#Kind of frantic y'know how it is... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sturnioz · 4 months ago

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─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ 4, final.

the aftermath of the frat wedding event between shy!reader and fratboy!chris.

꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two ꒱ ꒰ part three ꒱

"it's okay. i'm fine now," you reassure softly, even though your voice still wavers slightly. sniffling, you let out a small, shaky breath as kitty and bee continue to fuss over you; bee gently gabbing your eyes with a tissue, careful not to smudge what's left of your makeup, while kitty works on reapplying it.

you're seated in a garden chair far from the chaos of the main event, tucked away in a quieter part of the garden. the muffle sounds of drunk people and overplayed music echo faintly in the background, and from where you sit, you can still see the mess unfolding.

the crowd is a lot more rowdier now—people stumbling around, drinks sloshing out of their cups and staining clothes, the unmistakable smell of weed lingering in the air and other substances are seen being passed around.

you try your best to tune it all out, but it's difficult.

for the first time, you're desperately wishing that everyone here gets fucked up enough to the point that they'll forget what happened... although the words from before replay in your mind on a cruel loop, and the thought of those phones—how everyone was recording everything—makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat, forcing yourself to keep it together.

a gentle nudge against your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see matt beside you, holding out a glass of water. his expression is calm but kind, and you offer him a grateful smile as you take the glass from his hands and sip.

nick sits on your other side, his face stoic, his gazed fixed ahead at the ongoing party. he hasn't said much, which is strange to you. beside him, nate sits with his leg bouncing rapidly, his teeth gnawing anxiously at his nails, seemingly deep in thought.

just as kitty and bee finish touching up your makeup, you flinch slightly as nate suddenly pushing himself up from his chair with so much force that it topples over behind him, the sound making everyone turn their heads toward him.

"alright. i gotta confess—fuck," nate blurts out, his hands flying to his hair as he yanks off the ridiculous pink flamingo glasses he's been wearing all night. his movements are frantic, and he begins to pace, rubbing his hands together like he's trying to calm himself down.

everyone watches him, and you furrow your eyebrows, frowning at his words. but you stay quiet, waiting for him to confess whatever he needed.

"shit, okay, look," he continues, his voice shaky as he talks. "this entire wedding event shit? it was rigged from the start. but hear me out, 'kay? 'cos i feel fuckin' terrible right now. my hearts racin' 'n shit, i feel like i'm about to pass out or somethin'."

your frown deepens, confusion swirling in your chest as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"me 'n a few of the other frat brothers," he gestures wildly with his hands as he speaks. "we only put chris' name in one of the hats—like, only his name a bunch of times. 'cos we thought it'd be funny if he got picked, y'know? sometimes it's funny gettin' him all riled up 'n shit."

you blink at him, his words slowly starting to sink in.

"there... then there's the other hat. the one for the girls," he mutters quietly, licking at his lips nervously. "we thought about puttin' your name in a bunch of times, just so you'd definitely get picked too for some fun. but i felt bad 'cos i know you don't like attention or being in the spotlight or whatever, i didn't want to do that to you."

nate has to pause for a moment to inhale deeply, losing air from talking to fast as he tries his best to explain everything to you.

"so, we only put your name in once—just once... but you still got picked."

you stare at him, your mind racing to process everything he's said. a part of you wants to say something—to ask him why they all thought any of this was a good idea... but the words get stuck in your throat.

"i just..." nate sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face before letting it fall limp at his side. "i just feel like this is all my fault, y'know? maybe if i wasn't so adamant on only puttin' chris' name in the hat for laughs, or maybe if i didn't put your name in at all, this whole shit wouldn't have happened. none of this would've happened."

he stops pacing now, standing still for the first time since he started talking. his shoulders slump, and his gaze drops to the ground as he mutters.

"i'm sorry, bun. i really fuckin' am."

you're not sure how to respond—not yet, not while everything nate's said is still settling in your mind. the confession feels like a little jab to the gut, sharp and unexpected, leaving a slight ache behind.

you glance at the others, somewhat hoping someone will say something first, but no one speaks right away.

kitty's lips are pressed into a thin line, while matt's rubbing at tense jaw. nick remains stoic, his face unreadable, and bee shifts, her gaze flicking between you and nate, like she doesn't know what to say or do.

"i knew," nick suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence. his voice is quiet, laced with guilt and frustration (mostly at himself). "i knew it was rigged, but i didn't say anything. i should've, but i didn't, because i was hoping it'd be something fun for all of us. but i know chris, so i should've known he'd pull some dumb fucking shit like that. i'm sorry too, bun."

before you can respond, matt speaks up, his voice steady but low. "i also knew," he admits, and your eyes widen slightly in surprise even as kitty nods beside him, admitting she knew too. "like nick said, i thought this would be a fun lil' thing for all of us. but i know chris too. i know the shit he does, so i should've known better... should've known he'd say what he said. i'm sorry."

your eyes slowly flit over to bee, waiting for her to confess something—anything. and for a moment, she hesitates, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"i didn't know..." she finally says, shaking her head, her voice soft and sorrowful. "i didn't know it was rigged. if i did, i would've said something..."

you remain silent, letting their confessions hang over you. one by one, their voices linger in your mind, each apology adding to the weight that's pressing down harshly against your chest. you can see how sorry they are—how much they regret letting this happen—and despite everything, you know their intentions weren't malicious.

after a long pause, you finally breath, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair as you process your thoughts.

"i'm... not mad at you," you say softly, glancing up at them, your eyes flicking from one face to another. "any of you. i'm not mad at any of you."

they seem to slightly ease up at your words, but the tension doesn't disappear entirely.

"i'm just..." you pause, swallowing hard as that lump in your throat returns. "i'm embarrassed, that's all. i'm embarrassed about what chris said. he didn't have to make it so... public. it's so humiliating, it wasn't funny at all, it—" you stop yourself, shaking your head as your hands curl into fists as the emotions run through you. "it made me feel so awful."

the group falls silent, the weight of your words now settling over them. you wonder if they can see the way your chest tightens, the way the memory of chris' words still make your stomach churn with embarrassment.

nate swears under his breath, pacing back and forth again as if he can't sit still with the guilt eating away at him while bee squeezes herself into the chair beside you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace as she murmurs soft apologies into your ear.

you feel yourself relax, just a little, leaning into her as you rest your cheek against her shoulder. you're not mad at them, but the fact that the majority of them knew about how the event had been rigged and didn't tell you? that stings a little.

you do understand why they didn't though. they wanted to have a good event—well, hoped to have a good event... but at the same time, you can't help but think they should've reconsidered, especially knowing how chris is.

it's a little past midnight when you decide you've had enough, and you find yourself in chris' room, toeing off your shoes and placing them neatly to the side.

you don't really want to say here tonight. if you're honest, you want nothing more than to go home, curl up in your own bed, and forget this entire night ever happened. completely block it out of your memory. but with no way of getting back to your apartment and with nick already gone, you don't have much of a choice.

you should've left with nick. why didn't you?

you shake your head at your stupidity, pushing the thought away as you pad over to the dresser. you pull open the top drawer and begin to rummage through it for your pyjamas, keeping yourself busy to avoid thinking too much.

but the sound of the door opening makes you freeze, and that familiar scent of cologne fills the room. you don't even have to look to know it's chris.

you don't speak, keeping your eyes focussed on the drawer as you pull out a shirt. it's easier to pretend you don't notice him, easier to keep yourself occupied rather than facing him.

"what is it?" his voice startles you, sharp and blunt, and you glance over your shoulder to see him standing by his bed, untying his tie with that familiar annoyed expression on his face. his eyes are fixed on you, and when you don't respond, he pushes further. "huh? what is it?"

you blink, your fingers curling tightly around the fabric of the shirt in your hands. "what are you..."

"you've been weird with me all night, kid," he cuts you off as he yanks the tie off and tosses it carelessly onto the bed. "think i didn't notice you pullin' some runaway bride bullshit?"

you swallow thickly as you turn back to toward the dresser, "you're not funny." you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"m'not tryin' to be," chris scoffs, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt. "you gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on? or you just gonna keep sulkin' all night?"

the word sulking makes your throat tight, and you take a deep breathing, trying to keep your emotions in check. but the humiliation from earlier comes rushing back like a tidal wave.

you can feel the warmth rising in your face, and the tightness in your chest makes it harder to breathe.

you don't want to do this—not right now, not tonight—but chris is standing there, waiting for an answer.

turning slowly, you face him, your fingers still clutching the shirt in your hands as his gaze locks onto yours, and you feel yourself waver under the weight of it.

"you really don't know?" you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended it to be.

chris raises his brow at you, "know what?"

"forget it," you murmur, turning back around. you don't trust yourself to explain it without your voice breaking, and the last thing you want it to spill tears in front of him.

"nah, don't pull that shit," he says, his tone sharper now. "if you've got a problem, just fuckin' say it."

"okay," you find yourself surprisingly snapping, despite your voice trembling slightly. "you... you humiliated me, chris. in front of everyone, you made me look like—like some joke..."

chris doesn't respond right away, his expression unreadable as he stares at you.

"i—i get it, okay?" you continue, unable to stop your rambling. "this whole thing was supposed to be stupid and fun, and i know you hated doing it, but you didn't have to say all that stuff... you didn't have to make it so public and so embarrassing for me," you take a shaky breath, your voice turning softer now. "it wasn't funny. it just... it made me feel awful."

chris exhales through his nose, "you're takin' this way too personally, kid. everyone knows the fuckin' shit we do, yeah? everyone knows we're hooking up so i dunno why you're makin' it such a big deal. it's not that deep."

"you don't get it," you whisper, shaking your head. "i.. i know that people know. i'm not stupid. but it doesn't mean—you can't just—we—"

you stop yourself, your words faltering under the weight of his stare. his head tilts slightly, his brow arching like he's waiting for you to finish.

so, you take another breath, trying to steady yourself before continuing, "you can't just talk about me like that in front of everyone... even if they already know, even if they assume stuff.. it's still humiliating to hear you say it in front of them."

chris is just watching you now, his expression unreadable with his hands shoved into his pockets like he's waiting for you to stop talking so he can continue with the night.

the silence stretches between you, and the longer it lasts, the warmer your face feels with embarrassment. you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry again and make a fool out of yourself.

and then, chris exhales deeply, tilting his head back slightly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. for a moment, you think he's just going to brush it off again—shrug it away with some dismissive remark about you being too sensitive or dramatic.

but then, he speaks.

"i..." his voice is low, hesitant, like he's testing the word before fully committing to you. it comes out slow, uneven. "i'm... i'm sorry, 'kay?"

the words sound awkward, almost foreign coming from him, and you can't help but stare at him with wide eyes.

chris glances at you, his gaze meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again. his jaw tightens, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. his eyebrows furrow slightly, and his hands twitch at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.

it's obviously clear he's uncomfortable—like this apology is something he's struggling with, something unspoken clawing at his mind but never quite making it out.

"i didn't mean..." he trails off, his words faltering as he shifts in place. his shoulders tense up, and you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard. but instead, he huffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. "didn't mean t'make you embarrassed, s'all."

he doesn't look at you this time. his eyes are fixed on the wall, his expression unreadable. you can tell he's struggling a lot as apologises don't come easy to chris—not like this anyway. you know he's not the type to open up and be vulnerable with his words, and it's obvious he's already pushed himself further than he's comfortable with.

still, there's something in his voice, in the stiffness of his frame, that tells you this is as close to genuine as it gets from him. it's blunt, awkward, and faaaar from perfect. but it's chris, and you're aware how hard it must've been for him to even say this much.

"thank you for apologising..." you murmur to him softly, and chris lets out a low grunt as his hand moves to rub at his jaw, the tension still evident in his movements.

he doesn’t wait to hear if you’ll accept his apology or not as he turns away, his shoulders stiff, and he starts to unbutton the rest of his shirt. the fabric is tossed carelessly onto his desk chair, and he works at his belt next, his focus fixed on the task like it's an excuse to avoid looking at you.

when he's finally down to his boxers, he slumps into bed without another word—just the faint creak of the mattress as he settles in, his back turned to you.

you can see the way his shoulders remain tense even as he lies there. he looks like he's trying to retreat, to bury himself in the quiet and force himself to go to sleep, and you can't help but begin to wonder if the apology took more out of him that he'd ever admit.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#©sturnioz #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱

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bumblehoneybee · 8 months ago

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I saw you take requests and I was soo happy!! I rlly loved that “easy smiles” Drabble u wrote abt curly n reader, so I’d like to request (pre-crash) having a late night conversation with him where reader is getting burnt out/struggling mentally and he can kind of tell? Romantic/platonic r both fine, maybe js some comfort from our fav captain? :) augehghh i want a hug from him so bad. if u don’t feel like writing this that’s more than okay, have a great timezone!! <3

You Can Talk To Me

He doesn't mean to catch you in such a vulnerable moment.

Curly only meant to get some water after hitting the john, but as he shuffles into the lounge, all he can hear is your shaky breathing. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, heart picking up speed as he spots you sat on the couch with your head tilted over the back, staring up at the ceiling.

You only notice him when he calls your name, stood at the edge of the couch.

"Ah," you snap your head up, obviously twinging the muscles of your neck, "oof." You rub the knots out, flashing a weak smile for Curly as he settles onto the couch next to you. "Aha. . . hi, Captain."

"Are you okay?" Curly asks, hands raised and unsure of what to do. Anya is asleep, and he's no real doctor himself, so the options for immediate help are limited.

"Oh, I'm fine." You waft your free hand at him. The lights of the fake window douse your skin in an almost sickly color, like all the blood is gone from your face. Your eyes look dull too. "Just, y'know. . ."

There's a long pause. Seems you can't think of anything to make an excuse out of.

Curly sits next to you, and tries to think. You've always been so. . . jolly, quick with jokes and ideas to lighten the mood. He knows you can't always be happy, but he's never been privy to the moments when your guard falls. This is a first for him, and he's surprisingly nervous.

He's comforted most everyone on this ship. He knows how to do it. So why does the thought of comforting you and doing it wrong scare him so much?

"You know. . ." Curly starts, frantically grasping at the words that are usually so easy. "I know it may seem. . . unprofessional, since I'm technically your boss-"

"You're captain." You agree with a nod that you immediately regret. The rubbing gets faster.

Curly huffs at you, burying amusement under concern. "You can talk to me. I'm higher up, but I'm not one of them." He gestures to the nearest poster of Polle. You shoot the horse a glare on instinct, but your face is quick to fall. "I just want you safe and happy."

The quiet returns, and with it his offer hangs heavy over the two of you. You stare down at your lap, hand still loosely clinging to your neck. Curly tries not to stare at you, but god, your eyes just look so. . . sad.

He wishes he could take your hand, show you he's here for you. But that wouldn't be smart, would it?

A heavy sigh rushes out of your nose. "I guess I'm just getting a little tired." Your face pinches as you say it, so Curly lets you piece your words together. "It gets repetitive, y'know? Everything is the same, day in and day out. I try my best, cause I know everyone here is feeling the same kinda stir crazy I am, but. . . I'm tired."

Curly lunges forward as your shoulders sag, palm pressed to the space between them before he can think better of it. "Yeah?"

"I miss plants." You tell him. "Trees, flowers, grass. I miss the sky and the sun. These damn monitors-" You throw an arm towards the screen in front of your both, face screwed up in disgust. "I hate them. They're not even close to something real. Hell, I'd take looking out into space over them."

Curly's thumb has started rubbing into the base of your neck without him realizing. He can't bring himself to stop, though.

"Back home, I could just visit somewhere new, meet new people, pet a dog and smell enough flowers to give myself asthma." You laugh a little at yourself. Curly smiles, and you return it, sheepish. "Sorry. I do like all of you. I hope I don't sound like I'm sick of ya."

"We like you too." Curly says with a pat on the back. "I get it, though. Days can blend together here, drive you crazy." An idea wiggles into his head, one he can't dismiss, even if it's technically against protocol. "If you want a change in scenery, I could show ya the cockpit?"

Your head snaps up again, and this time Curly is the one to rub the wince from your neck. "Really??" You flounder suddenly, and it strikes just how close he is to you. His face burns as he eases back, hand tingling from the touch of your skin. "I mean. . . if it's alright! I don't wanna impose if you're busy."

"Nah," Curly waves the worry away, "it's nothing. Hell, I could teach you how to fly, if you're interested?"

"Very much!" You chirp.

The lights dim further, probably a code Pony Express programmed to save energy while the crew slept. It doesn’t matter, though, for your grin and bright eyes light up the entire damn spaceship.

You have never smiled at him like this before. Curly desperately wants you to do so every day, though.

"Then we'll do a lesson tomorrow." Curly says. He stands up, a hand offered to you. You take it, squeezing his hand before you let it go. "Try and get some sleep, okay?"

"Aye aye, Captain." You do a mock salute, striding off with a wave. "Sweet dreams!" As you pass through the door, you make sure to bow. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow!"

With you gone, Curly lets a grin take over his face, hiding it behind his hand.

Seems he's getting some alone time with you tomorrow. He's going to be having sweet dreams indeed.

#curly x reader #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader

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strangerstilinski · 2 years ago

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𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬, 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; it’s been a long couple of months, and after a particularly rough night, your ex boyfriend finds his way straight back to you.

warnings; no use of y/n, post s4, exes-to-lovers, description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, emotional sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lil bit of cockwarming

word count; ~5k

a/n; i meant for this to be a quick little hurt/comfort thing but then my mind kind of ran wild and it turned into.. this. but i think i really like how it turned out sooo, y'know.. leave a comment/tag/reblog if you enjoy!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

You're not entirely certain who you were expecting to find on the other side of your door at two in the morning, and maybe you should've given the possibilities a bit more thought before unlocking the door and swinging it open wide, effectively exposing yourself to whatever may be waiting on the other side — but you don't. And it's with a sleep-slowed brain, a baggy tshirt resting high on your naked thighs, and bare feet that drag lazy across cold floorboards, that you find yourself staring at your ex boyfriend.

Steve Harrington.

He's standing in front of you looking a little nervous, a little lost, and a whole lot like he's just come from some sort of brawl. The sudden brightness of the hallway lights outside of your apartment makes your eyes ache and you're squinting, one hand coming up to block a bit of the light just as your heart drops as you take him in.

His hair is a little longer than when you last saw him, impossible for him to keep from flopping down over his forehead while the ends curl at the nape of his neck, light shining down on the strands and streaking golden through the locks that you'd run your hands through once upon a time. But you're hardly able to process or file away those small changes when your gaze begins frantically to absorb the more important and wildly more alarming details in his appearance.

The light wash of his jeans is covered in splotches of denim slightly darker than the rest where something's been spilled down his leg, streaks of dirt rubbed into the knees like he'd fallen down, and blood — there are crimson drops of it splattered along the fabric at his thigh, likely his, likely from the split lip he's sporting, or perhaps from his bruising nose.. When those red smears crusted beneath his nostrils had been fresh and wet and had clearly dripped down past his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, which also seems to be stained in an array of red-splotched fabric.

“Fuck. Steve, what-” Your voice shakes through the sleepy rasp in your throat, blood roaring in your ears at the familiarity of it all — the scene in front of you sending that achingly familiar trickle of fear and worry and panic all racing down your spine.

“I- Hey, sweetheart.” His own voice cracks a little like his throat's been scraped raw from shouting. He's got his hands tucked away in his back pockets like he might be able to make himself small enough that you won't start yelling, his eyes sad and a little pleading as he gives you a weak smile. He lets out a small hiss of a wince when the motion pulls at the slow drying scab on his lower lip.

“Stevie..” The nickname slips out before you can swallow it down.

You think that you might be in shock, if the adrenaline shooting through your veins is anything to go by. It's making it a little difficult to think clearly as you stumble through the doorway, hands coming into contact with his chest as you brace yourself. Your thumbs find those drops of blood that are still drying into the fabric of his shirt, shaking fingers dragging over the freckles on the side of his throat on their way to his jaw.

You have to fight the instinct to linger on those faded scars encircling his neck, have to fight to push back the memories of the night that things between you had finally fallen apart — when all of Steve's half-truths and secrets and outright lies had finally pushed you to your breaking point. The night of the earthquake. When he'd shown up on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, just like this, looking like he'd been to hell and back, in search of comfort and someone to patch him up but apparently not looking to give out any explanations for the state he'd come to you in. Not for the marks on his neck, not for the startlingly deep scrape of road rash on the backs of his shoulders and arms, and certainly not for the horrifying chunks of flesh that had been torn from his stomach and sides.

The fear you'd felt that night coils in your gut again. It's the very same fear that you'd endured eight months before the end, when Steve had gone awol for forty-eight hours only to find you the evening of the mall fire. That time, his left eye had been nearly swollen shut, body littered in bruises in varying shades of black and purple. You'd sat with him in the bathtub with your limbs carefully wrapped around him for hours, until the water had gone ice cold, and even after that he'd been glued to your side until morning. You'd both burrowed beneath a pile of blankets despite the summer heat, legs tangled and sweaty bodies clinging to one another. Even though you couldn't begin to understand how the fire could have been the cause of his turmoil, of his injuries, you'd still held him tight, one hand tangled in his damp hair at all times while he'd clutched onto you like you were his lifeline. The hours it had taken for the tremble in his hands to fade had nearly broken your heart.

It's all a little too much, the position that you've suddenly been thrust back into.

“Wh-? What the hell happened?” You question hoarsely.

Why you bother to ask now, you're not entirely sure. You're certainly not expecting him to give you any answers, but as your thumb pushes gently into the swelling softness of his busted lip, the fingers of your opposite hand brushing the hair back from his blood-spattered forehead, Steve sighs.

“It's not.. I was at the bar. Got into a fight.” He admits with another wince as your thumb skates up the bridge of his nose.

“Got into a fight or started a fight?” You ask quietly, pointedly. Your eyes flick slow between his; they're tired and bloodshot, his lashes clumped together like maybe he's been crying, caramel swirling in the pretty brown depths that you've been steadfastly avoiding thinking about these last few months.

A huff crackles as he tries to push a sigh from his blood-clogged nose, his hands finally leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his sides while he gives a small shrug, “..’was stupid.” He says in lue of a direct answer.

“I'm sure it was,” You grumble under your breath, swallowing your instincts and forcing yourself to take a small step back, your hands falling away so you can hug your arms across your own chest with a sigh, “What're you doing here, Steve?”

“I didn't know where to.. I..” The words don't seem to come and he falters, shrinking in on himself further, “I don't know.” He admits after a moment.

Your eyes close as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you, “I can't-”

“Please,” Steve nearly whispers the word and when you meet his eyes again, his gaze is a little watery, “I know you don't want to see me. I know you're still mad. And.. and you have every right to be, okay? But-”

“But what?” You plead weakly, fingers digging a little meanly into your own arms.

“I just..” He struggles for a moment, hands raking through his hair and ruffling it into further disarray, “I just needed.. I..”

The fissure in your heart cracks wide, the slow healing wound tearing open to expose this gaping thing that feels a little like it might be enough to shatter your soul. Even while the more sensible parts of your brain scream at you to shut the door in his face, you find yourself taking his hand in yours, swollen and blood crusted knuckles under your thumb as you pull him into the dark apartment and close the door behind you.

You push him to sit down on the couch, a wordless order for him to stay put implied in the sidelong glance that you shoot him before turning away to move down the hall and grab your first aid kit and a wet cloth from the bathroom. When you return, Steve hasn't moved an inch, just as miserable and small-looking as you'd left him a few moments before. He's got his fingers tucked into the crook of space behind his knees, the tall streetlight across the road allowing stripes of light to cut across his hunched form, late night shadows eating up everything else.

The coffee table is nudged closer to the sofa with your foot as you sit down in front of him, your bare knees brushing filthy denim when you scoot to the edge of the table and bring the cloth up to his blood-spattered cheek. You're gentle with it, wiping at same spots a few times with the lightest pressure you can manage as the mess proceeds to smear, red-tinged streaks of water against his skin lessening with each careful swipe. Once his face is clean, you move on to the knuckles of his right hand, pulling it from where he has it tucked beneath his thigh to softly wash away the crusted blood from his split and bruising skin.

You work silently for a few minutes. The soiled cloth is dropped against the coffee table with a wet slap and you immediately turn to find the alcohol and cotton balls in the messy basket you keep stored beneath your bathroom sink.

You've just begun to open the package of cotton when Steve says your name, nothing more than a hoarse whisper to break the heavy silence.

When you meet his eyes, the desperation you find there has you faltering for a moment. The warmth that seeps into your skin from each point of contact between you suddenly seems so much stronger. Heat and nerves creep up the back of your neck as you blink at him in question.

The backs of his damp knuckles drag up over your calf before pushing into the smooth skin on the outside of your thigh, his thumb pinching lightly at the doughy flesh there, “I.. Can you..” His hand unfurls and he lets his palm settle against you, his fingertips high enough to slip beneath the hem of your oversized shirt and brush the crook where your thigh meets your hip, “I just.. want..”

He seems incapable of finishing his thoughts, but he doesn't really need to because you know. With the way his free hand comes up to push a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your jaw to your chin before catching against your lower lip in that all too familiar way, you know what it is that he's asking for.

“Steve..” Your accompanying sigh comes out a little shaky as you exhale it over the pad of his finger, your lashes fluttering as something stirs in your gut in response to his soft touch, “I don't think that's a good-”

“Please.” He whispers again — and, how could you possibly deny him when he sounds so pitiful that it wrenches at your broken heart? While his brows are drawing together like he's already bracing himself for your rejection even as his eyes remain soft and pleading?

And when the hand on your thigh pushes up to slide over the bare skin at the base of your spine, when he applies the barest pressure to urge you toward him, when the fingers on your face slip behind your neck — you're climbing into his lap with little encouragement. Your shins push into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, hands finding the hem of his ruined shirt and guiding it up over his head in an easy movement that has his hair flopping down over his forehead again.

When your gaze drops, you allow yourself all of ten seconds to trail your fingers over the rough scars across his abdomen. The skin is a little puckered and pink, mottled in a way that it probably wouldn't be if he'd found himself at the hospital that night in late March instead of on your doorstep, but they've healed. It's a far cry from the jagged wounds that you'd tried to clean with blood-stained hands, through quiet sobs and glassy eyes. They'd been so deep, as if something had tried to carve out little bits and pieces of him over and over, like something had torn into him, like something had feasted on his flesh then and left behind nothing but the evidence of small, frighteningly sharp teeth.

Your choked questions ring in your ears even now, the way you'd begged for him to tell you what was going on, who kept hurting him like this — but as easily as your own voice echos in your memories, so does Steve's. You can still hear his agonized groans and cries of pain as you'd tended to his injuries, can still remember the sound of his desperate pleas for you to drop it, to just accept that he couldn't explain-

And you'd asked him then, if it was that he couldn't or that he wouldn't. The resulting silence from him had been answer enough.

Now, Steve seems to know exactly where your mind has gone and he covers your hands with his own, pressing your palms flat against the lingering marks on his skin.

“They're healed.” You state quietly through the emotion clogging your throat. The obviousness of the statement rings stupidly in your ears but you're not sure what else to say in the heavy silence.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse, “I had a pretty good nurse.. Cleaned me up real nice so that I didn't, I dunno, die from an infection or somethin'.”

A laugh pushes up from your throat that borders on a sob, “She sounds cool.” You manage, your thumbnail scraping lightly into the healed patch of skin under your hand.

“Oh, yeah, the coolest.” Steve tells you with the barest hint of a smile pulling at the unbruised side of his mouth. “You okay?” He asks quietly after another moment of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“Sweetheart..” Steve starts slowly, “I want.. Shit, I- I want you so bad right now, but if you don't want this-” When his hands move to the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes meet yours in silent question, and your head is nodding a little wildly in approval before you can begin to think too hard about it.

His hands nearly burn with every brush against your bare skin as you strip one another down to nothing, his touch leaving behind invisible streaks of something heavy and terrifyingly melancholy, something that you're sure will linger painfully in your chest long after he's gone and left you with a broken heart and an ever growing list of unanswered questions.

“I still have to clean your cuts.” You tell him quietly.

Steve's eyes only rake over your naked body for a moment before his gaze settles back on yours, “Okay.”

You settle over his lap again and wet a cotton ball with alcohol, “It's gonna hurt.” You warn in a whisper.

“I know.” Steve returns just as softly.

Bracing one hand on the side of his neck, you dab featherlight over his split lip. Steve's jaw clenches at the sting as it seeps into the cut and you murmur a soft apology while you continue to clean the area with careful fingers.

Steve's hands settle on your hips and his eyes flick between yours as he waits for you to meet his gaze. When you look up from his swollen lower lip, he gulps, adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingers digging into your flesh a little as he pulls your hips until your groins align nicely.

“Yeah.” You murmur, dabbing at the cut on his lip again just so that you have an excuse to look away from his eyes.

Your heartbeat ricochets against your ribs sharply as Steve guides you to grind slow over his lap, the warmth of him wedged between your spread folds. The way he manhandles you isn't rushed, the movement not nearly as desperate as you'd been expecting from his plea for intimacy. It's slow and quiet and filled with a weight that you wouldn't quite be able to explain if you tried.

It doesn't take long for his cock fatten up and grow stiff underneath you, his length and the patch of hair surrounding it both streaked with slick where your wet cunt has been dragging back and forth. You're both breathing a little heavy as you finish cleaning the cuts on his lip and the bridge of his nose, your faces close though neither one of you make any move to close the distance.

Steve curls an arm around the back of your thigh as he reaches around to guide himself toward your entrance. A breathy sound falls from your lips when you roll your hips back and feel his tip catch, just barely pushing in. He's as thick and warm and perfect as he's always been, and that hunger to have all of him spreads down the back of your tongue like warm honey, but the moment you spread your thighs a little farther to take more, Steve is stopping you.

“Wait, wait, wait. You.. Are you sure you're okay with this?” He asks suddenly. His fingers are digging into your hips, holding you in place to keep you from sinking farther down onto him as he awaits your response.

“Wh-?” Your jaw trembles with something like petulance, a little desperate yourself now that you can feel the fat head of his cock inside you, stretching you wide despite barely breaching your entrance, “You said that you-”

“I do. Fuck, I do, I just want to make sure you're sure.” He says it so soft, so earnest, and his concern has you feeling something resembling whiplash. The two of you haven't spoken in months, but he'd shown up at your front door in the middle of the night and practically begged for you; for your presence and your care and your body.

You want to feel angry with him. For looking out for your well-being now, for being Steve, for bringing up so many feelings that you'd tried so hard to bury, but he's looking up at you with imploring eyes — a gaze that says if you climbed off of his lap now, he wouldn't be upset with you, if anything, he'd be upset with himself and..

It has you reeling a little bit, that blooming affection crawling like rapidly expanding ivy inside your chest.

You brush that stubborn chunk of hair back and off of his forehead again, your fingers combing through to the back of his head until they can toy with the bits curling at the nape of his neck. Your mouth finds its way to the space between his brows, a shaky exhale masked by the kiss you press to his skin before dropping your foreheads together.

“I am. I'm sure.” You promise in a whisper.

When you sink down, both of you groan in synchrony, breathy and guttural. The stretch hurts more than you were expecting, but it's been months since you've done this, so you suppose that the sting from him filling you up is warranted. Your hips settle against his and his arms curl around your back to hold you in place, to hold you close. His chest is flush to yours, scattered hairs on his pecs pressed to your breasts, the tip of your nose still barely avoiding brushing against the bruised bridge of his own.

The sensation of being so full leaves you feeling a little overwhelmed, the intimacy of the moment suddenly too heavy. His breath mingling with your own and his soft hair tangled up around your fingers brings pinpricks of heat to your eyes that you stubbornly attempt to blink back.

“Hey.. Hey, honey,” Steve murmurs softly, one hand coming up to swipe a thumb along your watery lashline, “What's wrong? You okay? Did I hurt you? Do you-”

Another strangled sounding scoff of a laugh tumbles from your lips, a weak sniffle as your fingers find their way to those smooth, faded lines along the front of his throat again, “I should be asking you that. You're the one who's had the shit beaten out of him tonight.”

“I'm fine. Two weeks n' I'll be good as new,” Steve assures you with carefully crafted nonchalance, his tear-stained thumb dragging back and forth along the apple of your cheek, “Now what's goin' on in that beautiful head of yours, huh?”

“I just..” You huff out a sigh, rolling your hips experimentally to test the ache between your thighs, “I missed you. Fuck, I- I miss you so much, Steve.”

A few tears do manage to break through then, something about the way the patchy light coming in through the windows casts a glow over his battered face, the browns in his eyes shining golden in the dark.

“Me too, I miss you too,” He rasps desperately, “Shit, honey. If you think I don't miss you every goddamn second- You're everything. You're my everything.”

He's holding your face in both hands now, palms cradling your jaw so gently, arms trembling like he's trying to fight the urge to hold onto you tighter. His restraint and his words twist sharply in your gut, something akin to dread weaving its way inside of you.

“I'm scared,” You admit, voice quiet and buried beneath tears, “I'm so scared-”

“Scared?” Steve repeats, concern flashing in his eyes, “What're you afraid of?”

“Losing you.” You gasp.

“Sweetheart-”

Your chest is heaving a little with the labored breaths beginning to tumble past your lips, “I'm gonna lose you all over again, because I can't.. It- It is terrifying. To see you hurt and bleeding and not know why. To worry that the next time might be even worse than the last and have you keep skirting around the truth or outright lying-”

“Hey, hey. Honey, hey,” Steve gives your cheeks a soft shake under his hands and your gaze falls back to his, “I'm sorry-”

“Jesus christ.” You bemoan quietly as another tear falls, halfheartedly pushing at his arms to dislodge his hands.

“No, no, I mean it,” Steve pleads softly, “I'm so sorry I kept you in the dark, I just- Shit, it's so complicated, I-”

“Asshole.” The interruption comes out a grumble under your breath, and you're gearing up to climb off of his lap entirely when his weak chuckle meets your ears.

“I am,” He nods, brushing your hair back from your tear streaked face, “I'm an asshole and I'm sorry. I- I'll tell you everything, alright? I will. I will.”

“Promise?” You hate yourself for how small you sound, how unsure and broken.

“I promise.”

You crane your neck and tilt your head to brush your lips featherlight over his, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the mess of purple and black and red along the bridge of his nose, your thumbs gravitating yet again to drag over those smooth, barely visible scars around his neck.

“Does your mouth hurt too much, or can I-?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking between his.

“'course you can,” His hand pushes into your hair behind your ear, cupping your head to guide you forward carefully, “C'mere.”

Your mouths come together with all of the gentleness you can manage and you leave one soft peck, then two, then three. You begin to work your hips over his all the while, and neither of you can hold back a keening noise of pleasure at the slow drag of his cock inside your warm walls.

You ease back from his mouth to drag the pads of your index and middle finger lightly over the bruises coloring his skin.

“Did.. Did you really get into a bar fight?” You can't help but ask, even as you're lifting up and dropping back down hard enough to have you both letting out a breathy whimper.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his fingers trailing along your ribs and stomach like he's trying to re-familiarize himself with every inch of your skin, “I.. It's possible I have some unresolved anger or something from- After everything that happened. Sometimes it kinda takes over, like tonight, and then I pick a fight I know I can't win, but.. 'm not lying to you anymore. I mean that.”

You nod and his arms curl around your back to pull you impossibly closer. Trapped in his embrace, you can't do much more than grind on him with slow swivels of your hips, the head of his cock rubbing at that spot on your inner wall that has your brows pulling together in pleasure.

He's so close like this. His chest hair drags against your bare breasts and your tummies are pressed together and the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own. You feel warm — in the physical sense, yes, but also in your stomach, in your bones, in your heart.

“I love you.” Steve says with emotion, like he's feels that warmth too.

Your eyes prickle a little traitorously, fingers toying with the soft ends of his hair, “I love you,” You manage in a choked gasp, “I love you.”

“Ho- Shit..” Steve groans, chin tipping up toward the ceiling for a moment as he throws his head back, “You feel so fuckin' good, honey.”

“Y'r cock feels good,” You pant in response, “So good. So big. I- Fuck.”

“So tight,” He mutters, sitting up a little straighter to meet every roll of your hips, “So perfect. 's like you were fucking made for me, you know that? Take me so well. You were made for this, for me-”

The way that your clit is rubbing against the thatch of hair on his pelvis has you a little dumb already, and his lust-fueled rambling only intensifies your budding orgasm, both of your thighs slick with how fucking good it feels to have him inside of you again. You nod in agreement to his words and manage to give a small whimper, but it seems that he's not done yet.

“-Missed this so much. Missed you, missed this.. Fuck. Honey, I love you. I love you. I-”

“Steve,” You whine, “Love you too.”

His tanned cheeks have gone a little pink beneath the dusting of bruises on his face, breathy groans fanning out past his busted lip. The pretty little noises of pleasure that he can't seem to hold back have you reeling, your gut twisting with heat at the sight of him, the sound of him.

“So goddamn wet for me, honey,” Steve grumbles, his voice catching in a way that has your cunt clenching down on him, “Listen to her. You hear that?”

You do. There's a lewd squelch emitting from the place where you're joined, the sound filling the otherwise quiet apartment every time that your hips roll at just the right angle. It happens again just then, his cock stretching your hole wide enough for the drag of slick and air to create a mildly embarrassing noise that has Steve giving another needy groan, his hips bucking up into yours.

“God, fuck, please tell me you're getting close,” He nearly whimpers, lifting up off of the couch to drive up into you again, “Please, I'm getting so close, babe. Need you to come.”

Euphoria licks up your spine in a white-hot flame, your weight bearing down that much harder to apply more pressure on your puffy clit. Sweat trickles down your spine, disappearing beneath Steve's forearms where they're looped tight around you.

“Mhm,” You hum, the sound catching in the back of your throat, “M'gonna come, Stevie. Y'r gonna make me come.”

Your hips roll a little faster and Steve continues to buck up into you, his cock pressing so, so nicely against the spot that has your brain whiting out a bit at the edges.

“Come on, sweet girl. Come for me,” Steve moans, warm breath fanning out over your lips, “Please, honey. Please come on my cock. Shit, I need it. Need you t' come, please.”

“I am, I am, I am,” You babble desperately, “M'gonna, fuck, fuck, 'm-”

The knot of pleasure in your gut twists sharply and you cry out, face burying in his neck with a whiny gasp as your orgasm crashes over you. Your cunt tightens and trembles around him and a deliciously choked sounding moan tears past Steve's lips as he finally lets his own release wash over him.

The warmth of his come coating your insides has you fluttering around him further, your hands grappling restlessly for any part of him to hold on to, his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, his biceps. Breathy little whines and gasps and groans tumble from both of you as you ride it out, the trembling tenseness in your muscles releasing all at once as you go limp in his arms.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back to yourself a little, peppering a delicate kiss to that infuriating strip of scar tissue along his throat before you're pushing up with weak limbs to look at the man underneath you.

“Hey.” It comes out in a murmur, a breathless little thing that leaves you feeling kind of silly, but your brain hasn't yet recovered enough to work at its full-capacity.

Steve only grins, his lips curling to reveal perfect teeth, a pretty smile pulling at his busted and bruising lips. His eyes twinkle in the patchy darkness of your living room, a pretty mosaic of brown and gold and speckles of green catching in the light and forcing your heart rate to tick up in adoration.

“Hey, honey.” He returns sweetly, one arm uplooping from around your spine so he can reach up to push the sweaty flyaways back from your face.

You can't help but shift over him, sore legs flexing where they're spread over his hairy thighs, a trickle of warmth leaking out from where you're still joined and dripping down into the thick hair at the base of his cock. It feels dirty and intimate in the best way — his come mingled with your own, your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, his wide palms rubbing softly from your hips to your spine and then back again.

“I kinda want to stay like this forever.”

Your whispered admission has his eyes crinkling softly and he drops his forehead to your chest, his breath fanning out over your breasts as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You won't hear any complaints from me.” Steve mumbles into your skin.

You never want to leave this moment. Your nose pushes into his hair and you pull in the familiar melding of scents, of expensive shampoo and hairspray and an underlying smell that's just Steve. You want to stay right here, in this perfectly imperfect bubble, but you feel Steve wince when he burrows his face into your chest just a little too hard and the serenity cracks.

“Steve?” You murmur softly, fingertips scraping gently against his scalp despite the nerves in your stomach.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You steel yourself with a deep breath, “You know I'd do anything to protect you, right? You.. You know that I'll do anything for you.. Know that.. That you can trust me?” It comes out in a rush, and your nerves increase tenfold when Steve pulls back to look at you, “..Right?”

“Honey,” The endearment comes out laced with something sweet and sticky that makes it sound an awful lot like an apology, “Of course I do.”

His eyes are so soft as they flick between your own, his hands smoothing up the length of your spine in a soothing drag of skin on skin. One hand leaves his hair only so that you can trace your thumb over those two wide freckles on the apple of his cheek, a self-deprecating sort of smile pulling at your lips.

“And.. And you're gonna tell me what's been going on with you?” You nearly whisper.

His mouth finds yours to press a featherlight kiss to your lips, “Yeah, honey. No more secrets. No more lies.”

“Promise?” You ask again, lips pulling into a smile where they're still brushing his own. Your faces are so close it's hard to focus on the way his eyes shine with adoration when he looks up at you, the bruises on the bridge of his nose blurring in the darkness.

“Promise.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n smut

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illubean · 8 months ago

Text

Less Than Three!

"Oh, I just cant wait to get home from school. So I can get online and talk with my boyfriend!"

Characters: Satoru Gojo Type: Oneshot, NoCurse!AU, Fem!Reader

Inspired by the song Less Than Three by Disko Warp; also i'm using a 24 hour clock here for chat timestamps

Warnings: reader has no sense of internet safety but this is for fictional purpouses only, pls don't meet random strangers off the internet irl

You sighed as you watched the seconds tick by on a nearby clock.

Ten minutes. Just ten minutes before I can finally go home.

This was the longest ten minutes of your life, as your teacher dragged on and on about whatever topic she was teaching today. You could care less about what she had to say though, your mind preoccupied with more important things.

When the bell finally sounded at 3:30, you shot up from your seat, hurriedly packing all of your belongings before rushing towards the front of the school. As you were changing into your outside shoes, you were stopped by a friend.

"Hey Y/n!"

You sighed as you stood up to face her, really not having the time to chat right now.

"Hello, Ume (randomly generated name)"

You quickly headed out the front doors, making your way to the gate of the school with Ume hot on your trail.

"The third year classes are headed to karaoke right now, y'know. You're coming, right?"

"Sorry, but I'm going home. I just have so much studying to do," you lied.

It's not like you could ever tell her the truth, since she would never believe you. Everyone knew you were a bit of a shut in, often opting to stay home and play video games all day instead of going out and hanging out like most other girls your age. You never left the house unless it was to go to school, so telling Ume about your online boyfriend was NOT an option.

Even if she did believe you, she would tease you relentlessly for it. Besides, you didn't know anything about this guy's real life. The only information you had was his given name.

Ume sped up in order to cut you off, stopping you in your tracks and placing her hands on your shoulders.

"Oh come on, Y/n! All you ever do is sit at that computer of your's. It's your last year of high school, live a little! And beides, I heard that cute boy thats crushing on you from class B will be there," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

"Eugh, even more reason not to go. And Murayama is the farthest thing from cute!"

Even if he was attractive, he could never compare to the kind hearted boy you met on Final Fantasy XI Online.

"Fine, fine, I'll leave you alone now. But if you ever want to get out that room of your's, shoot me an email, kay?"

"Whatever, bye Ume!"

The minute you got home you kicked off your shoes, ditched your school bag, and rushed up to your room, ignoring your mother's scolding for being so reckless. You quickly shut your door behind you before taking a seat at your computer and frantically logging in. Your eyes lit up as you spotted an IRC notification coming from a familiar username.

15:44:25 hoejoe69| Hello my beutiful princess

You smiled to yourself, swinging your feet back and forth as you typed your reply.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you processed the words on your screen. Did he really want to come see you? Flustered, you hastily typed out a response before jumping out of your chair and squealing.

Satoru sat at his desk, eyes practically glued to his monitor as he slouched, nervously anticipating your reply after he typed out his message. Geto lounged on his best friends bed, mindlessly scrolling through MySpace on his phone.

"What's even the point in inviting me over if all you do is sit at that damn computer all day?"

"Shhhh, Suguru! This is important!"

The blackette sighed, rolling his eyes.

"What could be so important over there? Are you about to have cybersex or something? Seriously, Satoru, why don't you ever try talking to real girls."

"Y/n is a real girl...I just happened to meet her online! Don't hate me cus you aint me, Suguru!"

"There's nothing for me to be jealous of, I get plenty of play. Maybe if you weren't so nerdy, girls would like you too, just saying," Geto shrugs.

Satoru's eyebrow twitches at this, as he swivels his chair around to point at his current antagonist.

"Girls DO like me! They just don't get me, which is why I like Y/n and not them!"

The snowy haired male nearly snapped his neck as he turned to look back at his monitor upon hearing that oh so familiar ping!

15:54:33 y/nnie | I'd like that <3 meet u @ the station @ 1 | sat? 15:54:54 hoejoe69| See u then princess <3

Satoru was so elated that you accepted his offer that he didn't even notice his best friend had gotten up to peer at the screen over his shoulder.

"Gross. What if she turns out to be a 60 year old man?"

The blue eyed man jumps, turning to glare at his dark haired companion next to him.

"She's not a 60 year old man, I'm sure of it!"

"Whatever dude, its your life."

It was currently 5 minutes before the train from Tokyo was scheduled to arrive in Kyoto, as you sat and waited nervously. No one knew you were meeting your FFXI boyfriend right now, and your thoughts were moving at a mile per minute.

I wonder if he's as handsome as his avatar. Maybe he's tall? Ooh, what if he dresses in street style!? I can't wait to see my Toru!

Your thoughts were cut off at the sound of the train tracks screeching as the train came to a stop. You excitedly stood up, holding the sign you made with his name on it in front of you. You had told him last night to look for it in order to find you.

You scanned over the large crowd of people exiting the train, before accidentally locking eyes with an electric blue pair.

Oh wow.

Whoever that stranger was was beautiful. He was tall, had beautiful, milky skin and the softest looking white hair. You had never seen someone so ethereal.

Wait a minute...he kind of looks like-

The stranger seemed to glance down at your hands, before looking back up at you with a wide smile painted across his face.

There's no way...

The beautiful stranger began to quickly approach you, squeezing through the crowd as you came to the conclusion that was undoubtably your Satoru.

You finally snapped out of your wide eyed daze as he got closer, opening your arms to him as he scoops you up into a tight embrace. He spun you around first, before placing you back on the ground and pulling away to look you in the eyes once more.

"It's great to know you really are a pretty girl instead of a 60 year old man, Y/n," he says in a smooth, comforting voice that was enough to make you swoon. You looked away bashfully as his wide smile turned into something more of a teasing smirk.

"You're not too bad yourself, Satoru," you reply, not being able to maintain eye contact as you looked off to the side.

He chuckled lightly at this, removing his arms from around you in order to gently grasp your hand in his much larger one.

"How about we get something to eat, yeah? Then you can tell me all about Kyoto."

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #suguru geto #geto suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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sunrisecaminus · 2 months ago

Note

AH YOU FINALLY REOPENED REQUESTS YAY could I get some NSFW with smokescreen I just need him between my legs making me feel good and eating me out of man y'know I'm asexual but then there's smokescreen idk what happened with my brain

Message - I am very happy I am not the only one who thinks he is an eating out kind of guy.

Smokescreen x Shy Reader NSFW

Summary - Smokescreen is hungry for you.

Warning - NSFW

Smokescreen has been driving for what seemed like hours. He has never been as excited to get back home until you texted him that you were ready for interfacing. It has been a month since you got better from being ill. You were trying so hard not to give any germs to Smokescreen, knowing it could give the human kids the horrible sickness. After, you were very nervous to be all touchy with Smokescreen again. Smokescreen loved snuggling with you and it was something you were not use to from the start of your relationship. Being so close to someone makes you feel so warm, but nervous about what you look like. People seeing others naked is such a personal thing, being able to share it with Smokescreen was going to be something you would have to get use to.

Putting your legs close together, you are feeling yourself getting warm already. No matter how nervous and timid you get, you really do love Smokescreen's touch. He knows how to treat you well and understands your shyness. He maybe a wild guy who wishes to go rough on you, but Smokey also loves to get romantic and give you the sweetest kisses.

…

Smokescreen headed over to the base as quick as he could. It was already 8pm and it has been a few hours since you gave the text message. He yearned for your touch, but new the dangers of your sickness if he ever got too close. That month was torturous without you, nothing except that sickness could get him to be away from you for long periods of time. He hated being in the other room to talk to you while you were locked up in your bedroom. It was probably the worse days of his life (worse than the war in his opinion).

Driving into the base, he transformers quickly and starts to frantically look for you. Looking high and low, asking Ratchet if he has seen you anywhere, looking in his birthroom. When Smokescreen rushes into the bedroom, he hears small soft noises inside. Being confused, he closes the door silently and walks over to the birth. "…Y/n?" The noises seem to continue as he opens up the sheets to find you. You were touching yourself…rubbing your fingers up and down your crotch, your hand in your pants/underwear. Smokescreen blushes heavily seeing you, watching as your eyes meet his. You didn't stop, your face a flushed color. "mmh! Smokey please!."

Smokescreen takes this as an order and shakes his mind out of space. He gets on the bed and smirks. "I didn't know you needed me that much." With the other arm you weren't using, you covered your face to hide your messy expression, but Smokescreen uses his digits to shoo your arm away. "nuh uh, let me see that beautiful face." Dragging his digits down in between your boobs, all the way down to your pants, he takes the hem and pulls your pants off completely. Hearing you gasp from he cold air hitting your legs, you realize what he was ready to do. "Are you sure?"

Smokescreen blinks in confusion, perking up to your face. "Hmm? What do you mean?" You sees his eyes and shake your head, standing up and grab some sheets to cover you. "I never asked you if you really wanted this. I-I'm scared you only want this because I do." Smokescreen looks around, not understanding this at all. He sits down next to your body and thinks. You knew he just came back from a mission, fighting for his life out there. You told him you really wanted to do stuff with him, but he never texted if he was wanting it to. He never did text back…all you remember was him not replying so you went to relieve yourself quickly before he was suppose to come home. What you didn't know was that Smokescreen totally forgot to text you back because he got too excited. Bro was feeling his own crotch panel almost popping reading your text. He has wanting to show you how much he loved you from the very moment that notification pop upped on his coms. Optimus has no idea why Smokescreen started to just go nuts on some Decepticons, not letting a single one even get a chance to pull the trigger. Now he is realizing you probably thought he rejected the notion to have sex from ghosting you for hours and now just came back out of pity.

He finally turns to you again and smiles. "Y/n, I am so sorry I didn't reply back. It might sound crazy, but I was so excited to hold you again, I might've completely forgotten to say something!" You look up at him with a shocked face, than after a while of thinking, changed to a blushy mess again. "So…you were so happy…you didn't reply? I thought you didn't know how to say no to me…" Smokescreen embarrassingly looks away. "You know me…I don't think straight. But that doesn't matter! Open your legs!" He pins you, hovering his giant body over you. You gasp from the fast reaction. He had no shame in anything, making you feel too shy to open your legs for him. "How can you just say that!" Smokescreen chuckles and gets real close. "What? Can I not see my babes perfect body in full bloom?" Could he make your face any more red!?

The stupid mech takes your legs and slowly spreads them. He puts his head in between your legs and you feel his hot glossa press against your vagina. Arching your back, you moan out his name as he pushes his big Cybertronian tongue inside you. Your walls were being widened and filled more than you could ever imagine. He moves his glossa in and out of your flower nice and gentle, but it was enough to make you scream out. You already came once the moment he did a few pumps, but he kept on going. You were nothing but a moaning mess at this point, your head spinning from all the pleasure. You didn't want it to stop, it was like heaven. Smokescreen thought you tasted delicious, his optics close and eat you out, sometimes taking his glossa out to lick your folds and going right back in.

At this point, you cum again. You were blinded by sheer goodness, the juicy noises being the only thing you hear in the room. Smokescreen takes his time to stop and give you a breather. You try to relax and start to feel your legs shake. "Th-thank you, that was nice." About to cover yourself, you get grabbed by Smokescreen's servo as he lifts you from the birth. "Who said I was finished with my meal?" He says with…hungry eyes.

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x y/n #transformers x human #valveplug #tfp smokescreen #smokescreen x reader

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livesworthlivingau · 1 year ago

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Lives Worth Living Chapter 13

ISAT Spoilers below!

(The soothing sound of Mirabelle's dramatic reading of one of her books fills your ears. You lie with your head on her lap, eye closed, smiling softly and enjoying the company and sounds. Mirabelle's voice slowly drifts off as she finishes a chapter. You perk up some, opening up your eye to check on her. You're met with a conflicted look plastered across her face.)

"Mira?..."

"Are… Are you sure you're okay Siffrin?…"

"I mean… As much as I can be I guess… You can only be so 'okay' about losing 30 years of your life, right?…"

"… Were… Were you happy? I-I mean I know I said I didn't want spoilers or anything a-and you don't have to tell me anything specific if you don't want because that might mess with the future or the time space whatever it's ca-"

"Mira!" (She jumps a bit as you snap her out of her little freak out spiral. You take her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers before wrapping your other around it as well.)

"I had… One of the best lives anyone could ask for, thanks to all of you… Yeah it's sad that it's kinda gone now but… It's also kinda nice?… To get to experience it all over again, y'know?"

"Siffrin… I can tell something else is bothering you, and I'm honestly more scared about what you're NOT telling us, I mean, how is that not already the big secret?!"

"… Mira, I-I…"

"You promised me Siffrin… It might have been over 30 years ago for you, but it's only been a couple weeks for me. You promised we'd be feelings buddies and we'd talk about this stuff!"

"I know!… I know I promised… But…" (You let out a heavy sigh, letting go of her hand before running yours through your hair, gripping it a bit.)

"It's… It's not just about me this time… It's Loop."

"Loop? What do you mean? D-Did something happen to them?"

"… I-I… Ugh…" (You let out an annoyed groan, sitting up and hugging yourself close.)

"It's… It's not my place to talk about it Mira… As much as I want to, as much as I desperately want to talk and get help about it… It's their secret too, and I can't… I can't make that choice for them."

"… Okay Siffrin… If it's out of respect for keeping their secret, I guess I'll drop it… But if this continues to be an issue I'm going to have to insist about it, okay?"

"… Thanks, Mira… I promise I'll talk about it as soon as I can." (You swear, laying your head onto her shoulder. She follows suit and lays hers against you.)

"Thank you Siffrin, and I'm glad you've told us what you have so far… I'm just worried about you…"

"I know Mira, but I promise, I'm… Well I'm just about as okay as I can be right now, all things considered." (You admit with a slightly nervous chuckle. She responds in kind.)

"I guess that's the best I could ask for at this point... Did you wanna listen to another chapter?"

"Sure! We still gotta get to the part abou-"

"SPOILERS!!!"

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

(You smile softly with your eye closed, sitting on the floor with Mira on the couch above you. Your hair fiddled between her fingers as she was braiding it in places.)

"I've always wanted to do this~!" (Mira practically squeaked out with excitement, so excited to actually get to style your hair for once.)

"Heh, yeah I guess we never used to do this, huh?"

"DO WE DO THIS A LOT IN THE FU-NO WAIT NO SPOILERS!!" (She interrupts her own excited shouting with frantic shouting, making you wince some but chuckle none the less.)

"... So how are you doing Mirabelle?... I know everyone's been worried about me and all but... You all had a lot going on too! I... I feel bad taking up all this emotional space..." (You feel her hands pause for a moment from working through your hair.)

"... I... I guess I haven't really thought about it a lot... that festival was really nice but... It just hasn't actually hit me that it's really over! I keep waiting for it to sink in, for this feeling of accomplishment, for the stress of it all to go away! But it still hasn't! I-I still feel the same as I did, just a little more relieved. I know the King's curse is gone, I know we saved everyone, I know we're 'the saviors'..."

"... But it doesn't feel like you earned it?"

"E-Exactly! I-I... Oh, you said something like that the other day, didn't you?"

"Y-Yeah but... I feel like I screwed everything up at the end there, you all were the ones who actually defeated the king!" (You feel her hands start moving again, going back to braiding your hair.)

"Okay, feelings buddies compromise time! If either of us start to feel like we didn't save the country or deserve the praise, the other has to assure them that they're wrong, deal?"

"... Okay, Deal~."

#lives worth living au #lwlau #isat au #isat fanfic #isat spoilers #isat #in stars and time fanfic #in stars and time spoilers #two hat spoilers #isat two hats

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the-banks-of-lethe · 27 days ago

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Hello Dreamers,

I wanted to do a post about my relationship with Hypnos and how it's going, or to just say something about Him in general. But nothing was coming to mind, like everything I knew I wanted to say was locked up in the back of my mind. So I did a card pull. King of Cups.

Well that just sums it up perfectly.

I'm not kidding. I feel like the [upright] King of Cups card is one of the most (or simply the most) fitting card for Lord Hypnos I could think of.

Balance

Emotional

Diplomatic

Unconscious

Quiet

Compassionate

Creative

Stable

Calming

All of these attributes that the King of Cups holds are ones that I would not hesitate to apply to Lord Hypnos. In fact, if you wish to know how I experience Him, then that is it. He's just so. so. y'know?

I often find myself reaching out to Him in times of distress, when I can't think straight and when everything seems too much. He comes and cradles me, soothing away any worries, and lets me know I'm safe by way of His air of comfort. It's in these times I see all of these things in Him:

How He can balance out my franticness with His calm. How He knows and connect to my emotions, feeling them with me and letting me know it's okay. How He can wipe away the fog and kerfuffle in my head, letting me be tactful in my thinking. How He weaves His lessons and His love through my thoughts, both conscious and unconscious. How He is with me, even when I say nothing. Making His presence known in silence. How now matter how far gone I am nor how low I've dropped, He will be there to cradle me no matter what. How He cares so much about the mind and how it's cared for and used. Always spurring me on in my creative endeavours, giving bits of inspiration through my dreams. How He will always be there, every night, for the rest of my life, through thick and thin, I always have Sleep to lay back on. How He can calm a room with just His presence, letting His soft energy flow through the air.

And I could go on. Truly. But I'm tired (Hypnos is calling me /lh) and I don't want to bore you with my rambling.

But let me just sign off with a little reminder:

It's going to be okay.

Yes, I know the world is tough right now. Everything kind is a mess right now and it can be hard to find a moment of peace in the chaos. But just know, it won't be this way forever.

One thing I've been doing lately is appreciating the small moments of peace and joy. I do this most the time anyway, but I've been putting more emphasis on seeking out those moments. Whether it's the way the clouds look today or the funny bird that you saw out the window or maybe it was a smell that reminded you of home. Anything. Savour it - remind yourself that good still does and always will exist in this world.

Stay safe, and sweet dreams... 💙

-> divider by @/bernardsbendystraws

#the banks of lethe #hypnos deity #lord hypnos #hypnos devotee #hellenic polytheism #helpol #hypnos shrine #hypnos god #hellenic polythiest #pagan #hellenic pagan

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lay-z · 7 months ago

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tw: self-shipping; insecurities/self-doubt; handjob; fluff; premature ejaculation; sub!Simon; implied past sexual abuse

Simon gets hard whenever I think of him.

As in, acts of service... gift giving. When I bring him a cuppa whenever he has to work late in his home office or cook his favorite meal at the end of a particularly tough week, or simply when I check in on him, ask him how he's doing.

I don't notice it at first, because stealth is long woven into his DNA, but when he realizes in utter shock that I'm constantly thinking of him without any kind of ulterior motives, he's rock hard within seconds.

No ulterior motives are the key here. Simon is so used to being used, being a weapon, guard, and attack dog that he simply cannot wrap his head around how someone could simply... care about him without wanting anything in return. It's a strange and foreign concept to him.

He thinks me stupid for being so selfless and empathetic. He adores me for being unapologetically me, and he's terrified all the same because someone could easily take advantage of me. But joke's on him, because people have already taken advantage of me for exactly those traits in the past and guess what, Simon? I'll still keep being myself. I'll still care about him, love him.

Simon is shit at initiating intimacy, and so am I, but whenever someone is more scared of something than I am, I rise above my own fears.

He's painfully hard, slit drooling pre into his briefs already, after I bring him a glass of bourbon and rub his tense shoulders briefly while he's watching a football game on TV. I kiss his temple and leave again; leave him to have me-time.

But Simon doesn't want 'me-time' tonight. He wants to feel my soft hands wrapped around his girthy cock, my voice murmuring those tooth-achingly sweet praises into his ear and... Fuck!

His spine arches off the armchair's backrest, his hands ball into fists, massive biceps flexing as he bucks his hips, nearly cumming inside his pants like the pathetic man he deep down feels like he is.

Simon finds me in the bedroom, laying on my stomach on the bed, typing frantically on my phone. He squints his eyes, can see the familiar colours of that Tumblr app in the dim light of the room. I turned on the fairy lights above the headboard, preferring it cosy.

With his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, he approaches silently, sneaking up like the bastard he is.

"Are ya busy, luv?"

The way I flinch and gasp, throwing a glare over my shoulder at him, makes him crack a sly smile.

"I always have time for you... asshole."

He huffs a laugh through his nose and climbs onto the bed, next to me; chest aching with selfish needs and raw affection.

"Writin' yer naughty lil' stories again, eh?" He asks tauntingly, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand while his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of my spine, the plumpness of my ass, accentuated by the tight leggings I always wear. Mean. Mean. Mean.

His other hand twitches resting on his hip, long fingers flexing, yearning to touch, to slap, to grope.

I notice how his chest barely moves, breathing too shallow while his deep brown eyes turn black, glowing obsidian in the glow of the fairy lights hanging above. Simon looks possessed, but it doesn't scare me. Quite the opposite.

I save the draft on my phone and put it aside on the bedside table, "You can touch, y'know? I'm all yours."

Simon's jaw clenches, groin tightening painfully at my words. He wants to snap at me to stop saying that, but his cock throbs, leaks, weeps in his pants; throat clicking as he swallows hard.

"Can you ah touch me?" His voice is low, pleading, rough. His pale lashes flutter as he meets my eyes; pale cheeks flushing rapidly.

I immediately perk up like a puppy hearing a command, sitting on my haunches, wagging an invisible tail at the opportunity to serve and it was too fast. His eyes widen, his body tightens, bracing for something bad to happen. He wants to backpedal, to leave at once, but I stay still and wait, wait for him to relax again.

I know how hard it is. I don't like opening up like this and laying myself bare. It's scary and too exciting, too much. The lights had to be off in the beginning of our relationship as we explored each other engulfed in darkness, but Simon was more than alright with it. He is still alright with it, prefers it that way, and I don't push him.

"Yes, I can touch you," I reply softly, "I want to touch you, honey."

As I reach for the switch to turn the fairy lights off, he grabs my wrist and shakes his head, "Leave it on. 's olright."

He rolls onto his back, pulls his hoodie up over his head and exposes his torso; pale skin, massive muscles hidden under a layer of fat, scarred and marked, like cracked marble. I want to bite hard and crack my teeth on it.

My brain short-circuits, words not forming the way I want to, "I like your body a lot." How poetic.

His lips press together, keeping his chuckle inside and I swat the back of my hand against his side, the smack resonating in our quiet bedroom. He bares his crooked teeth in a rare grin and the scars on his cheeks stretch, and he snatches my wrist, pulls me closer to place it on his bulky pec, right above his heart. It beats fast and harshly.

I lean over him, place my other hand on the other relaxed muscle and squeeze the squishy flesh teasingly until they flex and harden beneath my touch, tiny nipples poking against my palms and his grin disappears.

"Bloody tease," he grunts, brows creasing as he gazes up at me, "Ya love my chest tha' much? Pfff " He rolls his eyes.

"Love your cute nips, too."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes even harder back into his skull like the damn brat he truly is.

I lean down and kiss his lips, just a quick peck. It's sweet and a little wet and highly addictive to him. His chest rumbles and his eyes flutter closed.

"More," he grumbles almost begrudgingly.

I hate kissing, it's weird to me but it's bearable with him, because he's less experienced than I am and thankful for each brief brush of our lips.

We kiss clumsily, needing time and time again to find our rhythm, but we find it eventually. Tongues flicking, lips smacking, breath mingling, teeth nibbling. I always giggle at some point, because kissing is just that silly to me.

"Wha'?"

I hum, suppressing a smile against his lips, "Nothing."

My hand sneaks down his buff chest, down the bit of pudge on his stomach until my fingers brush over his dark blonde happy trail. His hips squirm, his muscles tighten and his breath stutters.

"Won't need much to make me... y'know." He admits and exhales a shuddering breath as I pull back to look at him, not quite sure what to make of that statement. Simon thinks of himself a burden, a nuisance.

"I could draw it out," I tell him, running my tongue along my teeth as I ponder our options. I don't feel like having full on sex right now, but I want him to feel good, want to reward him for his behavior tonight. "I could edge you again."

He shakes his head, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly again, "Nah, no edging, please. Just feel... pent up, because of ya, lovey. Ya care too much 'bout me."

I snort, brows furrowing, "Bullshit. If you like me, you'll stop thinking like that. I like you a lot." Again, pure poetry.

My hand slips into his pants, wretch between the tight fabric until I can pull his fat cock out of its mean confinement. His shaft is already sticky with precum and more is dribbling out of his slit.

"You're a bloody mess, Simon Riley."

Simon groans gruffly, head tilting back, eyes squeezing shut. The sound reverberates against my own chest, tickles my insides.

I use his arousal as lube, give his thick, rigid cock a few slow pumps before I increase the pace, squeezing his warm flesh as I work it. His chest heaves with harsh breaths, moving me on top of him until one arm drapes around my back, anchoring me to him while he digs his meaty fingers into my supple curves.

I watch in awe and utter adoration as his brows furrow, how his lips part and his throat clicks, how he bites his lower lip to keep his noises at bay. He's beautiful.

"Gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, do me the honour."

And it's all it takes for Simon to completely shatter, break and be fixed again in the span of mere seconds while his powerful body quakes beneath me and his cock erupts with his release. Thick, hot gushes of cum coating his lower belly, dripping down my knuckles.

"Good boy," I murmur against his throat, eyes shutting with a breathy sigh, "What a good boy for me."

Simon whines low in his throat, chest heaving as he lets his mammoth hands roam, clinging onto my body as I keep pumping his meaty cock languidly, feeling it soften slowly.

His voice is rough, as he agrees, "Y-Yeah... 'm only yours, luv."

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #self shipping #cod #romantic f/o #simon riley #ghost

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buddiemirrors · 3 months ago

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okay UGH. had some writing for the pitt that promptly got jossed come 1x15 which is what i expected but man!!!! such is life, Anyway. putting this on here so i dont have to look at it anymore. Peace & Love. Old man yaoi forever sorryyyyyyy >_<;;

Jack steps out onto the roof of PTMC and only has to spare half a glance to find Robby precariously placed in the exact spot he had been that morning. The street down below must look more appetizing in the moonlight. Especially from as high up as they are.

The irony isn’t lost on him, and he’d rather be anywhere but here — mostly anywhere, at least — but Robby’s here, and so he is too. But it’s colder than it has any right to be, and he winces a little bit when the door closes behind him with a thud, then shivers once as he takes a step forward. A full body jolt more than anything. It is a slow process, closing the gap between them, with a precision that’s usually required of him during work hours. All things said, it’d be easier stitching someone else back up, needle through skin, than whatever behemoth stands in front of him at the roof's edge. There’s enough mental distance in the first process and not enough here. Jack feels only a little bit manic as he approaches as close as he dares, and then he looks.

Robby looks worse for wear, war-torn in a way that Jack hasn’t had to grapple with in a while. Just a second, though. If he actually had to think about it. People from all walks of life step through those doors everyday, it’s not uncommon to be presented with a mirror image of yourself on the table below. It should be.

That thought holds true as Jack stares at Robby. With each breath that either of them take there is a cloud of condensation that follows; twin dragons on the roof of a medical center. One staring down the world, the other staring at his back.

Dramatic, bordering on stupid.

It’s hard to discern whether or not Robby heard the door close, or if he’s gone deaf with panic. So Jack asks, “You okay? Been up here a while,” and then stands still. Far away enough that Robby won’t cower like a wounded animal but close enough that he can make a mad dash for him if needs must.

Robby shudders another breath. It takes a second but he looks left then right, across the tree tops, the park below, and past the on-and-off-again lights that flicker, teetering on frantic as he sort of wobbles and shakes apart in front of Jack. He stays silent as looks down. Peers past his shoes and past the rooftop, towards the street that lays stories below. He keeps staring downwards and opts to shrug, to lay the silence on thick.

“Yes — no. I don’t know. Are any of us?” He answers after a minute with a ragged voice. Robby coughs a little bit and wobbles some more.

Jack exhales through his nose. “Okay. Fair. Fair enough.” He shrugs back, even though Robby isn’t looking at him right now. “But, I don’t know. I don’t think so, I think we’re all a little bit crazy. Kind of why we do it.”

“Yeah?” Robby looks back at Jack, and — well, he looks absolutely wrecked. Which makes sense given the significance of today, and the absolute shitshow that he’s had to deal with, but it makes Jack stand up that much straighter. His feathers feel ruffled in some odd way. “You just saying shit to me now?”

“All the time, man. It’s the latest fad. And you know how much I love to talk.”

“That is undoubtedly true." Robby barks out a dry laugh. "Mile a minute-man.”

Jack huffs but smiles anyway. "You joking with me now? ‘Cause it’s not funny. But it could be, though, if you just, y'know, moved… away from the edge.”

It’s quiet again, or as quiet as it can be. Jack walks closer to Robby and leans on the railing.

Robby’s outlined in hues of gold and black, fitting in its own way. His silhouette cuts an imposing figure but he’s just a man. A very tired one. So he drags a hand down his face, sighs so hard that his whole body goes concave, and lets out a small groan. For someone as old as he is, he looks years younger. “I don’t wanna go back.”

Jack shrugs, and puts his hands in his pockets as he stands straight again. “Then don’t. You're done. Shift's over. Go home, and I don’t know — do whatever it is you do.”

Robby — Michael — hums, a sordid thing. He lets out a small laugh, the first real one since he got up on the roof, and then he leans back, just a little bit, supporting his weight with the railing behind him before he exhales — not a sigh — and turns tail away from the roof’s edge and back to Jack. “If I cook, will you come?” He offers an invitation to Jack with a rough voice, kind in its own way.

He's looking down at Jack with a serious look and it lights him up inside. In ways that are both familiar and not, mixed bag.

Robby might be weary around the edges, crinkled and wrought but no less beloved for it, and so Jack shoots off another smile. It drops quickly but Robby sees it. “Depends.”

He clasps a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and shakes him a little bit. “You’ll come over.”

“Yeah, okay." He gives in easily. "I'll come over.” Jack says, and puts a hand over Robby’s. How warm.

all mistakes r my own..... thaaaank u 4 reading <3 YAY

#the pitt #the pitt spoilers #i think ??!?!? i guess!!! just in case .#michael robinavitch #jack abbott #writing #peace and loveeee guys

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fourthavecafe · 9 months ago

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hey, Can you do a chuuya x reader x dazai type thing where the reader is mad at them and ignoring them and chuuya and dazai decide to tickle her and talk about it like she isn’t even there for revenge or something, it’s fully up to you though.

You knew pulling a prank on Dazai and Chuuya was risky but you never expected the revenge to be this ruthless. Before you can react, Chuuya is on top of you, pinning your arms to the ground with an almost smug expression on his face.

“You really thought you could get away with that, huh?” Chuuya’s voice is dripping with playful malice, his grip firm on your wrists.

Dazai leans down, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he lowers his hands to your belly. “Oh, don’t mind us. We’re just here to teach you a little lesson.” His fingers glide across your stomach, eliciting an uncontrollable burst of laughter from you.

You try to squirm but Chuuya’s weight keeps you immobile. “What’s the matter?” Chuuya asks, feigning innocence. “Can’t handle a little payback?”

Dazai chuckles softly, his hands moving to your thighs, where he starts mercilessly tickling, making your laughter turn frantic. “You should’ve known better than to mess with us” dazai teases. “Now look at you. Such a mess.”

Despite the way you’re writhing beneath them, laughing uncontrollably, they act like you aren’t even there, calmly carrying on their conversation.

“This one’s really sensitive, huh?” Chuuya smirks, his grip not faltering.

Dazai nods, keeping a straight face while his fingers dance over your skin. “Definitely. It’s almost too easy.”

“Too bad for you, you’re at our mercy” Chuuya adds, giving you a quick glance before turning back to Dazai. “We should’ve done this sooner.”

As your laughter echoes around the room, you’re left completely at their mercy, their teasing words making the tickling even more unbearable. They take their time, dragging it out, enjoying every second of your helplessness.

Chuuya tightens his grip on your wrists, a smirk spreading across his face as he glances down at you. "You really did this to yourself, y'know? What kind of fool pulls a prank on us?"

Dazai, ever the instigator tilts his head with a mischievous smile. "Exactly. You're just too ticklish for your own good. It's almost cruel how easy it is."

You can barely respond through your laughter, your body jolting as Dazai continues to trace his fingers along your stomach. Every stroke is deliberate, testing just how far you can go before the laughter turns into desperation.

"Aww, does this spot really get you?" he muses, pulling your shirt up to expose more of your bare skin. His fingers explore the sensitive areas just below your ribs, sending shocks of ticklish sensation up your sides.

"N-no!" you manage between gasps of laughter but Dazai pretends not to hear.

Chuuya chuckles darkly. "Oh, don't play innocent now." He slides one of his hands down to tug your sleeve downward , revealing your bare underarms. His fingers start gently teasing the skin, barely grazing it at first, before he digs in, tickling your exposed armpits with ruthless precision.

"Bet you regret that prank now, huh?" Chuuya leans in close, his voice low and teasing as he watches you squirm. His fingers work over every inch of your underarm, the tickling sensation almost unbearable.

Your laughter is relentless, your body jerking and twisting but Chuuya's weight keeps you pinned. "Too bad you can't move" he mocks, as if your frantic movements weren't enough evidence of your helplessness. "You're stuck here until we decide we're done."

Dazai's hands drift lower again, targeting the soft skin of your belly and sides, his fingers moving in torturous patterns. "It's like you're not even trying to stop us," Dazai teases with mock sympathy.

"Or maybe you're just having so much fun down there." He gives a playful squeeze to your side, making you arch involuntarily from the shock of the sensation.

Chuuya smirks down at you, his fingers still working over your bare armpits, shifting from soft teasing strokes to firmer tickling. "I have to admit, you're handling this better than I thought" he says with a grin. "Though I doubt you'll be able to prank us again after this."

Dazai chuckles, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your stomach, occasionally moving to your hips and lower ribs. "Don't worry, we're just getting started.After all, we can't let you off that easy for being so mean to us."

They both laugh as if sharing an inside joke but to you, every word feels like a playful taunt as you lie there helpless, laughter pouring out of you while they take their sweet time exploiting your most ticklish spots.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #tickle fic #tickletorture

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weresilver · 5 months ago

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Sentinel AU vignette

I ended up writing a thing mostly unrelated to anything that I actually have going in order to battle writer's block. It worked. And I even picked up the secret santa fic again (sorry guys, but it's coming along!) but the now-diagnosed-yet-unmedicated ADHD is now kicking my butt with how much I actually have to do in a hurry.

For now, have this cute lil thing :)

Note: I'm a nerd, who will work with TS canon. This is 1982, however. So, y'know. No one is actually referred to as a Sentinel in this.

When her little brother started crying this evening, Stella Williams knew it would be a rough night. Call it a big sister’s intuition. Her parents told her to never doubt it. That same intuition told her that her little Danny would end up a... What was it Dad called it? A guardian?

Guardian, yes.

Stella never presented any enhanced senses during her childhood, and, at 12 — almost 13 — years old, she decided she was glad for it. Dad didn’t really talk about how his three enhanced senses came online, but she wondered. If it had been as bad as it was going for Danny lately — and he was at the age where only one sense came online — then she could easily accept she had none of it.

She found him sitting on the floor of his room, scratching rather frantically at his arm and sniffling sadly. Stella crouched in front of him, not daring to touch.

“‘Tella,” Danny called. He didn’t open his arms for a hug as he usually did, instead pulling his t-shirt away from his body. It was a sad, pathetic sight that pulled at her heartstrings.

Not that she would ever say that out loud. She actually really loved her little brother.

“Hey, Danny.” She kept her voice soft. “Mom and Dad are not back yet,” she trailed off, watching his face scrunch up again. “What if I run you a bath, huh?”

Danny nodded, still sniffling and teary eyed, but doing his best not to cry again. Stella ran out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, setting what she needed up. Watching the tub fill, she kept an ear out to her brother, though the sound of the water drowned out most of the little kid noises Danny would make.

At six years old, their parents’ only surprise — well, Dad’s only surprise — was that the first sense to come forth had been touch. It had been a few months now, but this week was the first time it really seemed to bother Danny. The fact that touch didn’t seem to be a sense that ran in the family was what surprised Dad; it was also what made Stella believe her little brother would be a guardian.

She wasn’t quite sure what that would entail. All five senses enhanced, sure. But Dad was always saying that there was more to it than just the senses. All the stories in his side of the family said so. She didn’t really understand those stories, to be honest.

She shut the water off, tested the water, and, satisfied that the temperature wouldn’t aggravate his skin, the way Mom had told her. Well, time to get her little brother all set before their parents arrived with Matty and Bri.

————

Itchy, itchy, itchy.

Danny’s clothes hadn’t bothered him before, he didn’t think, but it was really bad this week. Mom and Pops were busy with Matty and Bri, somewhere not in the house, but he knew that it was important. Stella was there with him, though, and that was fine; she was kind of boring, but for once he wasn’t in the mood to play.

His sister had left to run him a bath, since it usually helped a lot with the itchiness and the heat. He was thinking he didn't like summer much.

A clicking sort of sound came from behind him just as Stella turned on the water in the bathroom; she wouldn't hear the noise.

Danny turned around quickly, facing the big animal that was suddenly in the room with him.

————

The first thing she heard when she left the bathroom caught her off guard. Giggling was not the type of sound Stella associated with her brother struggling with his sense of touch.

Maybe it was one of those “laugh so you don't cry” things. Danny seemed to try his hardest not to cry when it came to his sense of touch being weird. Instead, he threw one heck of a temper tantrum that only Dad seemed able to get through, sometimes.

Either way, Danny's bath was ready and—

Well, shit. May her mother never hear her thoughts at the sight that greeted her.

“Hi, ‘Tella!” Danny waved from where he lay on the flank of... a really large wolf. Larger still when next to a six-year-old boy. Stella was hard pressed to admit that she was gaping. “I have a friend!”

The wolf nosed at Danny’s cheek, gently, making her little brother giggle again. It was, somewhat disturbingly, an adorable sight.

“Uh, Danny?” He made a questioning noise in return. Or, heck, that had been the wolf, she wasn't sure. But they were both looking at her with equally curious faces. “Where did it come from?”

The kid frowned, hard, looking between her and the wolf as if her question didn’t make sense at all.

“He’s my friend,” he repeated. “He came here.”

Stella nodded. It was all she could do, really; she was pretty sure that every window was closed and the doors were locked. And, well, someone would have said something if a wolf had escaped a zoo, right?

The wolf was watching her, not as though cautious of her, but just... Analyzing her? She shook her head minutely, choosing to ignore what sounded like a huff from the animal.

“He’s my family,” Danny stated, quite simply, “His name’s Fen’ee.”

It dawned on her quickly after that. Family. Familiar, the wolf was Danny’s familiar. Well, Mom was gonna love this. This Fen’ee was huge. But Danny was lying down, using its flank as a pillow and back rest, and, for the first time today, he looked downright peaceful.

The wolf nosed at Danny again, this time at his ribs, in order to get him to stand up. Her little brother scrambled upright, using his companion to balance himself.

“Ready for that bath?” Stella asked as she stood up. Danny nodded happily, eager even though he wasn’t scratching at his arms anymore. The wolf — Fen nipped gently at Danny’s t-shirt, making the boy giggle one more time, and turned his attention her. There was intelligence in the golden eyes, as well as a good dose of humor. It let its tongue loll out, gently wagging its tail. “Thanks, Fen.”

It tilted its head, looking a little confused at the nickname. Well, Stella would have to figure out what its actual name was at some other point; she had a little half fish sibling to take care of.

#Hawaii Five-0 #H50 #hawaii five 0 #Danny Williams #Stella Williams #Sentinel AU #Sentinels and Guides are NOT known in this universe (yet)#I know exactly how I got here but Danny and Stella's relationship is really special to me at this point #I don't think we have Stella in canon at all other than mentions by Eric and Danny but that's just fine for me #This file is also affectionally called ''Baby Sentinel''. 'Cause well y'all can see why #wereswriting

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cookie-gal · 4 months ago

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A mini-chapter of The Faint hearted King (my EPIC AU)

No more hiding

His feet were aching so much but he knew if he stopped, SHE would catch him

Odysseus' anxiety starts spiraling, making his heart race in the process, his breathing also feels more rapid than before, He clenches the held small child on his shoulder tightly, arms trembling too

The child slowly opened their eyes

"Dad, when are we going ever going to play hide and seek? You promised we would."

"W-what..?"

Hide and seek? He promised Telemachus that they would play hide and seek together, but... he's seems to have forgotten?

Wow, such a awful father forgetting a child's game?! What kind of father are you? Why are you hopeless

"Dad, can we please play hide and seek now?"

"Hide and... O-of course Tel-Telemachus! I.. just u-uhm I.."

A soft gasp came out, as Odysseus spots a familiar small bedroom, Telemachus' bedroom. The cautious father gently pulls the doors open, sitting the small toddler in the middle of the carpet

"Dad, am I going to be the one that's seeking you?"

"I... Y-yes, yeah, of course s-son!"

Stop stuttering so damn much he's gonna noticed something's wrong!

"Hey Tele... can you do something for me?"

"What's that dad?"

"Can you.....cover your ears while you count?"

"What, why?"

"W-well, it's easier to y-you know concentrate."

"Ohh okay! How long do you want me to count dad?"

"Can you count to..100? P-please..!"

"I'll try my best to dad!"

Telemachus counted, slightly stuttering on certain numbers but still continued as Odysseus gives him a soft smile slowly closing the door. The nice tranquility feeling instantaneously stopped, all what was left was nothing but dread-like atmosphere and then, a haunting voice echoing in the halls her, voice..

"OH ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA!!"

"Oh no..!"

He didn't really have time to fully react to anything else, as soon as he made his way near the corner, his wrists are quickly yanked by someone

"C-Calypso!"

"Ody, y'know that I sharpened my toy to play with you~"

She says as she pulls out the old rustic bloodied dagger pointing it towards his neck, making Odysseus feel a painful lump in his throat

"How's about we test it out today~"

"No..N-no please, I don't..want to!"

"I'm not waiting any longer old king!"

"W-what are you.? GAH!!"

Slid him onto the cold floor stomping on his back, causing him to shake in pain. Odysseus felt like his ribs were getting crushed, there was too much pressure on his back. His struggling was making things worse for him as Calypso called out to the others presumably to make his pain worse than it already was

"HEY LADIES GET OVER HERE! IT'S TIME TO PLAY!"

"NO PLEASE DON'T!"

Calypso skids Odysseus right towards the dining room door, he frantically tried to get up before anything else bad could happened but it was too late, Calypso shoves Odysseus back to the floor making his back pain more painful

"There's no point fighting back, y'know you're so weak, so malnourished to do anything. And if you do try, I can just stab you up and put you out of your misery"

She's right, she's always right about you.. You're so weak how can you even call yourself a king? How are you even still alive

Sinister smiles were revealed once the door was opened, tears welled up in Odysseus' eyes as the Suitress grabbed both of his arms pinning him down on the big long metal table

"Agh, g-gods please... Please let me go! Why are you always doing this to me!"

"Isn't it simple? You just have to learn?"

"What?"

"Like she said, we're just teaching you some lessons.."

Calypso entered the room walking right on top of where the sad king was being held down, Practically towering over him

Her speech continued

"If you really are a man, and a great king like you say you are even though, YOU refused to go to war...and let your wife take your place. Then you're able to handle all of this ache and scars like a true man is able to."

"That's, that's not true, that's not right either! I didn't make Penelope go.."

"That was her own choice-"

Calypso jabs her dagger almost near Odysseus' ear, making him flinch

"HER CHOICE?? HER CHOICE WAS MADE BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCH A PATHETIC MAN! HELL, NO WONDER YOU'RE QUEEN LEFT YOU! OH MAN, NOW YOU'RE A EVEN BETTER LESSON!"

"NO, NO PLEASE! I.."

"Then again, I'm getting tired of playing this game. Instead of his arm how about we stab somewhere else"

"Wh-what do you mean- AH!"

No longer on laying on his pained back but on his stomach at this point, Odysseus knew what was about to happen next he tries escaping the suitress' grasp when something catches his eye.

A knife sharp or not, it's his way out of this torture

C'mon just need to r-reach!

"AGH!"

Odysseus felt a sudden pain pull from his arm. He couldn't really turn his head to see what was happening but he could feel. They were pulling his arms back his struggling wasn't really helping himself it was making it more painful than before

"AGH PLEASE STOP! IT HURTS, IT HURTS SO MUCH!"

"Your pain wouldn't be as bad as you're making it if you weren't resisting so much."

"That's enough, ladies I think I can handle this by myself"

The two Suitress looked at each other then shrugged, giving Calypso space, letting go of Odysseus' weakened frail arms. Calypso stomped right on Odysseus making him cry out painfully. And then, feeling a sharp pain in his back Odysseus screamed. His frantic clawing on the table made him almost forget what he was after while trying to escape his torment, the knife

His vision was blurry through the tears but still slightly visible and there it was, the knife right in his shakey hand. Odysseus takes action, in attempt to stab Calypso

"LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!"

Odysseus cried out stabbing his abuser's arm causing, her to cringe in pain, making Odysseus sorta slowly escape towards the door

"GAH DAMMIT AFTER HIM NOW!"

Calypso shouted, holding her stabbed arm

Odysseus, hands trembling with the knife in his trying not to cry nor look more vulnerable

"ST-STAY BACK!"

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WHY DID YOU STUTTER?!

The nervous man points the knife viciously at the two women.. That is until one of the two women got closer to him and grips the held knife. The realization started to kick in..

"This is a damn butter knife!"

The Suitress commented

The two baffled Suitress turned to Calypso confused by how she was stabbed in the first place

"What?"

She asked with annoyance and confusion in her voice

Awkward silence filled in the room, after the silence, the 3 of them realized that Odysseus was gone.. Before anything else could happen Calypso stopped the two girls

"Let'em go, he's been through enough torture for tonight. He's got enough mental scars and physical scars from us~"

Calypso smiles licking the blood off her dagger

It was over, atleast for now... Odysseus couldn't tell if he was feeling exhausted or relieved as he limped around the corridor, stopping by at a door and then collapsing

Telemachus, after hours of counting and repeatedly stuttering on certain numbers finally has to seek for his father.. The little boy seeked, and searched to only find bathroom door and a small trail of red beneath the door..

The small child gently opened the door to see his father hugging himself shaking alot and mumbling quietly

"Dad, are you okay?"

Telemachus asked softly

#epic the musical #the faint hearted king au #warrior penelope au #odysseus #telemachus #calypso #suitress #penelope #someone give this sad man a hug #epic the musical fic

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