting continued on behind them.

What was worse than their noises though, was when they unexpectedly and suddenly, went silent.

Gareth’s breath felt far too loud as the stillness gained a suppressive weight, pressing down harshly against him and making it harder and harder to inhale.

‘Panic attack.’ He realized, thoughts a touch detached. ‘You can’t afford to have a panic attack right now.’

Not when it had a high chance of getting them all killed.

Slowly he moved his own free hand, placing it atop of Eddie’s, fingers gripping down in a way that was no doubt painful.

Eddie glanced over to him and Gareth thanked every single time he’d smoked way too much weed, because his best friend immediately clocked what was wrong.

Turned his hand over, so that Gareth could hold onto it atop Dustin’s hat.

It didn’t help with the knowledge that his very much still drugged cousin and his equally drugged not-girlfriend were also hiding somewhere, or that there was significantly more Russians than there where terrified teenagers (and one--whatever age Erica was.)

Flashlights cut shapes into the wall overheard, trailing along the Orange Julius menu. Quiet voices covered even quieter footsteps and Gareth had the sudden realization the probability of there being more than one guard carrying a huge gun, was very, very high.

Worse?

This part of the mall wasn’t that big. There were only so many places to hide, and as such, only so many places to look.

Death comes for everyone eventually, but Gareth hadn’t exactly expected it to show up before he hit twenty.

Not that they could do anything but wait. Pray to God and the universe and any other higher power he could think of to intervene, head pressed hard against the wood behind him as the small noises drew nearer.

What he hadn’t expected was for said prayers to get answered in the form of a of a fucking car being thrown into the Russian’s like bowling balls.

“Run!” Dustin shouted, and Gareth wasted absolutely no time in doing just that.

The only goal on his mind was to find Steve, get out, and then have a very long discussion about what the hell this all was, in that exact order.

#fun fic facts I kept writing Orange Julius as King Julian #so thats my new fake 80s store #Tagline can be “yay I’m a sacrifice!”#Pre steddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth emerson #platonic stobin #gareth is eddies robin #gareth is steves cousin #gareth and steve cousin au #Poor Dustin is mad jelly steve has a cousin that isnt him #we will dig into that later #tw drugs #tw vomit #tw guns #tw panic attack #Steve and robin have already had their scene I just moved it back so he is aware she is a lesbian #I will make it clearer in the next part #Drugged steve has no personal boundaries and homeboy would not at this point consider the stuff wit heddie flirting with Robin ALSO #digs into later #that was gay steve #HELLA gay #the more robin gets to know steve the more shes convinced half the basketball team is queer af #0o0 fanfics #denial is a river in Egypt that Gareth is struggling to swim down

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ayatotiddies · 2 months

Text

‘The Ties That Bind Us’

Part 1

Summary - Ever since we were little, Rafe and I have been close. Sometime along the way, something happened though. We changed, got closer in a sort- I always wonder what might’ve changed. What ticks along the way made us what we are today? I guess I’ll never know. All I know is the feeling of his pretty hands, tracing the sides of my face. My best friend leaning in, his soft lips meeting my own. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did and to be honest- I wasn’t complaining...

Warnings - Just boys fighting- JJ calling reader nicknames

Word Count - 1.3k

My head ached as I grabbed my phone off my desk. As per usual the group chat was blown up from photos and videos of last night at Top’s party. Then everything came flooding back, the sound of music blasting in the background, the dancing, the alcohol- it was incredible. As I scrolled through the messages, stopping every once in a while to save some occasional photos and videos. I paused, grinning at the one of me and Rafe sitting next to each other. The photo would’ve been considered average if it were anyone else- but alas it was my best friend. Then the group chat dinged with a new message, sending me back to the bottom of the chat. Sure enough it was the kook princess, Sarah. “Is anyone else's head DYING!!” As I read the message, I grinned. At least I wasn’t the only one with a headache. That made me feel lots better-

My fingers tapped at the screen quickly. “Mine… last night was the worst mistake of my life” Not really- I quite enjoyed last night, actually. But they didn’t need to know that. I carefully placed my phone down on the bed beside me. Nothing else to do, so might as well take a shower-

Laying back in bed, in my pajamas with my hair still in a towel was the best kind of TLC I could ask for at the moment. Watching TikToks was getting boring, so I tossed my phone on the bed beside me and just laid there. Thinking. Thinking about last night, thinking about the latest show I had been watching, thinking about Rafe. I wonder what he’s doing? Whatever, probably out with his dad or Kelce and Topper.

A knock on my door took me out of my thoughts. Carefully sliding out of bed and making my way over to the door. It wasn’t hard to tell who it was. The way he knocked was a dead giveaway, Rafe. I smiled as I opened the door. “How’s my Star?” he cooed. Raising up a bag full of chips and candies. That was all that needed to be said before I let him in my house. The snacks and that stupid little nickname he gave me freshman year of high school that just… stuck. He made his way through the door and into my house before I shut the door behind him.

All I could hear was his stupid murmurs about how dumb this movie was. My head laying on his shoulder, popcorn in between our laps, drinks sitting on the coffee table. “S’not stupid Rafe- you just don’t have taste-” As soon as the words left my lips Rafe gave me one of the nastiest looks, I’d ever seen in my life. All I could do was laugh which only seemed to irritate him more, causing him to roll his pretty blue eyes. “Better taste than you,” he murmured. I jokingly gasped and slapped his arm. The corners of his mouth lifting into that stupid - cocky, smirk. As he laughed and threw his arm back over my shoulder again.

The silence grew and my mind wandered back to last night. Of course, not a word about what happened last night because- well- it didn’t need to be brought up. I still couldn’t help but think though... the alcohol- the partying. Weird comments from random people, but instead of bringing it up, we would do what we usually did, anytime something awkward happened we would ignore it. Not a word would be said about some stupid boys from the golf course asking if we were fucking. What do you even say to that? Allegations like that have gone on since high school. So, it wasn’t REALLY that random, but it was still insane to be asked about. Of course, it wasn’t true? Who in their right mind would fuck their best friend. Just the thought is actually insane.

While we sat in silence, I glanced up at him. His jaw was clenched as he focused on the movie he was complaining about earlier. I just observed him, he looked so calm. It was always different when it was just me and Rafe in private. There is something just - enchanting about how he looks. The way his pretty blonde curtain bangs frame his face. The way the light bounces off his face and enhances his already ice blue eyes. That tough exterior fades away and a gentler side of him is exposed. I guess he noticed, the way his eyes caught mine - the lump in my throat just grew bigger as I looked back at the tv. “What is it...?” Rafe questioned, though he kept his voice low. When I gave him a shake of the head and a mumbled out “Nothing.” I don’t think he was too pleased. He kept his eyes on me, like he could see into my soul.

Then before I knew it- he paused the movie on the TV. “Rafe wha-” he cut me off “What is it Star, don’t do that lying bullshit.” He scanned my face as if he was looking for any form of discomfort or lying. It made me smile - just how much he cared. “I just got lost in thought,” I replied, shrugging. His eyes drifted down to my lips when I spoke and then shot back up when it got quiet. “M’kay- whatever you say.” he murmured and unpaused the movie.

The next few hours were spent cuddling up on the couch together before his phone rang. The movie was quiet enough in the moment to let me hear who it was, Topper. Asking if Rafe was going to a party at the Boneyard tonight. Rafe’s eyes cut to me and then back to the tv in front of us. “Depends. Is it an anyone can come, sort of situation?” Rafe questioned Topper and Topper’s voice was soft from the speaker of the phone but sure enough he said yes. Rafe was quick to nod and say he would go. Then just like that he turned and looked at me with a gentle look on his face. “Assuming you’ll go...?” The tone of his voice was almost like he was begging. “Rafe- we were just at a party last night” I replied, sighing. His eyes softened, looking down at me with a soft pout- “C’mon, please Star?” he whined. Topper snickered in the background; Rafe mumbled a quick ‘Shut up’ to his friend on the phone. I sighed and nodded. A smile found his face as he hung up on Topper.

The party was a buzz. Red solo cups thrown in plastic bags or littering the beach. Music blaring with the sparks and crackles of a bonfire going in the background. It was nice - calm, different from last night's party. The music wasn’t loud to the point your head pounded. With my drink of choice in the red solo cup in my hand, I sloshed it around before taking a swig. My eyes roamed the beach, both kooks and pogues were at this party. I’d lost Rafe somewhere mid-party, as per usual. He ran off with Topper and Kelce. Or so I thought -

JJ came running up to me, “Hey pretty girl - where’s your guard dog?” Earning a snicker from me, I covered my mouth with my empty hand. “My what?” - “Rafe, where is he? He not glued to your side tonight?” JJ questioned. Before I could get the chance to respond I heard Rafe clear his throat from behind me. “Maybe I spoke too soon” The blonde in front of me grinned. “Yeah or maybe you should get out of here, Maybank.” Rafe sneered, his hand finding its way to my shoulder. My eyes glanced to my side, Rafe with his hat backwards on his head. Red solo cup in hand and a harsh look on his face. JJ rolled his eyes and walked away, earning a scoff from Rafe. “Dirty pogue.” - “Rafe don’t-” My words cut off when JJ turned around and shoved Rafe, causing ME to stumble back as well. Rafe’s cup went flying through the air as he stumbled back on his feet.

@annoyingassleo

Part! - 2 !!

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this first part 💋

Moodboard- Click It

#The Ties That Bind Us .#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #bsf!rafe #sweet!rafe #ayatotiddies #cams thoughts. 💋#drama #sarah cameron #topper thornton #the pogues #the kooks

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kisseobie · 5 months

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making up w jongseob after an argument…🙏🏽

thank god i’m getting jongseob requests ohhhh my goddddd he makes me feel insane. he’s such a sweet boy that i feel like making up with him after an argument would be so wholesome but for the sake of hard hours!! let’s go with this..

it can either go two ways

1. you pissed him off so bad that he can’t help but fuck you into submission and remind you who you belong to

2. you both fucked up and said some really hurtful things to eachother in the heat of the argument, leading to tearful apologies and slow lovemaking in your bed

for the first option, i can see jongseob being very hyper-focused and calculated with his work, and when he chooses to work from your shared apartment, he can’t help but get annoyed at your constant interruptions and nagging. it’s nothing too serious, and the first few times you sparked up a conversation with him, he was happy for the break from all of his stress. eventually though, you begin to become impatient, murmuring under your breath that he isn’t giving you any attention, that he’s always too invested in work, that you’re bored and the dishes from breakfast are still not clean and he said he was gonna do them tonight! maybe he overreacts, but when you try to pull him out of his desk to spend time with you, he pulls his hand away and scolds you for not allowing him to focus, which pisses you off and leads to the two of you uselessly bickering over little things. after awhile of fighting you decide to cut the arguing short, grab your purse and keys, and make your way to the door to go anywhere away from him, but he reacts quicker, pulling you back in his direction (much to your dismay)….

after some resistance on your part, you both are able to silently sulk in the aftermath of your argument. seob surprisingly is the first to admit his wrongs, admitting that he might actually benefit from a break and that he was just being stubborn. you however, opt to be a brat, shutting down his excuses and irritating him once again. he finally decides to shuts off his pc and make his way towards you, apologies still woven into his lips as he pulls you into a hungry kiss to shut you up. it’s almost laughable how easily you melt into his embrace, but he doesn’t give you enough time to bask in the kiss before he’s pushing your back to the couch, climbing onto you, and taking off your pants in one swift motion. fucks you into oblivion, angrily thrusting into you and mocking your tears, not allowing you to apologize at this point because “weren’t you so hell bent on being a brat earlier?”. he’s not usually this dominant, this mean, but he figures you’ve forgotten basic manners and respect and he needs to fuck those principles back into you. after a few orgasms, you both lay next to each other spent, panting and making out some more before you break into a fit of giggles at how ridiculous the argument was. you definitely keep in mind, however, that if you ever want to get pounded into next week again, pissing your boyfriend off is the ideal way to go.

for the latter of the scenarios, i believe the insecurities of dating an idol could possibly catch up to you, and instead of jongseob being reassuring like he typically is, he isn’t in the best mood already and your constant questioning of his love makes him feel like he isn’t doing enough for you. tensions are high as he brushes your questions off, indirectly calling your insecurities silly, and on any other day you would agree with him and laugh at yourself for ever doubting how he feels about you, but on this instance, you take it more personal. you pause whatever movie the two of you are watching and continue to demand answers out of him, which leads to a huge fight that neither of you anticipated. the breaking point for jongseob is when you angrily ask “do you even love me?” to which he takes great offense, yelling back that “maybe i shouldn’t, i wouldn’t if i knew it was going to be this hard!”. he regrets his reply as soon as it exits his mouth but it’s no use, your eyes well up with tears and he can feel his heart sinking as he begs you to forgive him. eventually you both are in tears, with seob frantically explaining that he never meant it, that he loves you so much more than you’ll ever know, that he’s sorry he hasn’t been showing you that well enough.

when the pair of you’ve settled down from the fight and the tears have stopped spilling, jongseob pulls you into a kiss, taking breaks every now and then to whisper “i love you” against your mouth. the feelings and regrets become so overwhelming that you need to be close, need to feel each other, need to hold on to each other because you’ve never fought like this before, and kisses become hungrier as jongseob undresses you with the utmost love and care, never going a minute without telling you he loves you as your bodies connect to become one. your boyfriend’s thrusts are slow and passionate, both your eyes and fingers interlocked the entire time as the two of you continue to push apologies and words of affirmations from your lips. jongseob kisses you deeply as you both climax at the same time, the emotions only making the feeling more intense.

later, when you both have regulated your breathing, you cuddle up to eachother, jongseob peppering kisses all over your skin as he whispers more sweet nothings at the latest hours of night. your naked chests are pressed up tightly against each other, as if the two of you are afraid of letting go. jongseob strokes your bare back as you begin to fall asleep, and finally, you both feel at peace

a/n: i rambled so much this is a mess sorry..

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @cysier @fishsquishh

❤︎

#jongseob x reader #kpop writers #p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony x reader #jongseob #p1h jongseob #piwon #kim jongseob #p1harmony drabbles #p1harmony hard hours #p1h smut #p1harmony smut

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