#But I wanted it to be the closest thing to reality and the time came

[marredmusings]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

[honehonn3honey]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Sunday, Boothill, Welt, Gallagher, Blade, and Dan Heng react to his shy gn crush giving him a love letter before leaving quickly?

Sunday:

Is calm upon receiving the note and still just as calm after reading it.

He knew this day was coming, you weren’t necessarily subtle about it either but he didn’t want to bring it up to you, knowing that if he did you’d loose all the confidence you’ve mustered up in order to give him the note.

He could read you like an open book and yet your sweet, genuine words touched his heart regardless. You held his heart in your hand and you weren’t even aware, he’ll be sure to rectify that soon enough.

While he wishes you could’ve told him in person, however he’ll gladly suffice for a note instead, seeing as it was the closest he’ll get in regard to an official confession.

With his place in your heart ensured, Sunday could finally use this as an opportunity to spoil you to your hearts content. Anything and everything you could ever possibly want or wish for was going to be yours if he had anything to do with it.

Your wish was his command and he’ll gladly rid himself of any competitors for your heart, all the while shielding your eyes from his underhanded tactics in doing so.

Welt:

You make this old man feel as though he were young and lively when you gave him the note and running off before he could say anything.

He felt as though he was in a romcom that he saw once…not that he was complaining.

Your note was so sweet and thoughtful that the more he continued to read, the more he began to find even more reasons to love you, for who you were was the most precious and perfect person in his life.

He didn’t want to confess first incase that he misread your past interactions for something else, but the note you’ve given him proved that his initial thoughts were correct, and that in reality he was just insecure and felt silly of the idea that someone his age was still experiencing things such as a crush.

But it was so much more than that and Welt knew it.

The only question left was, when was it going to be his time to confess?

Dan heng:

Thank god he took the note back to his room while he did because had he read it beforehand, otherwise his fellow trailblazers would’ve seen his face go the reddest it’s ever been in history.

He reads and re-reads your note to make sure that he wasn’t tricking himself but no, it was a real physical note from you confessing your crush on him.

Dan Heng felt as though he needed to sit down and think this through before he did something impulsive and stupid.

His little dragon noodle brain was telling him that he should seek out the most beautiful of all treasures, whether that be literature, clothing, jewels, and give them to you in droves in hopes of impressing you into being his mate.

Dan Heng dismisses it quickly as it came as it’ll probably overwhelm you and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted, and with that it was back to the drawing board to brainstorm.

Gallagher:

The moment he reads your note, he’s already got ideas on how your first date should go.

He’s not pissing about, not when you’ve given him the opportunity to treat you like he thought you should be treated; like you were the most priceless thing in existence because to him you very much were.

So why should he hesitate and potentially miss his chance to be with the person of his dreams?

He knew your favourite drink like the back of his hand from the countless times he’s made in perfecting it to your liking, so that wasn’t going to be as much of a problem as asking you out on a date was.

But he’ll figure something out, even if he’d have to improvise on the day. It would’ve been worth it if it meant having you by his side by the end of it.

Blade:

He’s not use to this sort of thing as love notes were a foreign concept to him.

He understood the intention and meaning behind it but he wasn’t the one to receive such notes.

So when you dropped off the note with him and ran the faster he’s ever seen you with a flustered look upon your face, Blade instantly knew then and there what the note was solely from your expression.

He wasn’t stupid so why he feeling a fluttering within his chest upon making this revelation?

It wasn’t painful nor caused his body any ache nor strife, if anything the more the warm, euphoric feeling spread throughout his body, the more his daily pains become an after thought in light of a possibility that you might actually like him back.

He always thought that the stories and blood -both his own and others- that stained his hands would run you off within a moments notice. Instead you choose to grasp his hands gently, wipe away the blood unfazed and still be able to look into his eyes after all that and smile.

You were his and Blade would be damned if he allowed anyone to encroach on you, regardless of their intentions. You weren’t to be taken from him for he’s already been through a lot and you weren’t going to be another name amongst the lost.

Boothill:

‘What’s this? Finally come to confess to me have you?’ He’d tease but would be genuinely surprised when he opens the note and finds that it actually is a confession note.

His crush? Liking him back? Bullshit!

He may act confident and self assured but he was in heavily in denial to begin with, but the more he re-read the note, he could tell that you were being serious. Which was a drastic change from your typically shy and anxious demeanour.

He even had to pinch the skin of his face to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming this up and that you were genuinely in love with him.

Sad he knows, but would you really be willing to date a man who wouldn’t be able to feel you expect from his face? Yeah he didn’t think so.

And yet you’ve proven him wrong by writing him a love letter confessing how you didn’t care about that, and how you loved him regardless if he could feel you or not. He was still someone you cared for deeply at the end of the day, never less someone you happened to find attractive. You weren’t shallow and Boothill knows this.

Not only that but he was genuinely scared that his best wasn’t going to be enough for you, sweet, kind, caring you…However Boothill recognises that hesitating and fearing the what ifs weren’t going to help him in wining your heart true and proper.

[shibaraki]

THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending

wc: 4.2K

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.

In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.

You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.

That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.

The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.

“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.

The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.

Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.

Everybody would be there.

Tsukishima would be there.

You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.

You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?

Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.

You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.

“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.

“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.

“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”

Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.

Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.

Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.

Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”

Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.

“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”

Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.

“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.

“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.

“I read your book on the plane”.

Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”

“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.

Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.

“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.

“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.

Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.

“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”

“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”

Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.

“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.

Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”

Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.

An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.

Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.

Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.

You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.

You regret it not two minutes later.

Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.

It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.

You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.

“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.

A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.

You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.

Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.

“So, uh. How’ve you been?”

Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.

You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”

“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.

“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”

Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”

You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.

Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You don’t read Volleyworld”.

“How would you know that?”

Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.

Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.

Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’

You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.

Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.

Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?

“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.

Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.

“You cried at The Land Before Time”.

“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.

In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.

“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.

“I remember”.

Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.

“Do you remember the song that was playing?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”

There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.

You remember.

Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.

“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.

Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.

You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.

What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.

You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.

“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.

Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.

The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.

He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.

“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.

You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.

“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.

“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.

“This okay?”

In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”

“Hm?”

“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.

You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.

“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.

“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.

“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.

“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.

You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.

“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.

You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.

His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.

Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.

It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.

This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.

Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

But love doesn’t only exist in stories.

You remember that, now.

[catladyoftheyr]

Muscle Memory

Pt 2

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Summary: you left town for your career, but you and Miguel always end up hooking up whenever you come back home.

Warnings/ Authors note: I was listening to Muscle Memory by Kelsea Ballerini and I had a vision and had to write it down.

Warnings and other things to be aware of : SMUT (FILTHY 18+ I’m so serious), alcohol, but neither character becomes inebriated, rough sex, unprotected p in v, light choking, filming of sex, oral sex for both parties, lots of dirty talk, creampie, facial, semi public sex/exhibitionism. You’re fucking against his car in a back alley parking lot.

Word count: 2.7k

Special tag for @lazyjellyfish300 I know you wanna read it bb 🕷️🪼

You haven't been home in months, but as you walked through the entryway of the local dive, you saw that your favorite spot on the end of the bar was still open. You slid onto the stool and ordered a margarita on the rocks. You sipped your drink quietly and pulled out your phone to check your email. You moved to a larger city after college for your career, but now it felt like work followed you everywhere you went, even off the clock. You were so absorbed in work that you didn’t notice that someone had taken the seat next to you at the bar: at least until you heard a familiar voice.

“Every time I see you you’re on that damn phone”

“Some of us have jobs, Miguel.”

“I have a job, thank you very much. It’s my bar you’re sitting in if I recall.” He smirked as he said the last sentence.

“Don’t you have work to do then? Besides terrorizing paying customers?” You couldn’t help but crack a smile. Miguel might be annoying, but he was still the closest friend you had back home. He’d never resented you for leaving town, even if he’d wanted you to stay.

“You know your drinks are on the house when you come here, cariño”. He made his accent heavy when he used the pet name. He knew you had a soft spot when he spoke Spanish. Miguel motioned to the bartender and ordered you another margarita

“It seems like bad business practice to give free drinks to any beautiful woman that walks through your door. O’haras is gonna close if you keep it up” you joked, sliding your phone back in your pocket.

“Aye, only for you. How long are you staying this time?” He replied. He slid your drink in front of you, toying with the straw. The glass looked comically small next to Miguel’s large hands. Your mind drifted to the nights where his hands had been tangled in your hair, palming your breasts, and inside your-

You came back to reality when you felt Miguel playing with your bra strap under your sleeve. The song had changed to something country, and Miguel was humming in your ear. “You know what they say, tequila makes her clothes fall off” he whispered as he slid your strap further down your shoulder.

You slid your strap back in place and moved Miguel’s hand back to the bar. “You’re gonna have to do better than if you want to get in my pants tonight, Mig.” You wanted him just as badly, but weren’t ready to give in just yet. You wanted to make him work for it. “I bet you can’t beat me at pool”

Miguel let out a loud laugh and threw back his head. “That’s not even a fair fight. I’d feel terrible seeing you lose.”

“Aww is Miggy scared to lose to a girl? Sounds like you’re a chicken” you replied, knowing exactly how to rile him up. You got a thrill out of agitating Miguel, the way his forehead creased, his mouth curling downward.

“I’m telling you right now that I’m gonna wipe the floor with you,” he shot back, clearly holding back a smile. “Don’t expect me to hold back just because you suck” he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less than the best from Miguel O’Hara.” You walked over to the pool table, sensing Miguel’s eyes trained on your ass as he ordered another round of drinks. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” You called after him.

“I’m just admiring the view, baby”

If he wanted a show, you’d be sure to give him one. You made sure to raise your arms as high as you could when you reached for the pool sticks. You made sure that your shirt rode up, exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of your shorts. You handed one of the sticks to Miguel with a smug grin on your face. He bit his lip as he watched you arrange the balls in the rack; he ogled you as you deliberately arched your back bending over the table. “You can break,” you said flirtatiously.

Miguel took on a look of intense focus. You could see the way he calculated the best angle to shoot from. His t-shirt came untucked from his jeans when he moved around the table. You took in the view of his tanned skin, and the way his immense frame loomed over everything. Miguel had sunk three balls in quick succession before missing his next shot. He swore under his breath and turned to face you. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“Come on, Mig. At least give me a chance to play before you sink everything.”

“No way! I told you I wasn’t going to go easy on you.”

You knew you didn’t stand a chance at winning; but you weren’t giving up without a fight. There weren’t any rules about distracting your opponent. You gave your shorts a gentle tug to emphasize your figure before analyzing which ball to aim for. You picked your target and leaned forward, moving your hips from side to side knowing Miguel was watching you. You took your shot slowly and watched with disappointment as the cue ball sank into a hole. “Fuck”

“Woof, a scratch on your first turn? You’re making this too easy” Miguel taunted you with a smirk. He grabbed two bottles of beer off a table and tore off the caps with his teeth, spitting them into his open palm before shoving them in his pocket. It was his favorite party trick, and he knew it turned you on. He turned back to the pool table. “Watch and learn, nena. This is how a pro does it.” He sunk two more stripes and missed the third.

That made five balls to your whopping total of zero. Time to ramp up your distraction strategy. “If you’re so good, then why don’t you help with this next shot?” You tried to sound as innocent as possible.

Miguel obliged and stood behind you, his frame towering over you. He placed his arms on yours and the heat of his body sent shockwaves down your spine. You bent together in perfect sync as Miguel showed you where to aim, saying something about keeping an eye on the ball and how to line up your shot. You weren’t listening, instead pressing your hips against his. You moved slowly and deliberately, grinding against his crotch. The friction was driving you both crazy, but neither of you wanted to be the first to admit it. Miguel stifled a moan and pressed into you even harder. Neither of you cared about pool anymore. He nipped at your ear and you tried not to squeak. The pool sticks fell to the tabletop and Miguel leaned to whisper in you ear.

“Follow me.” Miguel grabbed your hand and you both stumbled out the back door of the bar into the parking lot. Immediately he had you pressed against the brick wall of the building. His lips crashed into yours, desperate and frenzied. You kissed back and grabbed his hair in an effort to pull him even closer. His tongue found its way into mouth while you moaned into the kiss. Miguel broke the kiss only to move his lips to your neck. “You’re such a fucking tease.” His eyes bored into yours. “Every time you come home you come into my bar, practically fucking begging to end up underneath me.”

“And you it up, Miggy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and hoisted yourself up to cross your legs behind his back. “You want me so bad; you’d do anything for this pussy.” Miguel’s hands cupped your ass, sliding under the hem of your shorts. You moaned as he kneaded your flesh expertly. He carried you over to his car while you were still wrapped around him. Miguel let you down and leaned against the hood of his car, his cock clearly straining against the denim of his jeans.

“This is what you do to me, baby. You drive me so fucking crazy.” He groaned. You rubbed his cock through the fabric, relishing the noise he made as you teased him. You unbuckled his belt and tugged down his pants and boxers. Miguel’s cock sprang free and you could barely wrap your hand around his thick girth. You were no stranger to his body but could swear he seemed bigger than you remembered. Miguel moaned loudly as you slowly your hand up and down his shaft, taking care to rub your thumb over his sensitive tip.

Whenever you and Miguel hooked up it felt natural. You’d done this so many times you both knew exactly what the other liked. Every nook and cranny, every secret spot. You knew exactly which buttons to press to drive each other wild. You picked up the pace of your strokes before kneeling to take him in your mouth. “Please baby. I need more. Need you to suck my cock.” Miguel’s voice was desperate and pleading. You licked from base to tip, tasting the salt of the precum he was leaking like a faucet. You bobbed your head up and down, struggling with his size. Miguel bucked his hips in response and you made it halfway down the length of his cock.

You came up for air and spit in your palm and began stroking the base while you sucked. Miguel groaned and you felt him wrap a hand in your hair, pushing your mouth down further. “Come on baby, I know you can take me.” Your hands fell to your sides and Miguel’s hands guided you up and down his shaft. “You’re so fucking pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.” His pace quickened and he began to fuck your face, thrusting down your throat. He pulled out of your mouth and started stroking himself. “Fuckkk I’m gonna cum. Open your mouth for me, baby.” You closed your eyes and stuck out your tongue, feeling ropes of semen hit your face and tongue. You licked your lips, tasting the salt and sweat. You opened your eyes to see Miguel had his phone out. “Smile for me, hermosa. You look so pretty with my cum on your face I want to remember this” he cooed while snapping pictures.

Miguel helped you up off your knees and swiped his fingers softly across your face before popping them into his mouth to clean them. He kissed you again before pressing you face down against the hood of his car. You felt his large hand palming against your pussy through your shorts. “Mmmplease, Mig. Don’t tease me like this.” He kept rubbing, pressing the fabric into your folds.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, baby. Paybacks a bitch.” Miguel crouched down and kissed your pussy through your denim shorts; You felt him massage your ass while he pressed his mouth against you. He pressed down firmly as you squirmed under his touch, desperately trying to increase the friction. “Stop fucking wiggling.” He yanked your shorts down so the only thing between him and your cunt was the thin fabric of your thong. He rubbed your clit through your panties and you gasped.

“Please, baby. I need more” you moaned breathlessly. He picked up the pace, making quick circles around your bud with his large fingers. You felt the pleasure building steadily as Miguel worked his magic. “Ah! I’m almost there. Keep going, Miggy!” Just as the words left your mouth he stopped, leaving you hanging on the edge of your orgasm. “What the fuck was that for?!” You turned to face him and saw a shit eating grin on his face. “It’s not fucking funny, Mig” you groaned.

“I told you, payback is a bitch. You don’t get to cum until I say you can, baby.” You sighed and Miguel pressed you against the car hood again with one hand, using the other to push your panties to the side. He slid one thick finger into you and moved it slowly in and out. “You’re so fucking wet for me baby. And so tight. I’m gonna stretch this pussy out” he cooed, adding a second finger. “That’s it, baby.” He knelt down again and you felt him trade his fingers for his tongue. He darted in and out of your entrance, and you flooded with wetness. “You taste so fucking good”. Miguel continued licking, kissing, and sucking every fold of your slit. The pleasure building up was starting to become unbearable; you had no idea how you were going to be able to hold back. Then Miguel said the magic words: “Cum for me, cariño” he purred, sucking on your clit as if his life depended on it.

You let yourself fall over the edge and you gasped as your orgasm overtook you. Waves of pleasure racked your body and you found yourself speechless. You were coming down from the rush when you felt the tip of Miguel’s cock poking at your entrance. “It’s too big” you moaned, already feeling the stretch from just the tip.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ve done this before. You’re so good at taking me, baby.” Miguel replied, pressing in another inch of his girth. He grunted as he felt you stretching around him. “Your pussy is so good. You make me feel so good.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up to his chest, pushing his cock in further. He grabbed your hair and turned your face toward him to kiss you again. The kiss deepened and became frenzied as you felt him going deeper and deeper until he finally bottomed out inside of you. You felt so full you couldn’t believe he fit inside of you.

“Your cock is so fucking big, Miggy. I need you to fuck me.” You moaned, not caring if anyone else was around. Miguel took your words to heart and immediately started pumping in and out, your wetness running down your thighs. He kept a steady pace, hitting the sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. “Fuck me harder” you cried, cockdrunk.

Miguel pulled out and flipped you over, dragging you both to the side of his car. He pulled out his phone again and pressed record before reentering you. “Put on a show for me baby, show the camera how good I make you feel.” You moaned louder, happy to show off for him. Miguel pushed up your shirt to expose your tits and palmed them roughly with one hand. He groped and squeezed, pinching and rolling your nipples between his digits.

“Fuck, Miggy. You feel so good. Keep going”

“You’re taking this cock so well, baby. The camera loves you. You’re such a little slut for me I love it.” He pumped harder, hitting your cervix with his tip. His spare hand moved from your chest to your throat and he squeezed lightly. You let out a moan and felt pleasure start to build in your core again. You used one hand to start rubbing circles on your clit while Miguel was thrusting. “That’s it, baby. Rub it out for me. You’re taking my cock so well.”

“M-mig I’m close. I’m gonna cum” you squeaked out, the circles on your clit becoming more frantic.

“Go on, nena. Cum on my cock. Show me how pretty you look when you’re cumming for me.” Miguel’s encouragement pushed you over the edge and your second orgasm ripped through your body. You felt yourself clench tighter around his cock and he thrusted harder, taking his hand off your throat and using it to steady you against the side of the car. “I’m gonna cum, baby. I’m gonna put a baby in you, then you can’t leave me again.” Miguel gave one final thrust before you felt him release, spilling his seed inside of you. He grunted before pulling out slowly.

“That was so good, mig. I remember why I come back to this place when I’m in town now” you joked, pulling your clothes back into place. Miguel finished redressing himself and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah? Well maybe you should come home more often then.”

[undercovercameron]

hole in one

summary: you're a server at the island club, and you may or may not have a favorite customer.

notes: i'm back baby! haven't written anything in a good while but i suddenly had this image of a girly reader and a flirty golfer rafe with that season 3 buzzcut... i HAD to make a pun with this title and i'm so glad i did. also i always write rafe a little more attentive and well-meaning than he is, so take this headcanon of nice rafe with a grain of salt-- and this shit is hella dirty so please enjoy and let me know what you think ;) (also im coming back to edit this fully in a little bit but i wanted to post just to prove i still love and use this account kajddjd)

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 4453

Some things in Rafe’s life were simple pleasures. 

A cocktail during dinner, a night where all the TV he watched was reality shows, a cigarette on a night out. The silence of his childhood home. 

Golf, coincidentally, was also one of those things. The course he frequented was just a ten-minute drive from his house, and he had priority parking. As a donor and a club-member of course. The drinks were cheap, the company was even cheaper, and he had a killer swing. There was rarely an afternoon out on that green that he didn’t enjoy. He felt closest to peace when all he had to work for was getting that tiny white golf ball sunk into a hole. 

They were often sweaty putting sessions, as the North Carolina heat in the summer was no joke, but the traveling drink cart was a brief respite from that. 

“What can I get you?” You ask, bright and long-lashed. Your hair was done in a tight updo, your makeup was flawless, and not a single spec of dirt or turf lay on your uniform. You took pride in your appearance and the effects it had on the loose wallets of the Outer Banks’ finest real estate investors and offshore bank account holders. Most of all, you enjoyed a certain someone’s attention. 

Rafe peeks under the overhang of the cart and stares at your selection. He stands with his hands on his hips, gold rings flashing in the hot sunlight. You take a look at him for the first time today, eyes taking over his bent form. He has gray slacks on with a dark blue polo stretched over his well-built back, unbuttoned to show the tiniest glint of blonde chest hair and his gold chain. He spared no expense when it came to his appearance, you’d come to notice. 

“I think,” he starts, standing back up, and fixes you with his blue-eyed stare. It makes you hold back a shiver despite the heat. “A double tequila soda.” 

He gives you a once-over, admiring the way your skirt hugs your waist and the sparkle of your earrings. He always likes when the girls have their hair up— gives him a sneak peek of what it’d look like if he pulled it. 

“Three limes? Just how you like?” You ask, breaking his focus, and reach for a plastic cocktail cup. You have a freckle behind your ear, he notices. 

“Exactly right,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, and his face splits into a grin when you glance at him and blush. He could be back with his friends from highschool, talking shit about their shitty swings or increasingly high scores, but he’s not. He’s right here, watching closely as you carefully measure the ice and pour a perfect double shot. 

“How’re you guys playing today?” You ask, a humiliating attempt at small talk, and you feel sweat bead on your lower back. 

“Shit, honestly,” Rafe laughs. “These jack-offs couldn’t get a hole-in-one if it was right in front of their fucking faces. And I’ve been distracted all day.” He looks down at you over the bridge of his nose, liking the way you tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Heat getting to you?” You squeeze the final lime and turn away from the cart, holding it out with a polite smile. He takes it carefully. 

“Something like that,” he says, cocking his head, and takes a sip. Tart. Just how he likes it. “Hey.” He digs a hand into his pocket and the tips of your cheekbones heat again for some reason. “Keep the change.” He hands you a fifty. 

You take it between hesitant fingers, peering up at him. 

“The drink is $6, Rafe.” 

He always does this. Pays cash with big bills and tells you to keep the change. He gave you a twenty for a packet of peanuts one time. “I don’t know if I can legally take this.”

He just shrugs. 

“Consider it a personal donation.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“Makes me feel better. I think you deserve a little extra for your services—it takes a lot of work to look that good for a bunch of old geezers in sweater vests and loafers. I know I appreciate it.” He turns and starts off towards his group, yanking his sunglasses out of his shirt and jamming them onto his face. “I like your bra, by the way. ‘S my favorite color.”

You glance down the collar of your shirt, heart thumping, and look back up. 

That stupid fucking swagger he has. He’s going to throw out his back walking around like a peacock like that. 

You tug your shirt up, hiding the red bra you’d chosen for today, and hop back on the cart. Off to another hole where another old man will look down your shirt and ask for his Manhattan with two cherries instead of one. 

You think you’ll either quit this job or start wearing a fucking monk robe. 

The next time you see him is back at the club. Your boss had you on pool bartender duty, opposed to the drink cart you favored, and you were a little out of your element. 

The customer demographic was different, which you enjoyed, but they all seemed to want a lot more and a lot quicker. There was no loitering around to small talk; you had to work quickly and attentively to earn these housewives’ measly two dollar tip on margarita pitchers. 

You had spilled raspberry purée on your company-approved golf dress more times than you could count in your six hour shift. Near the end of it, however, Rafe had made his way to the end of the bar and watched as you ducked to put away the umbrella toothpicks and quickly and secretly downed a shot of Tito’s. Drinking on the job. Hm. 

(It’s not that you like to be drunk at work; it’s more of a little ‘fuck you’ to your boss, you think.)

“Hi,” you say on an exhale, coming over and wiping the already-spotless counter with a black rag. “What can I get you?” You have dangly earrings on today, and a different shade of lipgloss than he is accustomed to.

“Two grapefruit High Noon’s.” He folds his arms and leans on the counter, so close he could smell your perfume. “I could report you for that, you know,” he says, voice as low as a whisper. You peer up at him, lips pursed, and scan his face. No ill intent. Just an easy smile and dirty eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” You reach for the fridge underneath the mixing mats and pull two cold cans from the shelf. You sit them on the counter and stare up at him. “You’re a real upstanding customer, huh?”

“Mhm.” He twists his pointer-finger ring mindlessly. “You owe me.” The corners of his lips quirk up. 

“Oh, do I?” You ask, giving him your best ’I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look. You know he likes that. 

The fact is that you and Rafe had countless conversations exactly like this one. Whether it be at the drink cart, on the way out of the building, or back inside in the restaurant bar. He always somehow leaned over you, smiling like the flirtatious bastard that he was, and making you feel like he’d like nothing more than to take you to his car and show you how much he actually enjoyed being served by you. That’s how you imagined him in bed, at least. Proving a point. 

He takes the two cans in one hand and straightens up, fixing you with a dangerous look. 

“Your shift ends in ten minutes, yeah?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You square your shoulders and stare back. 

“Good. I’ll take you home. Well, mine.” He backs up closer to where his friends are sitting at a covered patio table, mischievous smile flashing white in the sun. 

“I have a car, you know,” you say, leaning on the counter with folded arms. You ignore the hot rush of blood in your veins from his words. “And I have to shower.”

“What makes you think I don’t have a shower?” He purses his lips, faking the wildly confused look, and turns back around to his friends. 

You just sigh, exasperated with him, and work on cleaning up your station. God, it has to be him? The boy you had a crush on in elementary school? You’ve had plenty of hookups in your adult life, but none as close to home as this one. (Literally. You live down the street.) You feel his eyes on you as you scrub a particularly defiant streak of Grenadine from the counter, and feel his gaze on your back when you turn around to get a fresh rag. It makes your face burn hot. 

You know he’s not talking about just hanging out at his place. He probably has a huge shower, for God’s sake, and probably a humongous bed. California king if you can guess. 

You bet he tastes like summer.

After your replacement comes to the bar, you take your lanyard to get into the staff locker room from a hook under the bar and make your way slowly through the gaggles of people to your designated locker. It takes a brief conversation with your boss Angela about if you left the tip jar or took the contents to finally shoulder past the last group of people. 

You tug your bag from the hook, a change of clothes and your shower stuff already packed (as you had been planning to go to the gym after work). You now know you have other forms of exercise coordinated. You give yourself a final look in the little mirror on your locker. Here goes nothing. 

Rafe is waiting outside the swinging door when you push past it, button up shirt and shoes haphazardly thrown on. He immediately takes your bag from you and slings it over one massive shoulder, starting for the exit. 

“I can carry my own things, Rafe,” you say, slightly out of breath with the effort it takes to catch up to him. 

“Yeah, well, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He casts a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised seriously. You roll your eyes. 

His bedroom door pushes open and you stumble back, hand tight on his bicep as he walks you further. His hand circles your waist as he ducks to kiss you again, mouth hot and commanding over yours. 

He tastes exactly how you imagined. 

His room is bright with sunlight and slightly messy when you glance behind him, but you’re pretty fucking sure you won’t be focused on how his room is decorated when he keeps grabbing at you like this.

The back of your knees hit the bedspread and you fall into a sitting position, posture curved up into his as he leans and holds you by the side of the neck. You make a pleased noise into his mouth and tug at his shirt, suddenly irritated that he is wearing so many clothes. You snake a hand up his shirt and claw at his skin with your sharp nails. 

“Save that for my back,” he breathes, and your fingers fumble to unbutton his shirt as you finally pull it down and off his body. You rejoice at his newfound lack of clothing and smooth a hand over his chest, eyes trained on his toned and tan stomach. 

He’s huge like this, up close, and the warmth radiating from his skin makes your heart jump into your throat. Your fingers splay across the middle of his abdomen, just appreciating the way he breathes under your touch, and you lean back up for his mouth. 

He threads his fingers in your hair and pulls your face so hard to his own that your neck smarts. Between your legs throbs. You protest, grabbing at his wrist, but settle when he shuffles closer to the bed and tilts you back into the sheets.

“Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs. Your back meets silk, and he lifts your open legs up and around his hips as he settles between your thighs comfortably. Right where he should be. 

The feeling of his heavy weight where you’ve been needing it makes your back arch. He breaks away from you and slides a hand down your chest, laying the route that his mouth will take. 

“You smell like cherries,” he says as he presses his mouth to your collarbone and sucks. 

“I know.” You shudder through a laugh and bring your hand up to the back of his head as encouragement. “Spilled Grenadine.”

He hums noncommittally and shoves the hem of your dress up past your hips and to your midriff in one fluid motion. You wriggle for a second, so exposed so fast, but sigh contentedly when his lips meet your stomach. His mouth is so unexplainably hot, and as his tongue meets you your whole body erupts in goosebumps. It sends a shiver down your spine. It’s even better than you imagined. 

“Knew you’d taste so good,” Rafe practically moans, eyes darting to yours, and his fingertips curl around the waistband of your underwear as you watch. Your cheeks flush at his word. You’re honored to be the recipient of words like his— it’s not often Rafe finds himself giving someone a compliment. He lays a final kiss on your stomach and surges back up towards your chest. He mutters gibberish to himself, probably something like “I hate this fucking dress” and yanks your dress up past your tits. 

His fingers find your left nipple and squeeze as his tongue finds the other. You arch again, unused to the sensation, and let loose a groan. His fingers are so soft and light, but his teeth nip. 

You make a noise of surprise, eyebrows furrowing, and tug at the short, blunt locks of his hair. 

“Impatient,” he reprimands, tongue rolling as he glances up at your pink face. You’re strung so tight you might snap. “Needy.” He releases your nipple with a pop. Your lips are so pink and shiny, he just has to kiss you again. You whine into his mouth when he comes back, fingernails scratching at his scalp, and your legs wind around his waist. 

But he lets go of your hip with his left hand and creeps closer to the crotch of your underwear, fingertips dancing. Your grip on his hair tightens. Between your legs pulses with heat and need, hot on his clothed crotch, and he knows he could calculate your BPM just by laying with you like this. 

“Rafe,” you breathe, staring up at him as your chest heaves. 

“Relax,” he shushes, ducking down to press a kiss to your neck, and you gradually relax the muscles that lock your legs to his abdomen. “There you go.” You think you hear a “good girl” fall from his soft lips but it’s in that moment that he pushes past the cotton and digs his hand into your underwear. 

You immediately spur into motion, back arching and mouth dropping into an ‘O’, and he just bites his lip and watches. You’re so responsive, and it makes his dick fucking ache. 

“Thought about this? Hm?” He pants, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth, and grins. “So wet, this pussy’s been begging for me for weeks.”

You struggle to nod, movement interrupted by the slew of noises and ramblings of “please” and “yes” and “Rafe” falling from your lips. His middle and ring fingers push past the slick resistance your pussy gives him, and you go silent and slack-jawed as he pushes all the way to the hilt.  

And he’s got big fingers. You wonder if they’re the same size as his dick. If so, you might be in trouble.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you nearly cry, head falling back into the sheets, and you’re slammed back into reality and consciousness of your surroundings. The coolness of the AC makes your nipples peak again, and the sweat on your lower back cools almost as soon as it’s created. But Rafe makes you hot. Your chest and cheeks are flushed a bright pink, and your lips are swollen into a bigger size and slick with his saliva and your own. We don’t even have to discuss how flushed the other parts of your body are—he already knows. 

His fingers curl slightly up and to the right, and your abdomen jerks at the unfamiliar feeling. You curl up slightly, eyebrows furrowed, and try to catch a glimpse of his large hand in your underwear. God, you wish you could take a picture. You lock gazes with him momentarily but fall back down at the look in his face. It’s nearly animalistic. 

“Rafe, please,” you beg, grabbing onto his wrist with both hands. You meet his eyes. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling his fingers out, and clambers off of you for a second. You sit up, quickly ridding yourself of the dress bunched up to your shoulders, and watch as he rips his shorts off and nears the bed. You don’t even have enough time to gape at the size of him before he’s grabbing your bicep and jerking you onto your stomach. 

You have half a mind to protest his man-handling of you but stay silent as you look up at the angle he positions you. 

There’s a full length mirror opposite this side of his bed, and you just stare at the pair of you as you catch your breath. 

“Like it, huh?” He asks quietly, dipping down and pressing a kiss to your hair. His hand finds your neck and he moves you to face the mirror head on, watching your face closely. You really like the feeling of his fingers around your throat. He can tell, now; your shoulders relax and your lips move into the shape of a smile when he squeezes. 

“You always keep this here?” You ask, head falling onto your folded arms when he releases you to just admire your body. His fingers trace your spine and the curve of your ass, never losing focus. 

“I moved it this morning,” he murmurs, gaze never straying from you. 

“Oh, so you knew you’d be fucking me tonight.” Your face splits into an easy grin, head tilting mischievously. His eyes find yours in the mirror, and he bends again to press his mouth to your lower back. 

“Always teasing me.” His voice is muffled by your smooth skin. He can’t get enough. “Knew it’d happen sometime soon. You can’t stay away forever, you know.” He straightens up but doesn’t find your eyes in the mirror. His large, warm hand maneuvers your hips into a tilted position, and you move up onto your feet. He has you flat on your stomach on the bed, but your ass and legs hang off and the soles of your feet just barely press flat into the floor. “Knew this pussy would get me at some point.” He smacks at an asscheek lightning fast; and your whole body jiggles with the force of his hand. You squeak involuntarily.

A large hand grabs at your shoulder as the other one jerks himself steadily. Once, twice, three times, and then he’s spreading you open and pushing into you. 

Your spine stretches and relaxes when he gets halfway in, and your thighs start to shake when you’re filled all the way to the hilt. 

“Shit, Rafe, you’re fucking big,” you complain, but the tail end of your protest bleeds into a desperate whine. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly, eyes squeezed shut, and your head falls onto your folded arms. “Please,” you say, reaching back to frantically find his hips. “Go slow.”

“Stretching you out, hm,” Rafe comments, breathing hard already, and relieves the pressure by sliding almost all the way out. His tip almost breaches the seam of your slit but he pushes back in, pulling your asscheek away with a thumb to watch. “Fucking sexy.”

You squeeze around him like a vice, but the intrusion is welcome. You will yourself to relax and accept his huge fucking dick, and the thought of yourself getting fucked by him sends a gush of slick between you two. 

“There you go,” Rafe sighs, and pulls out only to fuck back in to you quickly. You cry out, fingers squeezing extra tight on the sheets, but you will yourself to look up.

His chest is flushed in the mirror as his chain swings in the open air, and the pure concentration and pleasure on his face prompts a pleased noise from your throat. You tentatively jerk back into him and his head whips up in the mirror, blue eyes meeting your own. 

“Oh, yeah?” He mutters, teeth catching his lip, and his hips snap into yours. Your mouth drops open only momentarily before you close it and tilt your head to the size coyly, biting your own lip and pushing back into his hips. He watches you carefully in the mirror with squinted eyes, half-impressed and half-challenging. “You think you can take it?” His fingers squeeze at your shoulder tight. 

You just silently nod. Cocky. 

His emotionless gaze locks with yours and his blood pumps hot in his veins. He’s going to make you eat your words. 

His hips surge forward in a suddenly-steady rhythm, skin slapping skin ringing out in the room. You just stare at him, defiant, and push back with every thrust he gives.

Rafe grunts and lets go of your shoulder, replacing his touch with an arm slung around your neck and the other hand between your legs. His warm fingers nudge your clit, finding it immediately, and his hips snap punishingly quickly into yours. 

It’s brutal, having him like this. You hope you bruise. But you challenged him, and somebody has to lose. Except it’s not really a loss when Rafe fucking Cameron is genuinely fucking you into next week. 

“Shit,” you exhale, choking on the inhale that accompanies it, and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers rub you in circles. “Fuck, Rafe, that’s so good.” Something hot coils tight in your stomach and your thighs suddenly warm almost in preparation for the wave of sensation. 

“Yeah?” He pants, hot in your ear. “You like that?” His chest sticks to your sweaty back, gluing you together as his strong hips and legs pound you into the mattress. You stay strong, along for the ride, and provide all the verbal encouragement he needs. Your stomach feels hotter and hotter and your throat runs dry. 

“I love it,” you whine, head tilting up as if you’re praying he won’t stop. “Fuck me like this forever.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, too lost in the squeeze of your pussy around him and the warmth your body grants him. You pulse even more, so close. 

You gather some strength and struggle to push up into an elbow, head tilting further and further until you can feel his forehead brush the crown of your head. Your muscles strain. 

“Just like that. Just like—God, shit, right there.”

You squeak when the hot coil in your abdomen snaps and you fall twitchingly onto your stomach. His fingers rub quickly at your clit and you feel suddenly a hundred pounds lighter, eyes rolling back into your head. It’s so fucking good you wonder how you’ll ever masturbate happily again. Your fingers don’t compare in the slightest to this fucking dick. Your chest heaves with the effort it takes to fill your lungs with clean air, and your legs start to shake miserably underneath him. Your thighs feel like jelly and you barely did anything. 

“Please, Rafe,” you beg, turning your head to the side to look innocently up at him. “Give it to me.”

“Yeah?” He pants and leans down to kiss you messily. You groan into his mouth and push back once more into his hips. Your pussy is still buzzing with feeling, and it fades slowly into a pleasant ache the more he fucks into you. “You want it on your back or in your mouth?”

You blink wildly and push onto your palms, signaling that you want to turn over. He pulls out but jerks himself steadily until you scramble onto your knees in front of him, face level with his pelvis and tongue out. You look up at him with the most earnest and well-meaning eyes, and he just has to close his eyes when the tip of his dick finally meets your tongue and he fills your mouth. His chest loosens with the most pathetic noise he’s ever made, a mix between a raw groan and a whimper. Your soft mouth accepts him and cleans his dick, humming contentedly, and when he catches his breath and manages to open his eyes you’re staring up at him, an immensely pleased look on your face. 

You crawl closer and lift onto your knees, arms coming around his neck and pulling him to you. You press a kiss to his mouth. He can almost taste himself on your tongue, and he smoothes a hand down your side to grab onto your asscheek as you just kiss him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly to give your face a once-over. “You haven’t even showered yet.”

“And whose fault is that?” You sigh, exasperated. “Someone couldn’t make it up the stairs without shoving his hands up my dress—we barely even made it to the bed.” You smooth a hand down the back side of his head, liking the way his hair feels. 

Rafe just purses his lips. 

“Sounds like a really cool guy to me.”

“Mhm,” you say, rolling your eyes, and sit back on your heels. 

This room is a mess.

The corner of the well-made bed’s sheets and bedspread is yanked from the far corner and lies bunched up in the middle, dark with sweat. It smells like sex in here, the ceiling fan doing nothing to mitigate it, and your work dress is hung haphazardly on the closet door handle. With a dark Grenadine stain down the middle. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Rafe says, interrupting your inner monologue. His warm hand comes to rest on your thigh. 

“What?” You ask, eyebrows drawn. 

“Don’t even think about putting on clothes.”

You scoff.

“Like those would do me any good right now.” You wind your arms around his neck and smirk up at him. “I still haven’t even shown you what’s in my bag.”

His smile grows. 

“What’s in your bag, baby?”

[kaleldobrev]

Mutual Pining

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean and you are in love with each other, and it's obvious to everyone but the two of you

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Cursing (10x), Mutual Pining, Fluff

Authors Note: Switches between reader and Deans “POV” but still written in the third person | This came out a lot longer than I thought, but I loved the way it turned out! I hope you guys do too! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

For as long as you’ve known Dean, he has always been incredibly nice to you, which initially surprised you given his gruff exterior. Growing up, you were always told to never judge a book by its cover, and things aren’t always what they seem to be; and you had felt that this truly applied to Dean. Despite his appearance (although a very attractive one you had to admit) and his very I don’t give a fuck attitude he sometimes gave off, he was genuinely one of the nicest, funniest, charismatic, loving, and selfless people that you have ever met in your entire life. He was just someone that wanted more than anything to love someone (to be loved by someone) – and craved touch.

He was a catch in all senses of the word: he was smart, sexy, cute, he could sing (well not good, but at least he liked doing karaoke!), he could cook and bake (you were teaching him a lot about baking lately, even though he did already know a thing or two), he was handy (both when it came to cars and household maintenance), and he was a nerd (Star Wars, horror movies, Star Trek, cartoons, you name it). For as long as you had known him, it amazed you that someone hadn’t snatched him up yet. Well, you knew about some of these instances (Cassie or Lisa for example), but Dean seemed to be under the impression that the reason it never seemed to work out with these women is because of the job, or he would blame himself. “I just don’t think you found the right woman yet.” You had told him. This had earned you a weird look from Dean, and since then, you hadn’t given your two cents into his love life, despite being one of his closest confidants.

For as long as Dean has known you, you’ve always been incredibly nice to him; even when he knew he didn’t deserve it. When he had met you years ago, it took him by surprise to find out that you were a hunter given your exterior and extremely bubbling personality and positive energy that you radiated (he would later come to start calling you Sunshine as he considered you the light of his life in his ever so present and consistent cloudy days he called his life). “Just because you’re a hunter, doesn’t mean you have to be depressed all the time.” You had said to him. “But we’ve all witnessed and endured horrible things. Don’t know how you can still be so happy.” He had said back to you. You had simply shrugged stating, “You have your way of coping, and I have mine.” What Dean had initially thought that he hated about you (you being that Ray of Sunshine) had actually grown into something that he would love and appreciate about you.

Something that he always tended to carry in the back of his mind is quote that you had frequently said: Never judge a book by its cover, and things aren’t always what they seem to be; and he felt that your quote really did apply to you. Despite the type of energy that you give off, and despite your colorful array of clothing, you were genuinely one of the best hunters that he has ever met or worked with in his life.

You were a catch in all senses of the word. You were smart, cunning, funny, cute, sexy (even when you weren’t even remotely trying to be). You knew how to cook and bake (he was particularly fond of your peach and apple pies that you had made), you could sing (despite you saying how awful you were, your voice had sounded like honey to him), and you knew how to shoot a gun almost as good as him (in reality, you were probably a much better shot, but he would never admit that). It amazed him that you hadn’t settled down yet, even though he knew that was something that you had wanted to do at some point in your life. “I guess I just haven’t found the right yet guy. Just like how you haven’t found the right woman yet.” You had told him. “He’s sitting right in front of you Sunshine,” he had desperately wanted to say to you.

It was a lazy Sunday at the Bunker, and since there was no cases you had decided that you were going to do some baking today. You had promised Dean that you would him your famous peach and apple pie sometime this week, and since that was something you promised him last Tuesday, you were getting near close to almost falling through with your promise – something that you didn’t want to do, especially when it came to Dean.

Dean didn’t ask for much. So when he asked ever so politely if you could make this for him adding “no rush of course” at the end of his request, you were more than happy to oblige. This man has saved your ass more times than you could possibly count, and never asked for anything in return. So, the least you could do for the man was bake him a pie right?

Walking into the kitchen you were wearing your comfy clothes which consisted of a very faded AC/DC shirt that Dean had lent you they you had never given back (to be fair, he never asked for it back), a plain hot pink sweatshirt, black sweatpants and hot pink fuzzy socks.

Rolling up your sleeves, you walked over to the cabinet to grab everything they you would need in order to make the pie for Dean. Technically speaking, you were making the pie for everyone to enjoy, but you knew the second Dean for a whiff of the peachy and appley goodness, he would most likely hoard this (not that you had a problem with that, you were happy that he enjoyed your cooking and baking that much).

Placing your phone on the counter, you decided to play some music, picking the playlist you had rightfully named “Baking/Cooking Jams” (pun intended), so the quietness didn’t seem so eerie to you. You didn’t like the quiet at times, but you had such fond memories of singing along and dancing along to the music when you were a little girl in the kitchen with your mom or grandma.

One of the things that you appreciated, was the fact that none of the boys made fun of you while you did this (not that it would have bothered you if they did), but you half expected one of them to say something. The closest any of them had gotten to “making fun” of or commenting on your dance moves or singing had come from Dean, and his comments which very complimentary. You were so thrown off, that at first you thought he was fucking with you.

It’s been almost a week since Dean had requested you make your famous peach and apple pie, and there was a part of him that was starting to get just a tad disappointed when you hadn’t made it yet. But one of the things that was holding him together, was the fact that you always kept your promises and followed through with them (it was one of the things that he loved about you. He had asked for the pie on Tuesday, and it was now Sunday. He had wanted to re-ask you, but decided against it because he didn’t want to seem pushy and he didn’t want to bother you with what he seemed to be a silly request. “You could never bother her Dean. Trust me.” Sam had told him numerous times.

As Dean walked down the hallway of the Bunker, he could hear the quiet sounds of your music coming from the kitchen. The only reason he knew that it was your music is because he recognized the current song that was playing as a part of “Baking/Cooking Jams” playlist (pun intended). He smiled, hoping that since you were listening to this playlist it meant that you were baking something - specifically, baking the pie that you had promised him.

Dean peaked his head into the kitchen and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him. You were bopping your head, quietly singing along, and shaking your shoulders to the music as you were lining a tin with your homemade pie crust. You were wearing your hot pink sweatshirt (something that he loved always seeing you wear) and your fuzzy socks (another thing that he secretly loved). Wonder what’s underneath. Hope it’s one of my shirts…or nothing at all…He thought to himself. No Dean, don’t think that way.

Almost as if you could read his mind (which he knew you couldn’t do and was extremely thankful that you couldn’t) you stopped your dancing and looked at him, giving him the biggest smile you could muster up. “Hey you!” Your voice sounded so cheerful, so inviting, it practically made him melt.

“Hey Sunshine.” He said, walking into the kitchen and making his way to the island. “Whatcha making?” He asked, as if he couldn’t tell from the fresh cut apples and peaches on the counter in front of him.

“Your favorite.” You smiled, alternating between placing the peaches and apples into the pie tin. “Sorry it took so long Dean.”

Your apology surprised him. “Why are you saying sorry?” He questioned; you literally had no reason to be apologizing to him right now.

“Well, I know you asked for this Tuesday and it’s Sunday now.” Your voice that was once full of joy, was now sounding almost slightly sad and embarrassed, almost as if you were disappointed in yourself. “I swear I didn’t forget. Got a bit sidetracked with research this week.” You looked down just then, finishing up with the filling.

“Hey.” He began to say and you looked up at him. “Please don’t apologize for something like that okay?” You nodded. “Need any help?”

You shook your head. “I’m good Dean. But thanks for the offer.” You said, placing the pie into the oven.

“It’ll be ready soonish.” You gave him a smile. He could sense that you were trying to go back to your joyful voice, but you seemed still slightly upset, despite you having no reason to be.

Although you said you didn’t need the help, Dean started to gather all of the dirty dishes that you had made while you were baking. “Dean, you don’t have to do that.” You said as you watched him bring all of the dishes into the sink.

He turned the faucet on and looked at you. “It’s the least I can do Y/N.”

“I would have done it.” You walked over to the sink, picking up a dish rag and started drying the dishes he was finished washing. He looked at you briefly before letting out a small chuckle. “What?”

“Sweetheart, no you wouldn’t have. You would have left the dishes in the sink and I would have come to clean them up anyway. I know you love baking and cooking, but you hate the clean up.” You had started to open your mouth to comment, but you knew what he had said to you was the truth. Yes, you didn’t mind doing dishes, but you hated doing a large amount of dishes.

“I see Y/N finally made you your pie.” Sam said, gesturing to the giant slice of pie that Dean came walking into the War Room with.

Dean walked over with the biggest smile on his face. “It’s her best one yet.” Dean said, mouth full of pie. He sat down across from Sam who was on his laptop. “I really do think the singing and dancing helps.”

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell her.” Sam said.

“She knows I like her singing and dancing.” Dean took a mouthful of pie and Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his brother.

“I mean how you feel about her.” Sam’s comment had made Dean stop chewing his pie mid bite before he gulped it down.

Dean went to open his mouth, to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything clever or snarky to say. “I’ll pass.” He decided to say.

“You’ll…pass? What does that even mean?” For as long as Sam had been around you and Dean, it seemed completely obvious to everyone that you two had feelings for each other, but for some reason, it seemed like neither of you understood that you two had feelings for each other.

“I said, I’ll pass.” Dean repeated. “What about that can’t you wrap your head around?”

“Dean, you’ve been in love with Y/N since you’ve met her. Which, honestly, is quite a record.” Sam had never seen his brother be so in love with someone before, let alone being in love with someone for as long as he had been in love with you.

“Look Sam, she doesn’t like me in the way okay? I’ve made my peace with that. Why would I tell her that I love her if she doesn’t feel the same way? Sounds very silly to me.” Dean got up from his chair and walked out of the room with this now empty plate.

You were lying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you researching. You weren’t really researching anything in particular, just random things that had peaked your interest. As you were typing away, a small knock came from the other side of your door. “Who is it?” You asked.

“It’s Sam.”

“Come in!” You called back, the door opening and quickly shutting just as fast. You questioned the abruptness of the door. “Everything alright?”

“Peachy.” Sam replied. He pointed to the edge of your bed. “Can I sit?” You nodded.

“Did you get to try any of the pie yet? Or did Dean finish it already?” You joked, closing your laptop.

“No, not yet. He uh, he didn’t finish it yet shockingly.” Sam’s expression looked at you more serious now. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” You smiled.

“Have you ever thought about telling Dean how you feel?” His question seemed to be coming out of nowhere.

“I…No.” You had wanted to tell Dean more than anything how you felt about him, but you knew that he didn’t feel the same way about you. “Why would I tell Dean that I love him when I know for a fact that he doesn’t feel the same way? It’s a little silly don’t you think?” Sam couldn’t help but almost let out a laugh. You two really are meant for each other. Sam thought to himself.

“But what if, there actually is a chance that he loves you too?” Sam asked.

You laughed. “Don’t you think he would have told me by now?”

“What if he’s afraid of the same thing you are?”

“Meaning…?” You weren’t completely sure of the point that Sam was trying to make to you.

“Meaning, what if he loves you too but thinks that you don’t love him back?” You furrowed your brow at Sam’s question.

“Dean afraid of telling me how he feels?” You laughed. “He doesn’t love me Sammy, trust me. I know what he looks like when he’s in love, and that ain’t the same way he looks at me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Sam challenged.

Dean and you both were laying awake at night, thinking about the comments that Sam had said to the both of you. The both of you had similar thoughts in your minds: Does Dean really love me? Does Y/N really love me? Have I been reading the signals all wrong?

“Sam wouldn’t just bring that up if he didn’t say something right?” You said quietly aloud to yourself.

“Did Y/N say something to him?” Dean said quietly aloud to himself.

“I could easily ask him.” You said.

“No, no. I can’t just ask her.” Dean said.

“Sam’s fucking with me.” You and Dean said in unison.

“No…Sam wouldn’t do that.” You rationalized with yourself.

“No, Sam wouldn’t fuck with me like that.” Dean rationalized with himself.

“He’s literally right down the fucking hall. I could just…be hypothetical?” You questioned.

“It’s three in the morning. She’s probably sleeping.” He said.

“Fuck it.” You two said in unison, both practically jumping out of your beds.

You opened your door and started making your way down the hall. As you were walking, you were trying to keep your composure despite how nervous you were in that moment. “Don’t chicken out now Y/N.” You mumbled.

“Alright. You got this. You got this.” Dean mumbled. “Don’t be a pussy now.”

Your head was down, but just up enough to catch yourself if someone else was in the hallway. As you were walking you noticed Dean coming down the hallway, he seemed nervous and you wondered why.

“Fuck I can’t do this.” You whispered and started turning around back toward your room.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice had made you stop in your tracks, making you turn back toward him.

“Hey.” You tried to make your breath even. “What are…What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replied.

“I asked you first.” You said.

“I…Wanted to talk to you.” He sounded so nervous.

“At three in the morning?” You questioned.

“Yeah I uh…You know what, this can wait till later.” He said, starting to turn back into the direction of his room.

For some reason you had found yourself running after him, like you were in some cheesy romcom that you both secretly loved. “Wait.” You grabbed his arm, and he almost spun back in your direction.

Dean looked at you before looking at your hand. It amazed him each and every time how soft they had felt whenever you touched him. God, what I’d do to feel your hands all over. He thought to himself. “What’s up?”

“Dean…” He watched you take a deep breath. You were nervous and he could tell. He had known you long enough to know what you were feeling by just your body language.

You removed your hand from his arm, and he already missed the contact. “Y/N?” He asked.

“I uh…Can we talk in your room?” You asked, and he found himself automatically nodding.

“Of course.” He gave you a smile, hoping that would comfort you in some way.

You didn’t realize how nervous you truly were until you had made your way into Dean’s room. You had been in his room numerous of times (even spending the night in here) and it always strangely gave you comfort, but not in this moment. It was one of the rare occurrences in which even the calmness his room usually gave you, ceased to help you.

Dean shut the door behind you, something that made you even more nervous. You weren’t afraid that the door was shut, a majority of the time you and him had been in your room or his room, the door was usually shut. “I can, I can leave it open if you want?” He almost questioned, gesturing toward the door.

“No. No. It’s fine.” You said. “Can I…Mind if I sit on your bed?” You asked. It felt strange asking to sit on his bed. In normal circumstances, you would have just walked into his room and just sat down, never asking if you could first. Something that you were now realizing, was that you were the only person that never had to ask if you could sit down on his bed - everyone else had to ask him.

“You know you don’t have to ask.” Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and patted the spot next to him, in which you hesitantly sat down.

Dean looked into your eyes as you sat down next to him, placing your hands on your thighs. You rubbed them up and down. It kills me to see how nervous you are. He thought to himself, so badly wanting to say it out loud to you. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m nervous.” You let out a small, nervous chuckle. It made his heart ache.

“I’m nervous too.” He said, hoping that it would make you somehow less nervous.

“Why are you nervous?” You asked. Crap. How do I answer that? He thought to himself.

“Probably for the same reason you are.” He looked at your face, looking for some kind of hint of what you possibly could be thinking.

“I highly doubt that.” You looked away, and folded your hands as if you were back in school, patiently waiting for the teacher to give you instructions.

It started to seem very evident to Dean now, that you were either nervous because Sam was right - you did in fact love him, or you were nervous because you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him that you didn’t feel the same way that he did about you. Either way, it scared him.

“I…I thought this would be easier somehow.” You admitted, after what seemed like a forever amount of silence between the two of you.

“I feel like I friggin teenager.” Dean joked, you knew he was trying his best to lighten the mood.

“Same here.” You gave him a nervous smile. “Um…Dean…” You took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to tell him, while at the same time, talking yourself out of telling him. “You know you’re my best friend right?”

“You know you’re my best friend right?” There is was, the sentence that he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah.” He said, feeling his heart quickly sinking into the pit of his stomach.

“And you know I appreciate you more than anything.” You couldn’t even look at him; he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse somehow.

He reached out for your arm, gently grabbing it. “I appreciate you too Sweetheart. And I know I don’t tell you that enough.”

“Don’t be silly. You show me plenty.” Your statement was true, he may not have realized it, but there were plenty of times when he had found himself doing things to show you how much he truly cared and appreciated you, even when he didn’t outright tell you - you were the same way. You sighed. “Dean –”

“Before you say anything, I just want to tell you that whatever you say to me, our friendship is never gonna change. I won’t hate you. I could never hate you, okay?” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you, or reassure himself in that moment.

“Here it goes then.” You took yet another deep breath.

“Fuck it.” You heard Dean mumble. Not even getting a second to react, his lips were suddenly on yours. His lips were just as soft as you had thought that they would be. Despite wanting to kiss him for as long as you had known him, you never thought that this is how your first kiss with him was going to go.

The kiss was quick, and not nearly as long as you had wanted it to be. He released his lips from yours and he stared at you blankly, almost embarrassed. “Sorry.” Dean said. “I uh…” He was actually speechless. “Shit.” He let go of your arms.

“Sammy was right.” He hears you mumble.

“What did my brother tell you?” He needed to know how badly the damage control was going to be, and how much he was going to kill his brother.

“He…He asked me if I um…If I ever thought about telling you how I feel.” So Sammy got to you too huh, Dean thought. “I told him that it would be silly of me to tell you how I felt because I knew you didn’t feel the same way.” You chuckled, nervously. “I guess…I guess I was wrong.”

“I told Sammy the same thing earlier.” He admitted. “As much as I wanted to tell you…” He trailed off, unsure of what he had wanted to say next, because there was so much he had wanted to say to you.

“You didn’t want to ruin our friendship in case I didn’t feel the same way.” You said, practically finishing his sentence for him. “I felt the same way. I mean, you know just as well as I do how hard it is to find people you can trust and rely on. I love both of you, and I didn’t want to say or do anything that would of fucked my relationship up with you guys.”

“So, what do we do now?” You asked, unsure of what was going to happen next. Just because the two of you had admitted your feelings for each other, doesn’t mean that you would actually do anything about it. As much as you had wanted to try out a relationship with Dean, you knew that he wasn’t much of the relationship type – then again, maybe it was because he hadn’t found the right person?

Dean looked over at the clock, noticing that it was almost 4:30 in the morning. He looked back over to you, almost looking too tired. “You spend the night in here with me. Or, morning in here with me.”

“And do what Dean?” You asked, curious as there could be a million things on his mind.

“Just lay here together…” He began to say, slightly pulling you in close. “Maybe cuddle…” He continued, leaning in slightly, inches away from your lips.

“Do some more kissing maybe…?” You whispered, slightly questioning. “Or are you too tired?”

“Hmmm, don’t think I’d ever be tired enough to not kiss you Sunshine.” He smiled tiredly, leaning in and kissing you again.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 If you would like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[httpswritings]

endless cycle — Alexia Putellas x Reader

Warnings: smut, toxic non-relationship

Word count: 886

Summary: Facing reality after giving pleasure to Alexia.

A/N: Second part of vicious cycle.

You were right. That same night, Alexia ended up in your bed. You didn't have any training sessions tomorrow, so you knew it was going to be a very long night.

Her lips devoured every centimeter of your body as you grabbed her blonde hair with your hand.

“You love it when I grab your hair like this, don't you?” With a few bites on your collarbone, she said, “You already know the answer.”

Feeling the warmth her body exuded was something else.

Alexia had a thing for kissing you on the tip of your nose and on both of your cheeks. You usually wondered if she had been like this with her previous partners. If this was part of the way she made love or if you were lucky enough to be the first one to experience that, “I love your kisses, Ale.” You noticed her smile growing wider as she was focused on giving you a few pecks on your left cheek. “You're so adorable, amor. Just how I like it.” You wish she would've told you how much she loved you. You've never heard Alexia say those words, not even to her closest teammates.

“You know what I need, right, mi chica?” You did, so you proceeded to stabilize yourself on the bed with your back on the mattress. “Can I ask you why you like riding my face so much?”

Alexia blushed. Wait? Alexia blushed? “I don't know. You know how to make me enjoy being on top of your face.” You felt satisfied with her answer but still decided to push her a little more over the edge. “So it has to do with me and not because you enjoy the posture itself? Have you ever done it with other women?” Alexia sat down on the lower part of your stomach as she caressed that part of your body. She was fully naked on top of you, with her messy blonde hair falling over her breasts. “I have done it before, but you're the first one who has made me enjoy it to the fullest. I used to think that it was a posture that required a lot of effort, but with you, it's different. You know how to touch a woman overall.”

You tapped your lips with your left hand as a sign for her to sit down on them. Alexia placed both of her thighs on both sides of your head. You gave her thighs a few quick kisses, winning some giggles from Alexia. Every time she laughed during sex, it was more difficult to not tell her how much you loved her and how beautiful she looked. That intimacy you had been building over the months. 

She pressed her body down on your lips as you began to move them across her folds. “See, this is what I'm talking about. You know exactly how to make me feel so good,” she said as she moved her hips slowly, grinding on your tongue.

After a while, she warned you, “Shit, I'm coming already, mi amor. Don't stop!” Alexia came right after, feeling her body tremble. She got off you and started kissing your neck, but you made her stop. “I don't feel like it, Ale. Maybe another day.” Alexia got worried, as it wasn't the first time that you had some trouble carrying on, especially after you had given her an orgasm. “Mi amor, is there something wrong? We aren't going to do anything if you don't want to, and you don't have to justify yourself. I just want to know what's happening and if you need something from me.”

You needed her. You had her sexually. She was everything you ever wanted sexually: caring, communicative, easy-going, etc. But you craved having her at home as you woke up. Looking at her after getting out of the shower. Making breakfast for her. Getting home and seeing her already there. You craved her as a girlfriend, not just as a sexual partner and as a teammate. “No, it's fine, Ale. You can leave now if you want to.” Alexia felt a little bit pushed back by your tone. She gave herself two seconds to breathe before she snapped. “No. I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me what's going on with you. It's not the first time this has happened, and I want you to enjoy it as much as I do. If you don't enjoy it anymore, please keep in mind that we can stop doing it.”

That last sentence made you close your eyes as if a knife had been stabbed in your stomach. You realized she could stop whatever this was whenever she wanted; you couldn't. You felt so captivated by Alexia; you'd made love to her every night, even if that implied losing her in the morning. Making love to her was the purest act of love you felt you could do for her. “Alexia, leave. I'm not really in the mood. That's it.” She knew you were lying, but she didn't want to force you with her presence. “Okay, I'll leave, but please know that I'll be there whenever you need me.”

You were head-over-heels for her. That comment made you soften a little bit, and you rushed to kiss her temple. “I know, silly.”

[hushedlover]

hi !!! can i request xavier babying the reader when she’s tired or something like that

I literally need this so bad please baby me xavier

Requests are open! Send anything in!

A poke to your side jerked you awake. You hadn't been asleep, not fully at least. Just resting your eyes. You had your head in your arms against your desk, but you were listening to the lecture. You really were. So the poke to your ribs from your best friend was unnecessary and unappreciated. You communicated as much with a glare. When your menacing look met Xavier's playful eyes, his brow furrowed. There were bags under your eyes, he could see that despite the attempts of concealer cover-up. Your eyes were red too, and not in the same way as after you two had spent the afternoon with Ajax. You looked exhausted.

Xavier reached out a tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in close so no one would hear the two of you.

"When was the last time you slept? You look like the walking dead."

Glaring harder, you pulled back from him.

"wow such charm, Thorne," you sighed and put your head in your hands. "I dunno. I got 6 hours..."

"Last night?" He was confused, you looked much more tired than that accounted for.

"In the past 3 days," you mumbled.

Xavier's frown deepened. Then he was gathering your books and items off the desk, carefully reaching around you to grab your bag. Your mind was much too tired to process what was happening in time, you just watched as he put your things in your bag and then did the same for his own. Then he was standing quietly and grabbing you gently to help you do the same. Your brain finally caught up to reality and you grabbed Xavier's wrist to stop him.

"Xav wait," you glanced around the room, but everyone was still working. no one noticed you two getting up. "What about the flowers?"

Xavier felt his heart almost burst at the sight of your face. Your tired eyes were watering slightly from sleepy worry, and your mouth set into a pitiful frown. You were so tired you didn't even call the class its correct name. Instead, you referred to it as 'flowers'. Of course, you would put a class day of studying over your well-being. Xavier leaned down close to your face and stroked your cheek with the hand not holding your bag.

"Ms.Thornhill will understand, I promise. You need rest honey, you look so tired. Let me take care of you, yeah?"

He watched you glance around the class before you nodded and let him pull you to his dorm.

_____

Xavier always had an extra pair of your pajamas in his drawers, remnants of your past nights spent sleeping together. So, as you slowly slipped out of your shoes and socks he grabbed the plaid pants and baggy t-shirt.

When you took them from him and slipped into his bathroom to change, he picked up your shoes and moved them so that there was less of a chance of you tripping. Then he prepared his pillows and blankets how he knew you liked. You were taking a while to get changed so he had time to switch clothing as well. Finally, you came out hair a mess, and your face a little damp from where you had washed off your makeup.

You still had that tired pout on your face and it made Xavier want to wrap you up and shield you from the world. So he did the closest he could to that. He gently lead you to the bed, allowing you to lay down first before he joined you. Then he pulled you onto him so that you had one arm over his waist and your arms were tangled.

You welcomed his body heat, the warmth relaxing your tense muscles. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you breathed a content sigh. Xavier tightened his arms around you slightly and kissed your head.

"Go ahead and sleep honey, I'll be here when you wake up."

[hxnbi]

「 BEING THEIR SIBLING 」

synopsis: you were his beloved sibling, meant to stay far out of harms way, he would make damn sure of it

— characters: itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi — contents: fluff, angst, comfort, platonic, gn reader

gojo version | masterlist

ITADORI YUJI ✿ child reader

With all that Yuji has been through in his life, he, of course, feels a sense of responsibility and duty for the well-being of his family, blood-related or not. 

Still at the age where letters in math could only be dreamt of in nightmares, Yuji found himself being the one to take care of you. And when his grandpa died, he was left, now alone, holding the bag.

Or so he thought. 

You held onto his hand that day when he found out, a sombre look in your eyes. 

Thats right… How could he be so selfish? He still had you. 

He's very much a family guy, and he holds his family closest to his heart. And when he was told about you—getting to keep you in his arms in the hospital—he knew what his duty was. As his baby sibling, Yuji did everything and anything to ensure that you were protected and cared for.

Yuji's mouth dropped. "Crap…"

"Huh? What are you yapping about now?" Megumi scowled.

"I need to pick up [Y/n] from daycare!" he panicked, pacing back and forth. But it wasn't like he could suddenly leave, not like this spiky-haired individual staring daggers into him would let him… Well, not voluntarily, that is.

Megumi sighed, and he pulled out his phone. "I'm on it."

"What… are you doing?"

"Making a call. We'll have a trusted individual pick up your sibling."

"...I-I see."

Megumi looked at Yuji, who nodded. "Don't worry. They'll be out of harm's way."

That was all Yuji ever wanted.

But when everything in his life came to a head and he became the vessel of Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses, your safety could no longer be guaranteed… not while Sukuna was still around, or rather, inside him. 

Still, you loved being around him, and Yuji loved being around you. When everything was said and done, all of Yuji's worries about this sudden move to Tokyo went much better than expected.

As a young child, you were naive, but that may as well be thrown out the window because Yuji didn't give two shits about that. And just like Yuji, you were energetic, outgoing, and eager to see the new "world" you were in. You two were like two birds that flock together, for better or for worse. 

The Tokyo students—mainly the infamously noisy ones Nobara and Panda while Maki, Megumi, and Toge watched—would pop in from time to time in his room, only to see you sleeping on Yuji's shoulder. At the same time, Yuji had a book in hand, previously to read to you but now used to block the sun from dancing on your face.

And a mystery to nearly everyone, even Yaga, the revered and arguably intimating headmaster—with a stare enough to make any child under the age of 5 cry—couldn't resist your charm. Your influence permeated every corner of Tokyo Jujutsu High until you were affectionately dubbed the school's unofficial mascot, much to your brother's horror.

And when Yuji went on missions or on days when the students had to train and go to classes, arguably the most responsible adult, Nanami Kento, was given the babysitter title of Yuji's sibling.

The others—that being Nobara, Gojo, and Panda; Megumi, Maki, and Toge would only watch with deadpan expressions—could only speculate on the origin of Yuji's surprising skills at cooking, but after doing some stalking investigating, and seeing you and Yuji in the itches together, teaching you how to cook, their hearts couldn't take it. That day, dozens of pictures were snapped and then plastered in Yuji's room. 

Yuji would hold you in his arms, providing comfort and a safe haven. He was an older brother figure who would do anything and everything to protect his younger sibling, even if it meant hiding things from you. He carried all the weight, all the burdens, on his own in hopes of shielding you from the harsh realities of their world. One of Yuji's defining traits is his willingness to sacrifice himself for others, triggered by his grandfather's last words to him.

No way in hell could he ever let that happen again—not to you, who had such a long life ahead of you, not to anyone. Yuji would always joke around with you and have fun, protecting that youth he cherished with his soul. 

You were just a kid, after all. You were just a kid when he died.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI ✿ older sibling reader

Unlike Yuji, Megumi would be the complete opposite.

As the oldest Fushiguro sibling, naturally, you took up the responsibility of caring for Megumi and Tsumiki. You were yet another child, the byproduct of Toji's fickle nature. You, Megumi, and Tsumiki were all from different mothers. God forbid there be another secret child you three haven't heard about yet. Still, the three of you couldn't have been more tightly knit. Megumi would beg to differ, only to have a chocolate milk carton thrown his way by Tsumiki. What a magical household of violence. 

When he was younger, Megumi struggled, or rather, embraced his unruly bursts of temper, often resulting in scuffles with middle schoolers. He would probably be considered a problem child if it weren't for his straight A's. But that didn't matter to you, and you ensured you knew that.

Your swift reprimands would quash any budding notions of so-called "gang activity," cautioning him against a future as a "mafia leader." Needless to say, he wasn't impressed.

Regardless, he listened—much to the jaw-dropping shock of anyone, especially those whom Megumi had previously beaten up. 

Your genuine concern for him—not about what he did but about him—made him angry.

He hated it, and yet he craved it. 

You'd always urge him to take a breather and relax, all the while as the pile of beaten-up "gangsters" groaned in pain and agony. But that wasn't your concern. Occasionally, during those moments with a fuming teenager at your side, you'd treat him to meals out whenever you managed to steal a moment from your busy workday. Everything you did was for his well-being, regardless of the stress you were putting on your own shoulders. Because in your mind, your little brother didn't deserve all that he went through, and as mature as he was for his age, he still deserved to be a kid.

No one should be able to take away youth from children.

As a kid, he needed that sort of stability in his life. After enduring so much, simply having someone beside him meant everything to him.

And you did so in a way where you took on a mother-like figure in his life. Everything you did and every action you took was driven by your love and care for him and Tsumiki. 

Even as a young third grader, Megumi keenly felt burdened by this fact—the weight of this responsibility, especially following his family's departure, Tsumiki's subsequent accident and being crippled and left in a coma in the hospital. Every first day of the month became a ritual for you and Megumi, visiting Tsumiki's bedside with a bouquet of flowers. 

And during the days when nightmares haunted your sleep, Megumi would be woken up to you crying. 

Neither would ever go on to utter a word about that.

Your absolute worst fear was for him to be injured or worse—to lose him to the dangerous path he might tread—and Megumi didn't have to be a genius to know what you were referring to. 

In your eyes, you wanted to take him and Tsumiki away from the messiness of Jujutsu and the Zenin clan and live a peaceful life. From all the times that Megumi would see you sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of others, he knew your heart's desire.

But when that scheming man—Gojo Satoru—presented Megumi with a deal, promising a brighter future for Tsumiki and you, Megumi knew it was his turn to repay you for all you had done for him.

He wasn't sure if you would accept it, but he had to try.

"...Huh?"

Little did he know, you had expected it.

"You don't need to say anything else. I understand."

You smiled softly, continuing to make dinner as Megumi stood there, lost in thought.

"Whatever choice you make is up to you. This is your life," you said gently, turning to face him. "And I trust you to make the best decision for yourself and Tsumiki. After all, what sibling would I be if I didn't trust my own brother?" you laughed. 

Megumi met your gaze. The stiffness in his shoulders eased as he took in your words and that smile of yours…

Your support meant the world to him.

"Thank you," he whispered, and you only smiled in response.

"Now!" you clapped. "Enough of that sappy stuff. Would you like to help me out with dinner?"

With a smile of his own, he nodded, "Of course," and made his way to the kitchen to lend a hand.

Yeah... this was what he was looking for. It was what filled the void he had been feeling.

With your acceptance, he felt more confident in accepting whatever was ahead of him. It didn't matter what happened to him. His own fate became inconsequential; his sole focus was on protecting you and his sister, Tsumiki.

You respected his choice—you always did—and that was why he cherished you so much. 

You, his older sibling.

There was always an aura of maturity around Megumi, his friends thought (and surprisingly selfless, but they would never admit that to his face). Unbeknownst to them, it was all because of how he had to take care of himself after all the adult figures in his life left him, except for one person. His older sibling of 7 years, you.

He felt a sense of responsibility. He owed it to you after all that you've done. He wanted to prove to you that all your efforts to raise him weren't for naught. 

All those nights when you thought Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep and would then cry yourself to sleep, or days when you would come back from work with a couple of injuries, or even the day when you came home with a bruise on your cheek…

He wanted to prove to you—that he could protect you, his family.

And then you could take a break and leave the rest to him.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

[bigfatbimbo]

silly low effort Velvette x reader headcanons —

If there’s one thing I love, it’s evil, malicious, terrifying, bitchy woman. Anyways, that’s why we’re here. LOOK AT HERE SHES SO EVIL AND BAD!! I LOVE HER!! I feel like to date Velvette you have to have such genuine patience because she is very difficult all the time. Like she’s the type to ask what outfit she should wear and hold up two different sets. And then when you give her an answer she goes ”What, you think I can’t pull the other one off, or something?” And you’d be like “dude, no that’s not what I—“ Then just to spite she’d go “Well fuck you then, I’m going to wear that one.” I don’t think she does it in a serious way though, she just likes escalating things. I mean, you guys all listened to respectless, of course she does. I think she loves those shitty reality tv shows unapologetically and with all her heart. And yes, she will make you watch them with her and you will not have a choose. You’d be curled up on the couch together and she’d be laying on your chest with one arm extended out to point the remote at the tv and flip through channels. She’d be like “What d’you wanna watch, you think?” and you’d say “Not that reality tv trash, that’s for sure” and she’d go “Mmmm, okay!” And then she’d turn on one of her dumb shows immediately and laugh to herself when you groan. Speaking of laughter, I have this silly headcanons where she snorts when she laughs. But she thinks it’s sounds ugly so she literally hates when you say something that provokes a laughing fit. Well, she doesn’t really hate it, not when you always comment on how cute her giggles are. They are not cute and they sound like she’s dying all over again. She also really likes when you give her massages and rub her shoulders like after a long day of work. Because it’s stressful stuff, the fashion industry. So she also appreciates softer quality time. Like just cuddling up on the couch in one of your t shirts. Also sometimes she fully cleans out your closest and puts everything she hates in one big pile that she calls the ‘burn it with fire’ pile. ”Hate the yellow, it’s hideous and makes you look infected. Oh and this red would literally only go good with one of your bottoms. It’s a waste.” But she thinks you’re beautiful and gorgeous and so obviously you deserve better clothes?? Like duh. She’s a big fan of princess treatment, too by the way. Like opening car doors for her, breakfast in bed, flowers for every anniversary (even the ‘8 weeks since our first kiss!’brandom milestone. Yeah, she just wants flowers.) BUT DO NOT do the throwing your coat over a puddle of mud thing for her because “Why the fuck would you do that to an innocent coat. Are you completely daft?” Just pick her up and carry her over the puddle, fucking obviously. Also she loves doing your nails, hair, or dressing you up in general. She’s actually weirdly such a mastermind when it comes to this shit because all of it is catered specifically to your style and vibes, while also purposefully complimenting whatever her fit is that day. I think she also likes very fancy dates where she gets to show you off to the public. Especially when you let her pick the outfits, she’s ecstatic and very very excited and equally proud of herself. Also I said this on a previous post but I love the idea and no one has brought it up for a while but once you make your relationship public, she watches edits that her fans make of you two.

a/n — Bottom Velvette request came in and lowkey i’m hyped. Princess treatment to the max, for real for real.

[harry-on-broadway]

Italian Sun

A/N: Felt inspired after yesterday’s pictures so here’s some unedited rambling. Enjoy!

***

It had only been a week, but you were already grappling with your new reality.

The reality of Harry being at home, at last.

Home, for now, was the Italian villa you all often decamped to when you had a few weeks off. He’d been making plans for the end of tour since the holidays and while specifics had changed, one thing had remained consistent: he wanted to spend time in Italy, relaxing and catching up with all of his family and friends he’d neglected for the past two years.

“Neglected? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” you teased when he first brought up the idea. “We’re literally driving home from your mother’s house.”

“You know what I mean,” he’d said, his face scrunching the way it did when he felt like his words were being misconstrued. “I’m just never around and when I am I feel like I’m so behind. Like…like I’m watching the season finale of a show I’ve never seen before. Everything’s different when I come back.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the little things. You cut your hair. You found a new coffee you like. You started listening to a new podcast. And I’ve missed it all.”

When he put it that way, your heart broke. He rarely complained, knowing that the life he was living was envied by many. But you felt for him, hearing how hard this was on him. “Well, start putting together a guest list. I guess we’re all going to Italy in July.”

Which is how you found yourself rooming with Harry’s closest friends and family in the week following the final show of Love on Tour, sharing meals, memories, and adventures with everyone. The extra glow coming off of Harry didn’t go unnoticed by you and you could feel happiness and contentment radiating off of him when he snuggled in close to you each night.

Today was the last day that everyone would be all together before the group started to head out, leaving you and Harry alone. He’d wanted the final day to be the best yet and had planned an itinerary filled with boating and sunbathing and, according to him, the best Italian dinner yet.

You had to give him credit. It was the best day yet. Games were played, naps were taken, and the picnic basket of cheeses, breads, and meats that Harry himself had packed was delicious. But the day also came with an added perk for you.

While almost everyone had donned swimwear for the occasion, displaying all sorts of skin, Harry took it to another level. His shirt was hanging precariously on his body, a single button keeping it from being blown away, and his swim trunks had been rolled up and pulled low on his hips (to avoid tan lines, he explained).

And the hat.

The fucking hat. A bright pink bucket cap, with the word ‘Daddy’ written across the front, that someone had thrown onstage in Australia. He’d said he picked it up as a joke, but the fact that he’d held onto it across countries and time zones, made you think otherwise. You saw how he carried himself with an extra hint of swagger when he wore it, and you hated to admit it, but something stirred inside of you when you caught a glance of him, hat and all, driving the boat with all of the ease of a seasoned pro. You prayed no one could tell how that scene affected you.

Now, with dinner on the horizon, you were trying to put those steamy thoughts out of your head and focus on what you should wear. You’d narrowed it down to two brightly colored dresses, when you felt two hands cover your eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Hmmmmm,” you pondered. “Could it be my boyfriend? You know, the guy who organized this magnificent trip after breaking records worldwide for the past couple of years?”

“He sounds like a catch.”

“He’s not that bad. He’s easy on the eyes.”

“Easy on the eyes, huh?” Harry moved his hands down to your hips and spun you around so you were facing him.

“Yeah, and he looks even better when he’s half-naked, driving a boat.”

“Mmmm.” Harry’s hands moved lower so that they were resting on the cleft of your ass. “Must have been pretty hot.”

“Oh, yeah, super sexy. I wish I could have jumped him right there. Especially in that hat.”

“Wait, what,” Harry laughed, breaking whatever character he’d been playing. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged. “What can I say, there’s something about that whole scene that really turned me on. And, sex on a boat sounds kind of fun. Shame we couldn’t try that out.” Harry swallowed, his throat bobbing as he processed what you said. “Harry?” you asked after a moment. “Are you still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m just trying to think why the fuck I thought it would be a good idea to invite everyone on this trip. I could’ve been having sex on a boat.”

“It’s not a boat but we can still have some fun,” you whispered, fingers delicately trailing down the exposed skin of his chest.

“Yeah?”

You nodded and Harry darted across the room to shut the door to your suite, trying to tear his shirt off at the same time. “Slow down, baby,” you said. “We’ve got time.”

Harry took a deep breath, calming himself as he nodded and opened his arms for you. His hands skated over your body, much of your skin already exposed thanks to your swimsuit, before they landed on your jaw, tipping your head back to bring your lips to his.

You felt heat course through your body at his slightest touch and were amazed that he was still able to elicit this reaction from you. You felt your nipples stiffen through the flimsy material of your swimsuit when Harry’s already sizable erection brushed against your thigh and you couldn’t stop thinking about feeling him inside of you.

“Bed, now,” Harry panted when he broke away from the kiss, and you backed up until you could feel the mattress behind your knees.

You fell backwards, bouncing slightly when you landed, and when you raised yourself up onto your elbows to find Harry, he had already dropped to the ground, his hands nimbly shimmying your swim bottoms down your legs. The garment discarded somewhere in the room, you felt Harry’s lips on your ankle, then up your calf, then at the inside of your knee. You knew what this was building too, but that didn’t stop you from letting out a gasp of surprise when his lips finally found your center.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, voice barely above a whisper for fear of alerting the rest of your party to what you were up to. You threw your head to the side, trying to muffle the sound of your pleasure with the pillow.

Theoretically, the two of you were due downstairs for dinner in roughly a half hour, but Harry showed no urgency as he slowly licked at your core, speeding up, then slowing down right as you were about to topple over the edge. It was hard to focus on anything but the feel of him between your legs. You reached down, hand moving blindly until your hands found purchase in his hair. The sensation of his soft curls between your fingers grounded you as you bucked up against his lips, wanting even more than he was already giving you.

“Is this good?” he asked.

All you could manage was a breathless moan as his fingers slid inside, easily undoing you. You opened your eyes and tried to catch your breath as Harry appeared over top of you licking his fingers clean with a satisfying pop. “That really turns me on,” you finally wheezed out.

“What? That?”

“No, the fact that you remember what works for me. It’s just something about the way you care for me. You always act like you don’t remember anything and you have no clue what’s happening, but that’s not true H. You always remember what matters.”

You could see something burning in Harry’s eyes as you said that, not quite desire, but something close. “I’m always going to care about you,” he said, the words laced with emotion. “Nothing is ever going to change that.”

“Show me,” you said.

He rolled on top of you in one easy motion, and you opened your legs, giving him space to settle in. He kissed you, furiously, but nowhere near enough. You needed to feel him all over you, every inch. Skin on skin, nothing between you.

“What the hell are these shorts still doing on you?” you whined, fingers digging into the fabric of his tiny trunks.

“I could say the same about this,” he all but grunted, struggling to undo the tie of your bathing suit top.

Free of obstructions, you all were able to lay together and take in the moment. You weren’t surprised when Harry buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling and savoring the moment. It was something he’d made a habit of doing in recent months, after noticing that you’d changed body wash in his absence. He was upset at first, saddened by yet another detail he’d missed, but after that, he’d started to take more time to observe and remember every little thing about you.

After a few seconds, you felt his lips on your neck as he kissed his way to your mouth, and you could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Got time for one more?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Why stop there?”

“I think you might be overestimating my abilities, love.”

You pressed a kiss of your own to the spot right under his ear that you knew got him going. “You’ve never let me down, H.”

Without warning, he was inside you. He often paused upon entering you, giving you a moment to adjust and a moment for him to center himself. But today, he did no such thing, rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm. You made no effort to stop him either, tilting your hips up and pressing your heels into the small of his back to drive him further inside. The room was nearly silent, just the sound of your bodies moving in time broken by occasional panting, or the soft moans Harry stifled against your chest.

You glanced at him as he continued to drive into you. His eyes were shut tight and his forehead was wrinkled in concentration. It was the look he often wore when he was focused on not coming undone prematurely. Always the gentleman, he made every effort to ensure you were taken care of before he handled his own needs, but the rare occasions when he fell apart first drove you wild.

There was something so attractive about watching a man who was always in control, always looking out for others, come undone, something you’d once told him, earning an eye roll. You could tell he was nearing the edge as his thrusts became more frenzied and less rhythmic, while the wrinkles in his brow deepened.

You brought your lips to the shell of his ear, nipping at the skin, before soothing the bite with a kiss. “Let go,” you whispered in his ear. “For me.” You could feel his hesitation, so you played the ace you had been holding this whole time.

“Daddy.”

His whole body shuddered as he emptied inside of you, your orgasm following close behind. He collapsed, his entire body weight resting on top of you.

“Give me a sec,” he said. “I just—fuck.”

You chuckled lightly. “That good, baby?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief, as he lifted off the bed and padded to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. “Fucking amazing,” he muttered, as he moved to help you clean up. “Didn’t know that was uh, something you were into. You know, the daddy thing,” he added, trying to sound casual.

“Can’t say I am, but something about that hat just really got to me. Maybe something to think about in the future though?”

“For sure,” Harry said. “I mean, I’ve scheduled plenty of sex for us as part of this break.”

“So when do you leave again?” you teased.

Harry pinched your thigh lightly. “Not soon enough apparently.”

You leaned forward, grabbing him for a kiss. “It’s always too soon. But I’m happy to have you while I can.” You looked at the clock on the bedside table. “And I think all of your friends want to see you too, which means, we have to get ready. Now.”

“I’ll start the shower.”

“Harry!”

“What? It’s a time saver and a water saver.”

You rolled your eyes. “Remember, your friends will let us have it if we’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah. They’re getting a free vacation so they’ll keep quiet if they know what’s best for them.”

“Oooh, tough guy.” You grabbed your towel and headed to the bathroom, hearing Harry say something behind you. “What did you say?” you asked, turning around to find him standing there holding his hat from earlier in the day.

“I said I have to remember to send a thank you note,” he added quietly.

“To who?”

“Whoever threw that fucking hat on the stage. Never imagined it would get me laid.”

[archiesss]

Wriothesley x M!Reader Mistletoe (Christmas special)

You were at a Christmas party to celebrate the holidays organized by Navia to try and get everyone closer to each other, everyone was there Lyney, Lynette, Freminet, Clorinde, Sigewinne, even Neuvillete and a lot of other Fontainians you had never met but you honestly just wanted to keep to yourself during this party and think about your life, because the past few weeks you had developed feelings towards your boss Wriothesley the Duke of the fortress of meropiede, not only did you not know how to tell him but you were both guys there was no way he’d ever feel the same way right?

So here you were in another room in the corner pondering life alone, until a certain someone came to pay a visit.

“Well this isn’t like you is it Y/N?”

“Huh..?”

You couldn’t believe it the very person you had just been thinking about had came to talk to you

“Oh um, hello Wriothesley how can I help?”

“Help? I just wanted to talk to you, I noticed you sneaking away from the group and wanted to check to see if you were doing fine, especially considering you are usually more extroverted than this”

“Ah I see, it’s just something that has been bothering me for a while is all.”

“I’m assuming that’s the same reason you’ve been acting so weird these past few weeks?”

“Ah geez, you noticed? Guess I’m not too good at hiding things huh?”

You were trying your best to keep your cool but being alone in a room with your literal crush is really gonna do a number on you

“Of course I did, how could I not notice one of my closest friends shift in behaviour?”

Friend, that one hurt

“You really are perceptive aren’t you..” you say with an awkward laugh “Maybe we should head back to the group and talk about this later, it feels weird doing this at a Christmas party.”

“What for, I still haven’t gotten my answer from you.”

“What answer?”

“Why have you been acting strangely around me the past few weeks, to my knowledge you only act this way around me, you’re personality did not shift when talking to Sigewinne, so what’s this all about? We are pretty close, you can trust me.” He says with a soft smile

“…” No answer

“Well you don’t seem to want to tell me so I’ll give you time, my offers always up on the table.”

As Wriothesley begins walking away further and further you get a sinking feeling, you aren’t gonna get another chance like this for a long time, even if he rejects you, living like this forever would be worst, you have to tell him

“Wait! Wriothesley!”

“Hm?”

“I’ll tell you…”

“I’m not forcing you or anything you really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, this is my own conscious decision.”

You take a deep breath, Wriothesley stares at you intently.

“Look, what I’m about to say could ruin our friendship forever and I never told you because I was afraid of how you would react… but I think it’s time.”

Wriothesley’s face shifts from an intent look to a concerned one but he lets you continue

“It only recently happened 3 weeks ago, but I love you Wriothesley… I didn’t know how to tell you and I understand if you don’t feel the same way.”

You close your eyes bracing for rejection, but to your surprise it never came, as you were about to open your eyes you feel a pair of soft lips collide with yours, you open your eyes and to your surprise you see Wriothesley the very man you had developed a crush on recently was kissing you, you couldn’t believe it, was this reality? You melted into the kiss not wanting this moment to ever end

But to your dismay all good things come to an end as Wriothesley pulls away from the kiss looking you in the eye.

“So this is what this was?” A little chuckle escapes his mouth as he runs his fingers through your hair

“You don’t have to worry, I feel the same way.”

You were about to leave, happy with the results but Wriothesley pulls you back and shakes his head.

“Hold on there, look up.”

You do as you’re told and as your eyes trail up you see a Mistletoe right above the two of you, was that always there?

“A mistletoe, but didn’t we already kiss?” You weren’t complaining though if he wanted to kiss you again you were completely on board.

“That kiss was a declaration of my love for you, this one’s for the Mistletoe.”

He kisses you once again more passionately and hungry, when the kiss is eventually broken, you two return to the group and continue to celebrate the festivities, however from that point on you two were practically inseparable, when telling stories by the campfire you’d always sit next to him and when came time to pass around gifts you sat next to him, even when you two returned to the fortress after the party he let you come into his office as you please and when out of work you’d just lay down and rest on his lap as he caressed you. From the Christmas party and on, you two would never ever be separated again.

[theribbonmarkedroom]

11 quick(ish) things I learned from my first read-through of the ATSV art book:

1) Jeff was promoted to police chief because of his “cordial relationship” with Spider-Man (which makes things so much worse)

2) the creative team from the movie were directly inspired by the spidersonas people made when Into the Spider-Verse came out (especially when creating new Spider Heroes)

3) the immediate colors of Gwen’s world are based on her mood “She’s kind of like a mood ring, and whatever she’s experiencing is expressed in the color of that scene” (I say immediate because it’s mentioned that anything she’s not directly focused on gets pushed to the back in terms of colors, so the backgrounds are more muted at times while the main part of the scenes are more vibrant)

4) idk if this was in the comics because I don't follow any of the comics, but Pavitir got his powers “from a mystical shaman” and was not bitten by a radioactive spider

5) the book refers to Earth-42 Miles as Miles G. Morales (like Peter B. Parker) & “We wanted to create a world where it felt like Aaron and Miles G. Morales of Earth-42 [this reality’s counterpart to Miles] are the only heroes”

6) Peter B. is “a stay at home dad” (besides the spider society stuff of course)

7) LYLA is an acronym for “Lyrate Lifeform Approximation” (and she is also “Miguel’s closest friend” and maybe even his only friend)

8) Miguel has a personal journal that LYLA helps record entries for

9) Kemp Powers (the director) describes Hobie as “much older” than Miles. I bring this up since there’s been some debate about his age in the film for a while but the art book doesn't give anything more specific than that

10) Spider-Byte “thinks Miles is kind of cute” (which is obvious from the film but I think it’s funny how it’s brought up in relation to the reasons why she helped Miles escape Miguel)

11) There’s a deleted scene from the film where Spot goes to The Bar With No Name and has some interactions with some familiar villains and the bartender (won’t say too much about it since I’m assuming the scene will show up in the blu ray)

[messyhairedhazeleyeddude]

Detriment | Jujutsu Kaisen

A Yuji Itadori / Sukuna x Fem!Reader | ANGST + SMUT

Contents ; Angst, violence, sadism, slight non-con, gore details, voyeurism, and humiliation.

Dynamic ; Soft Dom!Itadori | Hard Dom!Sukuna | Sub!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; Third

Pronouns used ; She/Her

Age Range ; 18+ | College Years

(Wow! What a great way to start this off, huh? Don’t be nervous. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Grab some snacks if you want and curl up into whatever blanket you got. Listen to some music too, here’s something I recommend as always.)

━ ━°⌜ 始まり ⌟°━ ━ | Translation : The Beginning |

Sorcerors barely have time for love. That was agreed upon everyone who lived in the profession. No one among Jujutsu High could go for a relationship grander than a simple fling or a couple of flirtatious exchanges with someone outside the school.

If they did marry eventually, the couple wouldn’t go without a very rocky path ahead of them. Either one would die in battle and the other would follow suit in depression or it would turn for the worse in causing the pair to resent each other. Barely anything in between.

Succession only came with retiring from sorcery which rarely happened. It was too dangerous to leave the life behind. And for Yuji Itadori, he was trapped there until his life ended. So, with all of that that in mind, why was she on a date?

He was staring at the girl he had a crush on for almost the entire semester leaning her head on the shoulder of Toge Inumaki, sleeping soundly as he patted her. Grief writhed itself in his expression and a couple of tears began to brim the corners of his eyes.

The defeated boy turned around from the sight and laid his forehead on both of his arms, trying to wipe away his heartbreak. While both of his peers, Nobara and Megumi tried their best to rush over to him to spout nonsensical comfort. He was just running away from them not too long ago. The two were acting weird and awkward, hushing things to each other.

When he found out that it was about (Y/N) from the small whisper of her name, he bugged them over and over to let him in on the gossip. Eventually, he gave up and went to find out for himself. He wished he never heard a single murmur now.

Before Itadori knew it, he was full blown sobbing against the brick staircase. He knew he shouldn’t feel this terrible about something that was destined to never happen in the first place. Although, that didn’t change anything on what he felt. Even as both of his classmates watched him have the breakdown. Nothing stopped the rage from coming to him.

Hyperventilating, Yuji stood back onto both feet, mumbling to himself while his reality was shifting into different colors. Something was wrong. He noticed what he was feeling instantly. But, that couldn’t be right. Sukuna had no reason to come out. Why would he waste his time on this?

The loss of control on his emotions gave him a huge disadvantage when trying to hold back the king of curses. It felt like his limbs were being crushed as he fought him. Worst thing about it wasn’t the pain though, it was the fact he could hear him.

“You’re really going to let a man that can’t even speak get her like that, huh?” Sukuna bellowed out in his head, “How pathetic!” So that was it. He was here to taunt him.

If Itadori could, he would beat into his skull all of the anger that was running through his veins currently. But, he was no match for him. He understood that as soon as his body felt numb and all he could do was watch him take over. Once again.

A smirk appeared over the huge frown that was there a second ago, markings appearing and disappearing to signify who was truly present. Both Megumi and Nobara jumped back with their bodies positioned in a fighting stance, bringing out their closest weapons to point them at Sukuna.

They both had a terrified look to their eyes, focused on keeping a safe distance, and guarded for anything that he tried. Although, they also knew that it wouldn’t do to stop him and they’d probably die any minute.

Sweat dripped down from Megumi’s forehead as he shouted at the evil curse, “Sukuna! Return Itadori or else!” He summoned his demon dogs who immediately went to lowering themselves and approaching him slowly. A part of him was worried it was the end already, but he could tell that Sukuna still didn’t have his full potential. He was weak.

Nobara wanted to add in her own demands too, “We aren’t afraid to pummel ourselves into the ground with you until you do.” Even though it was shaky, she held up three nails in each of her fingers, auras of cursed energy embedded in every single one. Her eyes gave off a bit of a crazier look while she grinned back at him.

It was right there that the demon himself clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth several times at them, “Tch, tch, tch…” The red flared in his orbs while his sharp teeth brimmed his bottom lip, letting them soak in his frightening presence.

As much as he wanted to kill them, Itadori was fighting hard on the inside, and he didn’t have enough time before Satoru would show up. That meeting had to wait. So, he decided he would ‘clear the air’ and that was through forcefully grabbing Nobara by the neck; lifting her up while disabling her nails and hammer by using his ability, ‘Dismantle’.

He dug his fingernails into her neck, causing her to grab at his wrist, struggling to breath. Megumi unleashed the demon dogs, the shikigami’s rushing to his legs and opening their jaws to bite. But they didn’t get to latch their teeth in as they were cut into a million pieces in an instant.

Closing his eyes, Sukuna took in a deep inhale and sighed out in satisfaction, “I can smell her. That raw power. No wonder this kid is drawn.” His smirk widened and he cracked his neck, throwing Nobara to the side, and causing her to slide on the concrete before hitting her back on a stone wall.

Megumi yelled out her name, rushing over to her side while Sukuna began walking towards the direction of (Y/N), his hands shoving themselves into his pockets. He continued, “I’m here to give him a hand… And take something that was meant to be mine.” The excitement in his voice never wavered. It increased.

All at once, Megumi threw the rest of his shikigami’s toward him, but none were able to get past his attacks. Every time, they were slashed into tiny pieces and a puddle of blood and guts. The black-haired boy fell to his knees next to Nobara, picking her up in his arms and checking to see if she was okay.

Nothing else stopped him from approaching the girl anymore. Instead, he got to her. Inumaki tried to say something before he could reach them, but it was too late because by the time he opened his mouth, Sukuna opened his domain.

“Domain Expansion. Malevolent Shrine.”

Everything was shrouded in black. Then the piles of bones surrounded him, leaving him on top of the throne of the fossils left behind from his victims, sitting like he was a king. He was, in terms.

(Y/N) stared up at Sukuna with terror in her expression, stumbling backwards until she fell onto her knees. “No… No… What’s going on?” she looked down at her palms shaking, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to level herself.

That didn’t work. She was left freaking out. Who wouldn’t be? This was guaranteed death. She was facing her end. And it was all because she was too weak. There was no way she would come out of this. She was facing the top of the food chain in regards to power. But, why?

“You have something of mine,” as if answering her question, he declared that out loud. His fingers pressing into the side of his forehead as he observed her with amusement. The robes he was wearing shifted when he began to stand, scaling down the mountain using all the skulls as stairs.

(Y/N) knew what he was talking about once he said it, putting her right hand over her left to cover the finger she kept. They had stitched it onto her body a long time ago. It was cruel attempt at keeping it safe. But, it worked. Until now.

He chuckled, “You can’t seriously be wanting to keep that thing on you forever, (Y/N)?” Using the last bits of bones to dismount off of the pile onto the ground. He was leveled with her. Sukuna was in front of her.

She heard of him millions of times, especially since she was the keeper of one of his fingers, but she always liked to think of it as some stupid horror story. Forgetting how real it was made this ten times harder for her to swallow. It was worse when she became friends with Itadori considering how sweet he was. The growing crush on him was beyond terrifying. Exactly for this reason. Wait, what was the reason for him being here?

He knelt down, gripping her chin with two fingers, his sharp nails poking underneath her jaw while tilting her head to make her look him in the eyes. Glaring down at her with that same crooked smile, he muttered out a question, “You like having my power, hm?”

The panicking girl didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t have one, really. It was a yes, possibly. But, at the same time, she knew who it came from. And seeing him here didn’t convince her to want it anymore. He couldn’t have it though. No way in hell was she going to hand it over.

Sukuna seemed to pick up on this because he started to gradually laugh louder and louder, his eyes widening along with the the second pair on his cheeks. (Y/N) watched him, paralyzed out of fear, and shook when he cackled out, “You know what?! I’m feeling in a generous mood today! Itadori, you watching this?”

It looked like he was shouting at no one. But, she knew that the original boy that she was friends with was witnessing everything and that made her sick to her stomach. Sick at what this monster could do to him.

Then without hesitation, as if he got his answer, her hand was raised into the air and she wasn’t able to pull it away. Sukuna bit off the entire tip of the finger that was already connected to her nerves, making her scream at the top of her lungs, and writhe in agony.

He swallowed the chunk and slammed a palm onto her head, pushing her down into the concrete of his domain as it felt like knives sliced across her thighs and arms. “What were you doing with Inumaki?” his voiced lowered while asking.

That was confusing more than anything to hear. Why would he ask that? Why was he concerned about that? So many questions flew through her head but she had to respond, his impatience was obviously short from how hard he was gripping her. She choked on her sentence, managing to piece it together, “He was teaching me how to control cursed energy better. I passed out from trying too hard…”

A hum vibrated out of his throat, his hand no longer crushing her head in while he laughed manically for another moment. “Ohoho, that’s gotta be the best thing I’ve heard all my years alive! And to think, the kid was so worried about you, he was breaking his own soul!”

Whatever Sukuna was talking about, it was hard for her to understand. Hell, she couldn’t make sense of it even after he had that fit with himself. Instead, she was left to deal with the confusion as the cursed man moved forward with what else he had planned.

Each piece of her clothing was cut off of her, shredded onto the floor, and leaving (Y/N) naked. She couldn’t even feel it happening. It was the cold that made her get what he was doing.

But, there was nothing for her to attempt. She would die if she refused. And what he said, it was right. He was feeling in a good mood if this is what he was deciding to do to her. She’s heard of the torture he’s committed, the massacres, what he was doing was simply nothing compared to the rest. And Itadori. If he was witnessing her being raped and it was by his body, it would be horrible for him after it’s over.

(Y/N) had to save Yuji. So, as Sukuna dug his nails into her hips and stripped his robes off, she let out one last request, “Can it please be Itadori first if you’re going to do this? Please…” He stopped what he was doing automatically.

The King of Curses ended up thinking about it despite the brutal urge he had to destroy them mentally, hearing the shocked voice of the trapped boy wondering what she just suggested.

He had to admit. It was amusing to see the guy in such a state. Snickering, he obliged and said his last words before letting him take back control, “For now, I will. This comes with a price. I hope you know that, (Y/N)”

Itadori gasped when he slipped back into his own body, looking down at her and coming face-to-face with his naked crush’s back. A huge blush swept across his cheeks and he stuttered in surprise and panic, “He let me? H-He hurt… He killed Megumi’s shikigami’s… He.. did this to you.. I did this. I let him. I wasn’t-“

Before he could spiral further, she reached up to him and turned to face toward his chest, pressing her lips on his. He needed to stop thinking if he was going to succeed. She couldn’t afford much more time with him, they were on a limit.

Her legs wrapped around his waist and she parted from him to encourage, “Do it. Just fuck me, Itadori. Don’t think about anything. I want you to be the one, not him.” That was enough for him to listen.

Positioning himself awkwardly, he pressed against her folds to prepare her and himself. There was so much to worry about and so much for him to do. But, here he was, having sex with the one girl he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Yeah, it was great having her like this. What about Inumaki? Everyone? What could he do?

Itadori finally got to pushing himself inside, his pupils wide, and his jaw hanging open as he panted out a couple of noises. It was the best feeling he’s ever had. Warm and fit perfectly around him. Just like he thought it would. But better.

He criticized himself in his thoughts, ‘You shouldn’t be enjoying this.’ He tried to put himself down over and over. But, it was ignored by a thrust. And then another. And another. Until he was at a pace that made both of them stuck in the act. Her hands wrapped around his neck, matching her legs as she gave up.

Her body felt like it was going limp, loosely hanging on as her (E/C) eyes were looking up at him in a daze. The aggression in him instinctively increased and before he processed what he was doing, he was pouring every emotion he had into ramming her. She stuttered out moans from the impact each time, her nails finding themselves latching into his back, and clawing down slowly; blood trailing right behind.

There was twinges of pain because of how careless he was becoming and that rage seemed to only be getting worse. She summed it up to him venting out what he could considering they were both in an impossible situation. But, when he leaned forward to the crook of her neck, she heard the rasp of the voice she was dreading to hear, “Time’s up.”

Once they switched, (Y/N) noticed the difference immediately between the two of them. His hand shot to her neck and he dragged his black nails against it, teasing her by softly squeezing at first. Even though that squeeze was still tight enough to make her choke.

Sukuna used his teeth to rip into her shoulder, biting deep into her skin until blood was rushing down the crevices of her chest. She let out a piercing scream that started to crack underneath the pressure of his palm.

He was ruthless. There was no time to adjust to the strength he exerted, only time to cry. She couldn’t see what he was doing to her, but she felt it. And it was so intense that her legs went numb. The sounds of his hips colliding with hers was a loud and sharp slap. Red marks were left on the inner corners of her thighs and exactly where he was aiming all of his force.

When he pulled away from attacking her left side, half of it was covered in a sea of red, all from the amount of times he had sunk his canines in. Pleasure tried to ease the ache for you, it never succeeded because of his cruel treatment.

Any time she moaned, another slice from his technique would cut at her body. And despite her losing so much blood, she was still awake. Hanging on by a thread. That thread being Itadori. She could see a mix of displeasure, sadness, anger, satisfaction, and pure insanity all within the red eyes that took place over his honey brown ones. She really missed that color.

Her eyes were starting to close no matter what after a couple of minutes trying to fight the response to his abuse. But, before they shut, a sound of multiple footsteps stumbling in the domain made her snap her head toward them.

Inumaki, Nobara, and Megumi were looking back at her in devastation. Her pupils shrunk, eyes went wide, and she shrieked out to them, “NO! GET OUT-“

Not even a second thought to it, (Y/N) released her technique, ‘Barrier’, and both Nobara and Inumaki were protected from Sukuna. Except for Megumi. She didn’t have enough in her. He instantly got slashed across the chest, staining his navy black uniform with red, and causing him to fall back.

Megumi Fushiguro was the first put in critical condition.

The skewered girl cried as she was picked up by her hair off of the ground and slammed onto a manifested desk of what resembled flesh. She was stuck staring at her two classmates, exposed and defiled.

Nobara shouted at the top of her lungs, “You sick evil bastard! Let go of her or I’ll shove nails into-” She couldn’t finish before she was incapacitated by his technique. The worst cut being the one on her arm, almost severing it in half and leaving her to grab at it to make sure it didn’t.

Nobara Kugisaki was the second.

(Y/N) tried to plead at Sukuna, hoping that anything she said would convince him to stop, “YOU CAN HAVE ME! NOT THEM! DON’T KILL THEM! PLEASE!”

His narrow sadistic eyes flickered from Inumaki to her back, swiping a tongue across his lips as he chuckled darkly, “What? You want me to save your little boyfriend?” By the sound of that, it was like he was jealous. But, what she was hearing wasn’t correct. She had no relationship with Inumaki and how was he jealous?

Using that, she corrected him, deciding that sparing time with conversation was the route to go, “I have no feelings for Toge… Why are you suggesting it?” Grunts spilled in the middle of her sentence but she was heard.

And he answered with a bloodthirsty grin, “Word got around. Being cuddled up next to someone in broad daylight isn’t friendly, is it?” It was hard to respond with him continuing to fuck her, especially when it was directly in front of Inumaki and Nobara. The shame she was experiencing was like no other and she could no longer look up at their faces.

So, she ended up sobbing by the time she could let it out, “That wasn’t! Anything! I just fell asleep! I JUST FELL ASLEEP!” Her cries grew louder and more desperate, the cursed speech user feeling the exact same way as he ran for them. He couldn’t just watch her die like this. He couldn’t.

Pulling down the neck cover he had, (Y/N) shook her head at the sight of Toge and panicked. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t shut her eyes and watched the white-haired boy shout out a command, “ESCAPE!”

Instantly, she was lifted from Sukuna’s grasp into the air by an invisible force, looking down in surprise at Megumi and Nobara following with. She wished she hadn’t though as she witnessed Inumaki sputtering out blood and collapsing to the ground, limp. That terrible grin never left his face as he glanced up at them being sent out of his domain, winking at (Y/N) like he was telling her, ‘See you later.’

Toge Inumaki was the last.

When everyone made it outside and onto the grass, all of the Jujutsu Sorceror’s were working on getting Sukuna under control again. Gojo being the one to relocate the students to aid while forcing his way into the domain that vanished seconds later.

She won’t ever forget the look on Itadori’s face, covered in her blood, and the disgust in his eyes the moment he locked them with hers. His hands were resting on his lap in front of him and thankfully, his clothes were back to the way they should be. But, it was like the spark in his soul faded. She understood that what Sukuna had planned, worked. From then on, they both were never going to forget what happened.

Yuji Itadori will cease all contact with (Y/N) (L/N).

[rizsu]

wants can hurt and sometimes kill. gojo satoru ( insane version )

have you ever wanted something so badly you came to hate it when you got your hands on it?

+ extra. he's a stalker + gaslighter combo, you die, can u guess the reference for this lil drabble 🌚

satoru has his needs. regardless of how important they may be, his wants will always overpower his needs. his needs are but a fraction of what he craves.

some say he's the attention seeker; his random outbursts immediately direct all kinds attention on him. the untold truth? satoru doesn't want attention — especially if it's yours. he wants to crave you, wants to remain daydreaming about "what ifs", wants to stalk from behind you like another shadow.

you shouldn't have returned his love. couldn't you do what they all do and ignore his advances? he didn't want to do what he did but you — you pushed him. the crippling love you two shared tumbled over like a stack of plastic cups in the wind: fragile, risky, yet determined to finish the piece.

you were ultimately satoru's perfect karma. his want for you destroyed him before he knew it. or maybe, just maybe, he already had his suspicions.

satoru wasn't an easy love, nor was he tough love. he lingered around you, manipulating reality so that your fate forever determined by his course of actions. he doesn't feel any guilt for his actions. instead, he blames you for this. "had you just," became his favourite sentence starter.

it's your fault for finding him attractive. your fault for giving into his love. your fault for ignoring the alarming danger signs sticking out from him like a sore thumb. your fault for calling him "insane", and "obsessive". why curse him when you knew what you were getting into?

he was content with stalking you. many times he shamelessly dropped hints that he's been illegally watching your every move. even his closest friends warned you indirectly.

"i think it'll be best to break it off with satoru," they'd say, following their concern with anything along the lines of "he's not right mentally."

"it's okay, i'm sure i can tolerate it," you'd always respond with a smile, foolishly overestimating yourself.

you loved a rose, he was a thorn.

on paper your relationship with satoru was perfect. he worshipped every cell on your body, inside and outside. he'd always be next to you, to some concern, or he'd be just a phone-call away. satoru never left your side.

you thought of him as your hero; every time you were nearing danger, satoru would jump out just in time. the sweet lie is more wanted than the bitter truth.

arguments never went overboard, he'd hate to have you mad at him. no matter what he did, satoru would always make sure his day revolved around you.

isn't he the perfect prince charming? he knew every detail about yourself. even some you had no knowledge of. you had no clue of your habit of pressing your lips into a thin line whenever things get awkward, but he did.

"have you ever loved someone so much that you begin to hate them?" a question satoru never understood, but he came to.

he loved you so much that he wanted to be in your skin. that love, when returned, transformed into a bubbling hatred.

somewhere down the line satoru found your every action disturbing. your smile he once adored became the reason he'd be annoyed. whenever something went wrong, he'd jokingly blame you but it's not a joke anymore.

the hate, combined with the love, drove him mad. there were times he became disgusted at his own hate for you, so he'd show you his love until dawn broke. but that's as much as it went.

it happened unplanned. it was another repetitive night of him blankly staring at the ceiling. the day itself was rough, nothing went right. you pitied him and sympathized when he came home. it made his goosebumps raise. you're so loving it disturbed him. couldn't you catch the hint and treat him like shit too?

he couldn't stand it. he had to get rid of it.

while you enjoyed your slumber, he sat up. satoru re-positioned himself so that he's hovering over you. his hands circled around your throat, squeezing down as tight as he can. he stayed like that for few minutes — until he told himself it was enough.

you had to go, don't blame him. don't haunt him. understand him. he had to — there was no other choice.

hopefully, if it's a fairytale, time can turn back to where he was your stalker and not lover. for now, he'll wallow until another "her" appears.