#i have work soon it's gonna be so cringe if i only answer this one in the next 6 hours

[satoruhour]

Just thought of something FREAKY in class… Single father Satoru looking for a babysitter and you’re looking for a side income during semester break and the tension goes crazy!!!! “We should’t be doing this my son will wake up” I’M GONNA SCREAMMMM

BLISS, PURE BLISS

a/n: happy new year LMFAOOO. thank you for all the asks btw i promise ill answer them asap 🥹 / @shotorus @osaemu @shidouryusm @mysugu @hyomagiri ♱

wc: 6.4k

warnings: ‘onee-san’ used but more of just addressing reader as an older figure because saying babysitter is kinda weird lol (kind of like how chinese people use 姐姐 even if they are not related), fem!reader, dilf!gojo, age gap (gojo in his late 30s, reader in mid-20s), angst if u squint, bit of slow burn n tension, making out, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, praise, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, p -> v sex, multiple rounds, consensual filming, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“no fucking way . .” you mumble mostly to yourself, standing in front of the largest house of the gated community in roppongi, and while you knew the people here were excessively and obnoxiously rich, you’re never quite prepared until you’re getting a key card specifically mailed to your name just so you could enter.

you’re not even shameful when you take a video to send to your best friends, locking your screen almost immediately because you knew you’d never get to the job on time if you replied to them. with calculated steps, you’re walking up the house that’s designed with a modern structure, yet still retaining characteristics of a traditional japanese home. it’s less prominent at the front of the house, though.

“(y/n)-san, was it?” a voice startles you out of your ogling sessions. if the garden was already this nice, what would be in store for you when you went in? you’ll be finding out soon when your employer himself opens the door to you, a man with striking white hair and equally striking blue eyes that seem to look right into you. he’s dressed in a suit, probably no doubt ready to get to work while you’re out here taking your time. you cringe, immediately walking up to the door.

“y-yes! yes, i’m sorry sir, i was just uhm—”

he holds that intimidating stare just for a moment but then he breaks into a smile that mirrors the bright sun that shines down on the porch.

“it’s alright . . it’s not everyday you’re working at some rich guy’s house, right?” he jokes but that strikes a little ick into you — he’s already ticking the boxes of obnoxious and excessively rich, but you hate the effect he’s having on you.

“yeah . . no, i guess,” he hums in reply before sticking a hand out.

“gojo satoru,” he introduces himself, “call me anything but that sir shit, alright, doll?”

you nod obediently, trying not to let the little pet name get to your head because he probably does this to any babysitter who comes through the house, but either way, he’s welcoming you in and it’s like you step into a world unreal. it’s spotless, the floors shining under the sunlight, a large television in the living room, a spacious open concept dining-kitchen area, and this is just the first floor.

gojo takes his time to show you the house — where his kid’s toys were, where the food was, where the bathrooms and bedrooms were, it was never-ending. every step you took made you feel like you were walking the length of the nile, each turn only revealing more rooms and corridors.

and then, finally, his baby boy.

“he’s a cheeky one, takes after his dad,” even with all the cockiness he’s shown to you, you can tell he has a soft spot for his kid. the boy stirs from his father’s voice, gleaming in happiness as he puts out his smaller hands to be picked up. as he settles into his arms, it’s just sinking in how tall your employer is. he makes a toddler look like a baby with how small his son looks wrapped snugly.

“satoshi, hi,” he whispers, bouncing the kid in his arms, “want to say hi to your onee-san?”

you manage a small wave but all he does is turn to hide in his father’s arms, definitely scared from a random stranger suddenly talking to him.

“she’s going to be taking care of you for the next month or so, you know?” he mumbles, brushing a hand through the matching white hair, “be nice to the babysitter, okay?”

all satoshi does is hum into his dad’s neck before he’s giving you a sheepish smile. “he’s like that, don’t worry about him.” and you return the smile, thinking that he wasn’t that obnoxious that you thought and that maybe he’s really a dad trying his hardest for his one kid. you realise he’s taking too much time, though, and so you sought out to remind him.

“oh, uh sir— gojo-san, don’t you have to go to work?”

although he’s mentioned satoshi to be taking after him, the boy goes right back to sleeping when he’s put back into his bed so you follow gojo as he adjusts his cuffs and smoothes out his collar just outside the room and you make the mistake of glancing upon the mirror on the far end of the corridor — it was undeniable that you looked like a high-end couple who’s newly married and raising a kid. you try to shake off the thoughts of adjusting his tie for him.

“it’s not being late if you’re on top.” he smirks and you resist the urge to roll your eyes; at least you weren’t alone in purging the delusional thoughts from your head, he was basically helping you at this point and you struggle between characterising him as conceited and admirable. “but, yeah, i should get going.”

but he stands at the door with backpack slung onto one shoulder while he continues to explain satoshi’s routines to you, his habits and also had to sneak in a few cute photos of the kid while squealing repeatedly and you’re left wondering how this guy could be the CEO of a company.

it’s been like that for as long as you can remember — bidding goodbye to your parents as you tell them that you’re off to your part-time job over the winter break. they’re happy you’re even leaving the house, shoving your lunch into your hands with big smiles that you’re at least doing anything other than sitting in your room. the train ride to the gated residential was nice, too, apart from the very crowded subways for people going to work in roppongi.

gojo greets you every morning when you arrive, reminding you of satoshi’s feeding times and his favourite shows and everything a father should know but don’t have the luxury to experience with aforementioned kid. it’s a little bittersweet, every time you see him kiss satoshi goodbye that turns into remaining in his room, to holding your hand and saying goodbye to daddy from the second floor, to getting carried by you at the front door.

it’s slow but sure progress day after day, from watching his cartoons, feeding him at the kitchen island, playing with his toys, that satoshi feels more and more comfortable with you, learning that while he was a well-behaved boy, he definitely had hints of your employer in him. mannerisms, words, voice, you wonder whether he even got any part of his mother in his genes.

you’d never ask, though, but it was told. unexpectedly.

“i’m home—” the last parts of his word die down into a whisper when he opens the door to see satoshi cuddled up to you, the last bits of home alone playing softly. by now you already know what happens in the movie so you’re texting your friends and laughing softly to yourself, jumping when your boss steps past the doorway. gojo winces when he checks his watch (“fuck. it’s already ten.”), toeing his shoes off and apologising simultaneously.

“oh— man, i’m so sorry, i had a late meeting with the CEO of our neighbouring franchise, i totally forgot about the time—” gojo’s quick to make his way down to the small pit of the house (he likes to call it the conversation pit), settling down on the side where satoshi had his head in your lap as his eyes linger on the movie. instinctively, his hands reach to pat his leg.

“oh, it’s okay, gojo-san, it’s the holidays anyway.”

“yeah?” he turns to you, one arm propped on the back of the sofa, “and why don’t a pretty girl like you have any plans?”

that catches you off-guard, among the many other times he’s called you pretty or sweets like no care in the world. you’re never quite used to it, too, seeking to fluster you. “you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, gojo-san . .”

“why not?” he’s turned back to the television, now, and you take his place, staring at his side profile as the scenes of the movie move along his face. “i’m a single dad, aren’t i?”

“yeah but . . you could have anyone.”

“what if,” he turns and you chicken out, head snapping back to the front while he watches you and the both of you cannot deny the tiring dance you perform around each other all the time. the clench in his heart when he sees you carry his baby boy at the porch and the small smile he gives you every morning before he leaves for his job. he doesn’t want to go through with it and sighs.

it’s become hard to breathe around you. it’s become hard to hold himself back around you.

“i worked too much.” he suddenly says, facing the TV again. “i was too engrossed and . .”

confusion seeps in at first. yeah, it was no secret he worked his ass off despite being at the very top. your gaze falls to satoshi, curling more into your side like he’s cold and you adjust the blanket. you nod in recognition.

“we fought a lot. i tried— i tried to alter my schedule as much as i could, driving to and fro whenever she needed me, bringing satoshi to work as a baby when we couldn’t come to a compromise, but it was a lot. for her, for satoshi. he could sense whenever we were about to fight, on edge voices, items clattering to the floor . .”

by now, he’s leaned back, back of his hand resting on his forehead, “and he’d cry like he was interrupting us. cheeky, i told you,” and his eyes close, “we hardly reached middle ground. it was either this or that, hire a nanny or we take care of him, my endless job or the joy of life. i’m ashamed that i’ve prioritised my job more, and still do it now.”

“if you didn’t, i wouldn’t be here, would i?”

that draws a chuckle out of him, “correct.”

“she couldn’t take it, not when she was a businesswoman on top of that. she was out doing herself at every aspect in her job, going to greater heights, and while she accused me of putting work first, she isn’t entirely innocent, either. but that’s . .”

“you don’t have to say anything, gojo-san,” you mumble as you watch the reunion of the characters in the movie before the screen cuts the black, no doubt affecting him in some way at the warmth displayed by the movie that contrasts heavily with his situation, “the fact that you even told me is . .”

the heavy atmosphere is disrupted by satoshi gasping, “papa! you’re home.”

you exchange awkward smiles as you watch the boy fight his way out of the blanket to hug gojo, the latter huffing when the boy drops his body weight on him and you take it as a sign to give them a bit of privacy, standing up to clean up the popcorn and cups. laughter and your employer’s voice resonate throughout the place even as they go up the stairs, a rare occasion where gojo is able to get his son ready for bed.

it’s only maybe an hour later when the house falls into silence. mouth burning from the mouthwash, the heater in satoshi’s room turned to a high setting, one bedtime story was read (which, he fell asleep halfway), the boy was out like a light. you felt it inappropriate to leave without at least saying goodbye, but you also didn’t want to cut into their time together; at least, that’s what you told yourself.

so you waited with your things on the kitchen island, getting a risky text just as gojo comes down, still in his suit from work.

[11:02pm, nobara -> you] BITCH GET THAT DICKKKKK!!!!!!! 

and you yelp softly, slamming your phone down onto his marble counter. thankfully, he doesn’t notice, eyes close to shutting from fatigue. 

“oh, shit, you’re still here?”

“i thought it would be, weird, if i didn’t say goodbye,” you get ready to leave, slinging your tote bag on, “but i also didn’t want to intrude on your time with satoshi, limited as it is.” well, you did also wish something would happen, but you had too much pride to admit it to yourself.

“you got a ride home?” he yawns and you feel guilty for extending your stay already. you didn’t even need to worry about the front door, he lived in a gated community for christ’s sake!

“um, not really, but i can always book an uber home.”

“i’ll drive you home, it’s unsafe,” is all he says like he’s trying to convince himself, “let me just get changed and we can go.”

gojo doesn’t leave you any room to protest before he’s up the stairs again and you’re left with a pounding heart and dizzy head, not sure what might ensue. you know him to be honourable; you’ve seen him with his child, you’ve seen him interact with his neighbours, but a late ride with your boss sounds sketchy as it is.

but it doesn’t feel like it when you feel the tokyo wind blowing through your hair, a slight gap in the window bringing you the chills of the night as he silently drives you back home. sitting in your employer’s car most of all felt weird, but even more so when he’s reaching your home faster than the gps system had predicted. his knuckles are white.

“you—”

your head snaps to him, “yes?”

his car headlights are the brightest in the parking lot where every car is silent, quiet, much like his clammy hands and red cheeks. gojo satoru turns to you, feeling that familiar tug in his heart and lump in his throat for the first time in a while, and he can’t speak.

but you lean forward like your life depends on it and you leap inwardly when you see that he does the same. eyes trained forward, your stares boring into the other, waiting to see who’d close their eyes first. you just stop short of an inch, met with the hypnotising swirls of raging oceans in gojo’s eyes and you swallow when his eyes flit down to your lips and back up like he wouldn’t get caught.

with shaking hands, your fingers trace over his lips and you sigh when you feel just how soft they are, just like his skin, just like his eyes when they look at satoshi. your heart skips a beat when he just lightly kisses the pads of your fingers, and that encourages you to cradle his cheek, up his jaw, up his undercut.

“let’s just kiss, yeah?” he was afraid that if he spoke too loud, he’d shatter the glass, snap the string of tension, voice cracking until you swallow it, you stomach his nervousness with a lively, strong kiss from your lips to his, and he just melts.

gojo hums into the kiss, leaning forward over the stick shift and into the passenger seat before you counter it with your own movements: hand on his shoulders and pushing until you’re on his space of the driver’s seat and playing the game of tug that’s been going on for the past few weeks. you win.

“god, you’re so . .” gojo whines out when you climb onto him, whispering into your mouth while you get comfortable in your straddling position, cutting him off with a second, rougher kiss and you both moan softly, passion taking over in the evident way your arms scramble to wrap around him while he pulls you flush against his front.

the car is filled with sounds of your kissing, something that definitely shouldn’t be done in his home and yet you risk it all in your home’s parking lot. you break the kiss and hide in his neck, already starting the makings of a hickey there while your pelvis selfishly grinds into his front and he kneads your ass. in the mingling of breaths and moans, he’s left to stop the two of you when there’s a muffled ringtone coming from your bag and you swallow at the insanity of the situation.

“i’ll see you, monday, right?” gojo breathlessly says later, bulge still showing through his sweats while you hang outside the driver’s side, not wanting to leave. he takes your hand, planting a peck on it and then brings you in for another harmless kiss.

“yeah, gojo-san . . monday.”

you lose count of how many times you’ve swallowed throughout the night, but he says something to lift the mood just a bit.

“we just made out and you’re still calling me by my last name?”

you laugh lightly, “monday, satoru. i’ll be there, same time, on monday.”

gojo leaves a farewell kiss to the inside of your wrist, “attagirl.”

 but if you’re not careful, it might just happen in satoru’s house.

the remainder of your employment at his house is tiring. it’s so hard not to kiss him before he leaves for work, so difficult not to long for him while you take care of satoshi, so entirely harrowing not to claim him as yours as you watch him play after his work. at this point, you’re hoping school will just start soon and the rush of assignments and readings will take your mind off of it, but you cannot deny the excitement every time you leave your house.

“you’ll bring food and cook every monday, wednesday, friday, and i’ll order food for the both of you every tuesday and thursday, how’s that?” gojo thinks it’s time to introduce him to larger pieces of food, but it’s gone past that by now and to your meal arrangements.

“i’m okay with cooking, though!” you assure him, and plus, you loved your parents’ home cooked bentos that they give you everyday, “do we gotta?”

“sorting out meals is tiring, (y/n),” gojo takes the place beside you, leaning against the counter just like you before drinking out of his cup, “i want to at least help at little.”

“you already are.” you smile, “i can see you making the effort.”

“it’s not enough, though, i could be doing better.”

gojo hates how this scene sets up — like two parents just figuring out the best for their kid — it’s a callback to the memory in the same exact kitchen. at least all you do is kiss and make out, because he wouldn’t know what to do if you moan out his name in that same intimate way that threatens his walls to come down again. he loved sex, he loved the bedroom, but he’s riding a thin line the way he’s doing with you.

“you are,” is everything that you say, and you leap forward to kiss him. you do it so hard that he has to put down the glass to fully embrace you, walking you backwards to the conversation pit and he carries you so effortlessly because he doesn’t want you walking backwards down some stairs.

he hates how you bring him into your lips, he hates how gently he lays you down, and he hates how you accept the kisses down your neck and body. you, on the other hand, aren’t doing so well, either — it’s either a hit or miss with a broken man like gojo satoru, and you’re stepping on glass shards hoping you don’t say anything wrong with him because he’s trying his best but he just can’t see it.

“are you okay with this?” he asks halfway down your torso and he gets lightheaded from how well his hands cover your waist. “tell me to stop, and i’ll stop.”

“n-no . . keep going, satoru.”

he exhales shakily at that, fingers tugging your top up and his hands are so cold you resist shivering, but you do anyway from the sheer fucking craziness that gojo drives you into. one pop of your button, and you’re already lifting your hips off the couch for him to remove your pants but movement on the stairs make you halt.

“papa?” satoshi calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes and pouting. you can see it, almost, with how much time you’ve spent with the kid, and you hope he can’t see you. “i . . i had a nightmare and i just— i wanna sleep with you.”

he’s started sniffling and you feel your heart break that he knows his papa well enough to know he would never sleep in his room. his job always has him sleeping out in the living room.

go. you mouth, kissing your fingers and pressing it to his lips before he puts on a show — yawning, stretching his arms, already making satoshi feel at ease with his theatrics before he’s stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at you. you already know gojo satoru has redeemed himself a hundred times over. i’ll see you tomorrow. 

funnily, satoshi somehow does have some intervention powers, because each time the both of you attempt to go down on each other, he’s either saying he threw up, or he needs to use the toilet, or that he’s hungry. while you both love him to death, it’s also becoming difficult to hold back each time you see each other. his car in your parking lot is all he has and you dare not to go to his workplace where rumours would spark.

so after a tiring night of getting a hyper satoshi to sleep, you’d at least try. at this point, you know not to expect too much out of it, starting always with some talking. it was easy to talk to your boss, and when you phrase it like that, it did come off a little strange, but it was far from that when your boss in his late 30s looked just like he did ten years ago and that he had crazy blue eyes and insane white hair and was hot.

“thank you for taking care of him for the past month and a half,” gojo thanked you, leaning over to give you a peck to the temple, “it means a lot.”

“he’s a sweet boy, plus, i do need the money,” you giggle, nudging him, “and it did let me get to know you . .”

“certainly,” he mumbles. drunk off your scent, he leans in again, kissing you fully on the lips now. you hum softly, going on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulder. swiftly, he props you on the kitchen counter and you yelp in surprise, unable to help the throb of your pussy when he slots himself in between your legs.

jokingly, he puts his hand to his ear. “no satoshi interruption tonight?”

you smack his shoulder, “don’t jinx it.”

he laughs, a proper laugh before he sighs shakily, fingers thumbing your sides gently. “you know . . we shouldn’t be doing this,” you feel your heart sink a little, but he quells it with hovering lips over yours, “he could hear and wake up.”

“then why have you been accepting all my kisses, gojo satoru?” your eyes challenge him, but you know one touch from him would have you submitting to him. his breath fans over your lips, and you can feel his pulse speed up when your fingers go over his neck, to his nape, to his undercut. you run your fingertips through it.

“you have too much power over me, simple.” that sentence has your eyes fluttering close. it’s too much for you and yet you welcome it with open arms, “it’s become so bad that you’re all i think about.”

“is that so?” you pull lightly on his hair.

he nods, foreheads touching now and he’s trying to hold himself back, but, “i’ve been holding back, entirely too much, baby, and i don’t think i can, anymore.”

“yeah?” you whisper, bringing him in with your legs, “show me, then.”

gojo satoru decides that maybe taking the leap isn’t so bad, so he fully gives himself to you, tugging your lips to his in a clashing kiss that has you groaning in pain just a bit. he giggles and apologises and tries again, and this time, it’s got your hips moving against him, whimpering into his mouth. gojo’s hard just from kissing, something that he’s desperate to relieve himself off so — he’s whispering for you to hang on while he slots his hands under your ass and lifts you.

satoru knows his house well, walking up with you in tow and lips still on yours, right into his room. you giggle when he plops you down and he’s already looking forward to ravishing you, but —

“let me check on satoshi for a sec.”

you laugh silently, “of course, satoru, go.”

and once your boss’ made sure his son is out cold in slumber, he’s all over you again and definitely showing you how much he’s been holding himself back. you’re the pure focus of the night, making you chase for more when he pulls away and kissing down your body. he worships it, tongue circling a nipple while his hand plays with the other, eyes staring holes into yours from how intense the blue was.

“s-satoru . .”

“yes, sweets, what is it?”

“feels good—” you whine, back arching into his hold once he leaves your tits and continues down your body. each kiss is like hellfire against your cold skin, and he pops a button and listens out again, both of you sighing in relief and giggling to each other when you don’t hear a knock on the door.

“does it? good.” it’s tantalisingly slow, the pace at which gojo peels your clothes off, but when your pants are finally off, he marvels at your beauty as he brings your legs apart. you’re shy, hiding yourself behind your arms and resisting his hands.

“aht, no, c’mon, show yourself, baby.” he only moans when he sees the dark patch at the centre of your underwear, pressing a finger into your clit and you’re ashamed at how intensely you react to it. gojo continues his torture, thumbing your bud just to watch your face contort into pleasure, “so, so pretty.”

you preen at the praise, even more so when he pulls your panties to the side and sucks slowly on your clit. it’s slow, again, and you’re clutching the sheets so tight when he lays his tongue flat against your pussy. satoru takes his time, savouring each bit of your cunt to make up for lost time, filling the room with the lewdest noises of your sopping cunt on his tongue.

“taste so fuckin’ sweet, pussy’s s’good,” he practically moans into your core, arms wrapping around your thighs to bring you closer while you try to keep your noises down to a minimum. little pants and mewls leave your lips, eyes never leaving the head of hair.

but he’s unpredictable, as gojo always is, so when he’s hovering over you just to give you a little innocent kiss, you think nothing of it, until he’s back in front of your pussy and starts eating you out like a starved man. you let out a loud moan, dragging it out until you’re gulping down your next sounds. it doesn’t help much, though, cause gojo’s slurping at your pussy like it’s the end of the world.

“s-satoru—! too much—” you moan but your hips grind into his mouth, your hands now finding purchase in his hair, “t-too loud.”

“mmf— don’t care,” he mumbles into your cunt, making sure he gets every drop of your arousal on his tongue while he abuses your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking hard and you think it’s the best head you’ve ever gotten.

“not when your cunt’s so perfect,” you only press his head deeper into you like it would stop his muffled sentences, but that only spurs him to suck harder before he just shifts down a little to plunge his tongue into your hole. you choke out a moan as his nose nudges your clit, clenching around his muscle.

“relax— mmhh, you gotta relax, baby,” he’s massaging your thighs but if anything it does the exact opposite, closing your thighs around his head in sensitivity.

“it’s— h-hard to,” you moan out, already feeling the coil in your tummy that’s approaching oh, so quickly when gojo eats you out like this. he shifts his attention back to your puffy clit, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours and you shrivel under his intense stare, “w-when you’re making me feel s’good—!”

you feel him smile into your cunt but he says nothing, taking note of the drop of your jaw, the scrunch of your eyes, the contractions of your stomach. your legs like to straighten out and shake when you’re close, he memorises. when you start to tighten your grip on his hair, he ingrains it in his mind.

“cumming— i’m c-close,” but it’s like satoru doesn’t even need it when his eyes digest the way he sends you over the edge with just his tongue.

“g— god! satoru!” your mouth falls into a silent scream after, head dipping so much into the pillow while you grind your cunt into his face, gushing all over his face with a renewed spirit and regret for all those times that men have rubbed your left lip thinking it was your clit.

“let it go, yeess . . that’s it,” satoru doesn’t hesitate to get sloppy, sucking up all your cum, gasping for air once he’s done with his meal, “pretty girl just came all over my face.”

you struggle to your elbows despite the words he utters, propped up just to catch a glimpse of him and the soaked bottom of his face that stretches into a smile.

“was that better than all the uni boys who’ve never felt the touch of a woman?” you laugh at that, making quick work of grabbing his chin and bringing him back to your lips.

“much, much better.” and you take the opportunity to flip the tables, trembling, shaking legs trying their best to wrap around his torso to straddle him —  but once you’re over, you’re not quite sure what to do apart from letting your hands roam all over the expanse of his shoulders and chest.

“and can she do it again all over my cock?” the obscene words sound almost taboo falling from his mouth that your mouth drops open in initial shock, but it subsides into anticipation soon enough.

wordlessly, you take matters into your own hands, fingers making quick work of his trousers while he removes his top impatiently. the scowl on your face is prominent when you struggle to work his belt out and he chuckles with helping hands, the burn on your face deepening.

“there,” gojo giggles and he pulls you in with a peck-filled apology, “don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.”

you hum, “not when your son could knock any time soon.”

that prompts a giggle that fades off into a loud moan once your warm hand wraps around him, something that he’d never tell you how many times he’s fantasised about. slowly, you stroke his cock, excruciatingly slow just like how he’s done to your cunt earlier.

you’re hovering over him, now, dragging his tip along your pussy and whining softly at the pre-cum that mixes together with your juices. you need him into you as soon as possible, and apart from your soon burning thighs, you’ve been wanting this for as long as you’ve stepped foot into his house from the very first day.

inch by inch, you sink down onto gojo’s weeping cock, getting the luxury of feeling his sensitive twitches with the plunge into your cunt. you’re glad at least he had offered to stretch you out just a tad bit earlier, the intrusion of his fingers already having you panting for his dick; and now, when you have the real thing, it drives your mind insane.

“’t-toru— haah . .” your body curls up from the painful stretch, lips muttering the nickname unknowingly as you grasp onto his shoulders for support, and while he helps you on, he never stops saying the most filthy things, grinning each time you clench around him.

“never thought i’d be here, fuckin’ the babysitter, but here we are,” your oh my god is whispered only for the other to hear, body burning up from the words before he grinds his pelvis into yours and you slump forward in pleasure. your words are a bunch of nothingness, a string of incoherence, “and her pussy’s just so fucking— tight!”

giving you one or two breaths of rest, satoru coos in your face, cradling it and littering kisses all over it before he’s moving his hips and you’re breaking the kiss to whine out, moving your hips to meet his as well. you move sooner or later, bouncing on his cock once you’re more used to him in you and the position only hits all your spots just right.

“f-fuck— you’re so big—!” you roll your hips into him, eyes stuck on how there’s just a small bump in your tummy each time you bottom out. your boss from across you is equally ruined, eyes struggling to keep open with wet hair stuck to his forehead. “feel so so g-good . .”

“yeah?” he breathlessly mumbles, hand squeezing and kneading your ass and trying to help you, but the warmth of your cunt around his length just feels too good. “bounce on that dick, baby.”

and you do, planting your feet into the bed and fingers creating bruises along his shoulders as you impale yourself on his fat cock, switching to relaxing in his embrace and letting your hips do the work when your legs start hurting. there, you indulge in gojo’s lips as you hump him, the delicious friction of your clit against his pubes sending you reeling.

“you’re going to be soaking my sheets from how much you’re leaking,” gojo jests, letting your moans take over his mind while his lips trace down your neck, eyes just peeking over to see your ass ripple from the force. “not that i mind. how’s she doin’?”

“she’s getting,” a choked whine interrupts you, “a little tired.”

and that draws a laugh out of gojo who does nothing but tease you, something he likes to do even in makeout sessions, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach over to his bedsie table to grab his phone, leaning back to bask in your glory. here, your body just looks heavenly as you try your best to move on his lap.

“hang on a little more for me, princess,” with one hand, his larger hand leave chills all over your body and the other points his phone at you, not before making sure you were okay with it, “and smile for the camera.”

you try your best even when his hand make his way to your mouth, pulling it open with his fingers to slot it in. you’re sure you look like a whore right now, but the camera pointed your way only turn you on more, like it’s beckoning you to put on a show. and you loved the attention, so you close your lips around his fingers and start sucking, grinding even harsher on his cock that has gojo stuttering.

“y—yeah, attagirl . .” he grins at the video he takes, “show the camera how much of a cockslut you are.”

you whine, bringing the hand to your clit while you shove two hands onto his torso to really work your thighs out, feeling that familiar curl in your stomach once he starts rubbing his saliva-filed fingers along you bundle of nerves. 

“r-right there, satoru—!” you swear under your breath, giving hooded eyes to the camera while you chase your high drunkenly, all sort of coherent thought banished from your head. “love your cock, love it, love it—!”

satoru swears he wants to cum from just watching you use him, and even holding himself back is proving difficult when you clamp and tighten around him until his fingers press particularly deep into your clit and you’re cumming with a loud cry of his name, body convulsing all over the video.

“tha’s a good girl . . cream my cock, yeeaaahh . .” gojo watches, hypnotised, as you lose control over your body, but the pleasure-filled whimper that you merge his name with is just too good, that he spills unexpectedly in you. the video is far from stable, so he only slaps the phone down to relish in his orgasm. gojo pushes his hips up and you gasp at the feeling, back arching when you feel his cum seep into you.

you’ve never even given much thought to pregnancy, but the feeling of his cum dribbling into you fogs your mind that you only want more after a mental note to buy the morning after pill tomorrow.

“n-need more,” you beg, fondling at his cheeks and undercut, “w-want more cum in me, satoru . .”

and it’s like a flip switches in him, because he’s flipping you over right after — he has to see his cum leave your pussy first though, taking the still ongoing video and putting it right up to your pussy, using his tip to smear your mixed juices all around.

“who knew i’d hired such a dirty girl?” he addresses the camera more than you, but he catches your flustered glance with a wink and after poorly setting up the camera on his bedside table (he just was too intoxicated on your cunt), he’s pushing back into you with a loud groan, not even caring for the consequences any more. his cum is just so much, too, spilling out the sides.

“only f’r you,” you mumble, grabbing at his forearms needily. your eyes flutter close as he bottoms out, your legs pushed right up to your chest as he folds you whichever way he wants to. at this point, if he wanted to own you, you wouldn’t object one bit, not when gojo satoru’s cock stretches your pretty pussy so nicely. “a cumslut only for you.”

“yeah?” he starts moving his hips and your arch into his hold, “i wonder how i got so — fuck — lucky.” everything is sloppy and wet and disgusting and you love every moment of it, even after he’s cummed in you the second, third, fourth time, you’re happy to be pumped full of his cum, giving him a tired, glistening grin that he returns.

“think i should be transferring over my life savings for a cunt this sweet,” you giggle at the compliment, but don’t protest when he’s pulling up the app to gift you with a hefty amount; both your salary and bonus, all from making gojo satoru fall helplessly just from your touch — something to brag about indeed.

[klausinamarink]

based on this hilarious video with Gianmarco Soresi whom I’ve been watching his comedy work for a few months now

read on ao3

“What do you do?” The standup of the hour - the guy had introduced himself as Eddie - points at Steve.

Flustered at the attention directing every eye in the club to his table, Steve tries not to stammer as he answers, “Well, uh, I make movies.”

“Oh!” Eddie genuinely looks interested. “So you’re a director?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At least I started out as an indie, but I have a big project that’s out and a couple more on the way.” One table nearby claps and Steve tries to wave them off to stop.

“So what was that big project? Was it something we would’ve seen?” Eddie repositions himself so he has one leg up on the stool. Steve stares at how lean they seem with the tight black jeans. He’s got them daddy long legs. His brain suddenly burps out and it nearly makes Steve lose his composure.

“Uh, ha, I did The Final Bat. It’s on Shudder.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly, perfectly hiding his internal cringe. The horror genre is way out of his league and Steve’s already seen The Final Bat being on a few critical lists damning the title as another cliche-filled mess. He only did it because he had finally caved to Dustin’s pleading to make at least one horror movie.

Eddie, on the other hand, seems ecstatic by this revelation. “No way! That’s sick, dude! So the next time you make a horror flick, you’re gonna watch Blumhouse and A24 coming in at each other with steel chairs for distribution rights.”

Everyone laughs, including Robin. She smacks on Steve’s bicep with a wide grin. He smacks her back before he turns back to Eddie and clarifies, “I don’t like horror! I’m not doing it again!”

Aghast, Eddie throws an invisible hat to the ground and stamps on his feet. “Come on! Then what’s the point of watching the studios bite each other’s dicks off when you’re slipping out to watch - I don’t know - the Barbie movie! Now they’re just fighting for the next shitty horror movie to exist!”

Steve covers his mouth but fails to hold back in the laughter. Eddie’s infectious energy is starting to get to him. It makes his chest clench with something other than the usual pains.

Eddie patiently waits for the patrons to quiet down before continuing, still attentive to Steve, “I’m just wondering actually if you ever done theater class.”

“Sure did! Two years in high school,” Steve confirms.

“Let me guess, they did Hamlet?” Eddie raises an eyebrow like it’s meant to be accusatory.

“Yep, soon after I joined.” Steve nods, the memory of that production flashing before his eyes. It had its ups and downs but it was one of the most fun things Steve had ever experienced.

“No wonder they started as soon as your handsome ass walked in the club.” Eddie says low and flirtatiously into the microphone, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. It echoes across the room and back, bringing the howling laughter with it.

Heat crawls behind his face. Steve keeps his hands on the table, forcing down the urge to hide behind them. “I-” He stops to cough, “I wasn’t supposed to play Hamlet.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, “What do you mean?!”

Robin answers loud enough for everyone to hear, “He was the grave robber, but the other guy who did Hamlet got into a coma a week before the show and Steve knew all the lines.”

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie holds his hands out, looking scandalous. He throws looks around the club. “Everyone, shut the fuck up right now! This is more important than caring about the rest of you!” Eddie drags the stool over and perches on it like a very much invested gargoyle, almost oblivious to the audience’s reaction.

“Okay, let me go through this.” He points at Steve, still holding eye contact as if Steve’s soul would provide the answer. “You weren’t Hamlet. You were meant to be the guy who gives him the skull to monologue. The OG Hamlet got into a coma for some reason-“

“Car accident.” Robin interjects.

“Yeah, no need to elaborate, ma’am. You, Steve-” Eddie breaks off for a second, holding back a laugh of his own. “You somehow knew all the Hamlet lines because you were waiting to skin OG Hamlet’s head and make his skull yours to do the monologue.”

There’s a scandalous outcry from all tables. Even when they mostly calm down, Steve uses the growing anticipation to ‘think’ about what Eddie just said before he casually shrugs and says, “Sounds about right.”

Eddie drops his face into his arm, letting everyone laugh at him. Steve lets himself break, his laughter bubbling out of him in a way that doesn’t sound so self-deprecating or hollow. If he was in a cynical mood, he would’ve thought it was pathetic that the only person who made him laugh so lightly again was some random standup.

After a moment, Eddie finally looks up, his face broken in disbelieving grin. He chuckles into the mic and looks back at Steve, “Sorry, it’s just I hear some wild stories in the crowd some nights and I think yours takes the cake.”

Steve smiles, “Thanks, man.”

Eddie stands up back, half-leaning onto the stool. “Do you still remember those lines? To be or not to be?”

The whole damn thing. “Uh… some of it?”

Eddie’s grin shifts into something more mischievous. “Let’s see who knows more.”

A collective oooh goes around the room, including Robin. She already has her phone out for recording. Steve rolls his eyes at her and takes a quick sip of his water. He clears his throat and starts, “‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’”

“‘Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..’” Eddie says without missing a beat.

Oh, he thinks he knows it all. The sense of competition that Steve thought had died out with his future of a sports career reignites in his chest. He sits up even straighter. “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’”

“‘To die-to sleep, no more.’” Eddie slowly walks over to the edge of the stage, “‘And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.’”

“'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.’” Steve almost shivers as he recites the line, uncertain if it’s from the club’s cooling temperatures or the intense gaze from Eddie’s eyes. “‘To die, to sleep.’”

“‘To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub,’” Eddie suggestively rubs a hand on his chest as he squats down. Steve’s eyes flicker to the hand, almost hypnotized by the motion. Nay, he shakes himself out of it. No distractions!

“‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.’” It’s getting harder to remember the following lines. That hasn’t happened before. Steve has never forgotten the damn soliloquy in years, even when other people try to challenge him.

Eddie continues, “‘Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely.’”

“‘The pangs-’” Steve feels his breath catching in his throat when he realizes, for the first time, what beautiful eyes Eddie has.

Oh. 

Eddie suddenly perks up in excitement. For a second, Steve thinks that Eddie has come to the exact same thoughts for him. But then he remembers that he hasn’t completed his line, so Steve feigns defeat.

“I win!” Eddie stands up with a triumphant cry. He spreads his arms out to embrace the cheering whoops and applause. “And I’ve only got to play Hamlet in-” He spins around and crouches down so he can look Steve in the eye again as Eddie’s voice booms into the mic, “-FOURTH GRADE, MOTHERFUCKER!” 

Steve’s not even mad. He just throws his head back, laughing and clapping along. 

Almost too soon, Eddie moves on to heckle on another table. But he keeps glancing over at Steve, his smile widening every time. And Steve smiles back, feeling a laugh slip out of his slips at every joke. He watches Eddie more closely, feeling his heart pound faster in his chest the more Eddie stays onstage. 

By the time Eddie has to depart and thank everyone for being here, Robin announces her need to go home and snuggle with her girlfriend. 

“Man, that was the most I’ve ever laughed in this place.” Steve stretches his back, groaning at the little pops. God, being in his early thirties can be a bitch sometimes.

Robin only hums, moving her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Steve pointedly makes no further comment as he pays the tab.

Outside, the crisp night air welcomes him. Steve takes in a whiff, staring up at the light-polluted sky as he bids Robin a goodbye. Then he hears his name being called. He turns around and sees Eddie hurrying out the doors.

Steve feels a smile already on his face, “Hey, Hamlet.” 

Eddie grins at him, teeth and all, “Hey, yourself.” 

They stare at each other but it lacks the competitive intensity earlier. Steve likes this. But he already has a feeling that this won’t be the first time either one of them would challenge the other.

“Sooo…” Steve says when the silence stretches a little too long. He gestures between himself and Eddie, “Wanna restart our introductions?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten, “Yeah! Right, sorry.” He clears his throat and thrusts a hand out. “My name is Eddie Munson. Self-proclaimed comedian and musician. You may recognize me as the guy who beat you in Hamlet’s famous speech.”

Steve takes his hand. Eddie feels bony and thin, but large enough to fit perfectly into Steve’s palm. He tries not to sound so eager as he says, “Steve Harrington. Film director who doesn’t like horror. Believe it or not, I actually know the whole stupid thing.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, “Really? Like, no offense, but even if you remember that much-”

“‘And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.’” Steve winks with the Harrington Charm, smile and all. 

Eddie stares at him for so long that Steve feels his heart racing for a different reason. And then, Eddie turns around and muffles a loud scream into his free hand. When the man turns back to face him, he’s sporting the widest smile Steve has never seen.

“You knew the whole thing!?” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with utter adoration.

“Yep.” Steve pops the ‘p’, grinning like a little shit.

“But why did you forget that line?”

“Let’s just say,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, “I got distracted by the pangs of love.”

Eddie bites on his lower lip as he swoons his body over so they are pressing against each other. With half-lidded eyes, Eddie whispers, “You know that part is Hamlet referring to missing his dead dad, right?”

Of course Steve couldn’t help but kiss him.

[heartsforhavik]

superfan! yandere oc x popstar! reader (yandere alphabet)

warnings: a little nsfw, mentions of murder and violence, kidnapping, breaking and entering, stalking, depression, masochistic yandere, kinda worshipper yandere, some mentions of "offing" himself, mentions of death and starvation, established relationship, lowercase intended, not proofread, reader is gender neutral, i do not condone yanderes irl.

a/n: i was gonna do a request but uhhh i felt lazy. i'll make an alphabet for victor next cuz i feel bad for not writing him. plus i'm gonna try to make a masterlist soon so yippee! (also i apologize to all my non-yandere-enjoying followers that like my mortal kombat works, i'll get back to those someday. i just look back on my old works and cringe. i really dislike all my stuff from 2023.)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

bayani loves you with all his heart. he is often overbearing and obsessive, treating you like you're the only thing that matters. he is always fussing over you and making sure you're okay. he constantly asks you how your day has been, if you've eaten yet, if there's anything he can do for you, etc. he is your little servant. please make him feel useful. please let him help you. his only purpose is to entertain and satisfy you in any way he can. whether you want him to cuddle and kiss you often, or you want him to cook and clean for you, whatever you want. he doesn't have a particular love language. even if he did, he would change it to cater to your taste.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

bayani believes violence is not the answer. he does not want to hurt anyone. but if it's for your safety, or if you order him to hurt or even kill someone, he would reluctantly do it. as much as he denounces violence, he cannot find it in his heart to disobey you. even if it is someone he knows, he'll do it for you. because if you think they should be dead, then you must be correct. bayani believes you can do no wrong, so he must act on your orders.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

bayani would not abduct you. he would never do anything that would hurt your feelings. as much as he gets off on being physically tortured and verbally berated by you, he cannot imagine a world where you dislike him or hate him in any way. he would never kidnap you. besides, even if he wanted to kidnap you, his apartment is too shitty to keep you there, and he wants you to live a life of luxury.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

bayani would absolutely not do anything against your will. he is nothing but your servant, and your fan. he does anything you want him to. he could never go against your will.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

bayani is yours. he has put his whole heart out for you ever since he first saw you. from being your biggest fan, to stalker, to boyfriend. since day one he has been (mostly) open and vulnerable.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

bayani would absolutely be turned on by your rage. kick him, spit on him, etc... the bulge in his pants would just grow harder and harder. however, as much as he enjoys being used as your personal punching bag, he doesn't want you to hate him. if you hated him, he might as well throw himself off a cliff. why should he live if you don't accept him? if he's not enough for you? he dedicated his life to following everything you did as a popstar, to dating you and doing everything you asked him to. so if you ended up hating him after everything he did for you, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

it is not a game to bayani, not one bit. i can't see him kidnapping you at all, but if he did it would probably be for your safety. he would hate to see you so sad and desperate to leave. he'd try to give you whatever food or gifts you ask for, to distract you from trying to escape. it's for your own good, please don't cry and scream at him.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

as much as bayani respects you, he often forgets your boundaries. he would break into your bedroom and watch you sleep, steal your clothes, or watch you while you shower. no matter how many times you try to tell him you're uncomfortable with his behavior and wish to have some alone time, he'd always claim that he would "respect you from now on" but the next day he'd go back to his perverted ways.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

bayani is hoping to get married and live happily ever after with you. he doesn't see himself having kids, he'd prefer to keep all his time and attention on you for the rest of his life. as much as he supports your career and music, a part of him hopes you retire early so you can give him more attention. but if you want to keep up your career for a few more decades, that's okay with him too. whatever makes you happy, makes him happy.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

bayani rarely gets jealous. but when he does, it's concerning. when he sees you hug or compliment a fan, he understands it's not romantic. he doesn't really care about it at all. however, if he sees a fellow popstar being a little too close to you or flirting with you, he immediately worries about himself. what if you leave him? he isn't attractive, or talented, or rich. you could easily leave him for a fellow popstar. bayani wouldn't blame you at all, or the popstar flirting with you. he only ends up looking in the mirror and picking himself apart for hours, wondering why you decided to date him. after that, he ends up being even more clingy than he was. he is basically glued to your hip, and doing everything you ask of him. he compliments you more and tries to make himself seem more energetic and loving. he even looks up ways to make himself more desirable to you, and trying out obscure skin care routines and putting lifts in his shoes. he tries to make himself better for you so you wouldn't leave him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

bayani's basically a dog at your beck and call. he sits near you with hearts in his eyes, ready to tend to your needs. he usually talks to you nonstop, yapping about something he saw on the internet you might like or a bug he saw on the sidewalk. of course he'd stop if you ask him to, but he's just so nervous around you! even after you start dating and he's no longer just a superfan, his little crush on you never fades away. he covers up his anxieties by talking about anything and everything. if you were to engage in his little yapping sessions, or even laugh at his jokes or agree with his opinions, he'd get extremely flustered and shy. he'd try his best to hide it, but his tomato red face would give it away.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

bayani wouldn't even try to ask you out. he thinks of himself as nothing but a broke, ugly, stalker guy in love with you and your career. he thinks you're way out of his league. you would have to be the one to notice him and strike up a conversation. even then, he'd evaporate the moment you lay your eyes on him. but the more you notice him at your shows and interact with him, you'd become friends and then you'd have to be the one to confess to him.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

bayani's true colors aren't too different from how he acts with others. he's truly a perverted, shy, stalker. his whole life, even in childhood, he was always shy and never really talked to anyone. he didn't have any friends, wasn't in any clubs and didn't go to a church of any sort, so he was always alone. of course, nobody knows he's a perverted stalker, but it's easy to tell he doesn't speak to anyone but you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

bayani would never punish you. he thinks you can do no wrong. whether you simply lashed out at someone, or committed a crime, he would always be on your side. even if you were to lash out at him, he'd accept it. he would never blame you, only himself.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

bayani would never harm you in any way because of how much he loves and worships you. he'd never take anything away from you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

bayani would do anything for you, so of course he'd be very patient with you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

bayani would not be able to live without you. if you left him, he would understand, but be heartbroken. but if you died, he would immediately lock himself in his apartment and refuse to eat or drink anything, and soon succumb to his own death. a life without you is a life he cannot live.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

bayani, again, would not kidnap you. if he did, i can imagine he would feel severely guilty about it. he hates seeing you in pain. if you're in pain, so is he. he would let you go as soon as he knows it's safe for you. hell, he'd want you to be free more than you do.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

like i mentioned before, bayani had a very lonely childhood. his parents weren't present, he had no friends or siblings, so he was left all alone. even when he graduated highschool and was left to live alone with a shitty job, he was still antisocial and had quite a dull life for a few years. that's how he discovered you. he never knew what it was like to love or be loved until he saw you and heard your music for the first time. your performances were a safe place to him. your lyrics were like a warm hug to him. you saved him from his miserable life. he started dedicating his life to you since you were the first person he truly cared about.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

bayani hates to see you in pain. he wishes he could take it all away for you. that's why he's so attentive to your needs, in hopes that he'll never have to see you cry or hear your screams in pain.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

unlike the classic, stereotypical yandere, bayani does not want to inflict harm on anyone unless he has to, and he's a lot clumsier than a usual yandere. he does not want to kill or hurt anyone, but if you really wanted him to, he would. but there's no guarantee that it'll go well, considering how clumsy he is. but he's trying, for you!

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

bayani is a worshipper, through and through. you want to leave him? just tell him. he'd be heartbroken, and probably beg you not to leave him, but ultimately he wants you to be happy. however, if he ever kidnapped you, you could escape by distracting him. you could point somewhere in the distance and go "look over there!" and he'd look for a couple seconds, then look back at you- and aw shucks you already ran away

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

bayani. would. never. even. dream. of. hurting. you.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

bayani would literally commit war crimes for you if you asked him to. there is nothing he wouldn't do for you. he sees you as a hero that saved him, so he believes he should return the favor by doing anything for you. anything to keep you happy.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

after being your biggest fan and stalker for years, bayani is content with staying that way for the rest of his life. of course he would love to be yours, but he would be happy with simply watching you from afar for as long as he shall live. he would never snap.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

depends on your sanity, and how much you like bayani. if you're okay with his clingy, clumsy, yapping self for the rest of your life, then you'll be fine. but if you'd get sick of never having a lot of alone time, or having a guy that is attached to your hip... then maybe you'd break and he would be incredibly guilty. he would try to apologize by being even closer to you, which would make you feel worse. unless you end things with him, you're stuck forever.

template here

[suashii]

— 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈 ౨ৎ

suna rintaro x reader. 0.6k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au ﾉ miya twins appearance :3 ﾉ repost!

“i totally flunked that exam.” atsumu groans as the four of you—the twins, suna, and yourself—exit the literature building. his theatrics draw the unwanted attention of several other students who are on their way in or lounging on nearby benches. you shake your head in embarrassment and can practically feel suna cringing from beside you.

“i’m sure the professor will be happy to see you again next semester. you’re just a wonder to have in class,” osamu quips. he doesn’t even try to hide his growing smile at the thought of his brother having to retake the course.

“don’t act like you didn’t fail, too.” atsumu shoots back.

“oh, i did terrible,” osamu easily admits, “but i didn’t skip half the assignments needed to boost my final grade.”

atsumu scoffs at the call out. sensing that the boy’s comment would snowball into a full-blown argument, you finally speak up.

“what are you guys going to do to take your minds off our impending doom?”

“this new frozen yogurt shop just opened so i was gonna go check it out,” suna announces. he turns to face you. “you should come along.”

“can’t, i’ve got practice.”

confused, suna blinks.

“yeah, my next class starts soon.”

then frowns.

failing to take notice of suna’s boring gaze, you pout at the twins’ answers. despite their constant bickering, having them around is always a fun time. knowing that they aren’t able to make it to the outing has you racking your brain for solutions.

“why don’t we wait until we can all go, then?” you propose. “is everyone free tomorrow?”

“i work out in the morning, but other than that i’m free.”

annoyed, suna rolls his eyes.

“i’m not doing anything.”

then sighs.

“great!” you clap your hands together with a smile. “tomorrow it is.”

you settle on an exact time with the twins before they part their separate ways, leaving you with only suna’s company. you turn to him, but his default look of indifference is traded in for one of despondency.

“seriously?” he stares down at you.

“what?”

“‘why don’t we wait until we can all go?’” he repeats your words from earlier. he doesn’t mean to sound bitter, but it’s frustrating that you hadn’t caught on to his intentions. “i wanted to go with you.”

“you are, i’ll be there.”

“alone. just the two of us,” he emphasizes. “like a date.”

your mouth forms an “o” at his confession. the twins were so quick to answer that you had no idea his invitation was meant for you exclusively—and in a romantic way, no less.

“ah, i’m sorry!” you press your hands to your warming cheeks. it’s embarrassing that he had to spell it out for you—certainly not one of your finest moments.

“it’s fine. see you tomorrow, i guess.” his voice is laced with defeat as he raises his hand in a weak wave. you bite your lip, watching him turn on his heel to take his leave.

“no, wait.” you spring forward, clutching onto his arm. he stops, looking at you with wide eyes full of surprise. “let’s go!”

“now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“yeah.” you excitedly nod. “i feel bad for accidentally sabotaging your date idea.”

“what about the twins?” suna really didn’t want to ask, but it was obvious you wanted to include them.

“they don’t have to know—we’ll just go again tomorrow.” you wave him off. there’s a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as you smile at him. “it can be our little secret.”

suna huffs out a laugh. “sounds good to me.”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :3

[joonipertree]

idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

[emmasbrain]

Miscommunication (the fun kind) Part 2

This is part 2, trust when I say it makes very little sense without part 1.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Synopsis: You meet him for your date, but it’s cut a little short.

Warnings: None I can think of other than cringe writing.

A/N: This took ages man, I don’t know what happened but I just felt a block so many apologies for taking so long.

As you click the little green button, you feel unnecessarily nervous. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He replies, and the smile that graces your lips can be heard from the other end of the phone.

“Doc. I’m glad you called.” You try to play it cool, but you know he can sense your excitement anyway.

“I’m glad you asked me to. Look, I’m on my way to a case right now, but I was thinking that when I get back we could do something? Go for dinner, maybe?” He sounds as nervous as you feel, and your heart spikes a little.

“Dinner sounds great. Have you thought of a place?” You do a little spin in the living room of your small apartment and you hear chatter in the background of the call.

“There’s this little restaurant that I normally get takeout from. I know them pretty well so they’ll keep me a table on short notice. They’ve got everything so statistically there’s bound to be something you like.” The way he speaks reaches a spot in your brain, fast and passionate, even about the most mundane things.

“I know I’m gonna like it because you do, and I trust your taste.” You bite your lip, wondering if that was too much.

“You should, I’m very particular.” His voice betrays the fact that he’s grinning, and you match his expression.

“I like particular. Particular is good.” Your voice has dropped a little subconsciously, and he’s about to reply when you hear the familiar voice of Agent Hotchner alerting Spencer that they need him.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you when I’m home?” You almost sigh in contentment at just the sound of him, but you snap out of it quickly to reply.

“I’ll be waiting patiently, Doc. I’ll see you.” You hang up, and stand in the middle of your living room for what seems like an hour but truly is only a few minutes. Why are you so attracted to this guy you only met a few nights ago?

But you feel as though you know him, from the way Penelope has talked about him, from the time you spent together. You feel as though you know them all.

—

You just sent in the final draft of your latest article. This one had been an absolute nightmare, being asked to write a piece on climate change. Your editors loved you for your fresh takes, but after so long there was no angle on climate change that hadn’t already been written. They seem fairly happy with it, but you can’t help the nagging feeling of wishing you could have done the proposed piece on how tourism is ruining the economy like you had wanted.

Through the annoyance of knowing you could have done better, you still feel slightly more at ease knowing the article is finished and out of your hands, and that you can relax and drink your fourth mug of coffee for the day. It’s eleven am.

But as you stand to stretch your achy muscles and make some fresh coffee, your phone rings. You know who it is before you even pick up, but make sure to check anyway just in case.

‘Spencer’ flashes on your screen, and you immediately sit down on your sofa, hitting the answer button and taking a readying breath.

“Hey Doc.” Your voice is unintentionally airy, but he doesn’t seem to notice - or he pretends not to - as he replies.

“Hey. I got back from work late last night, but I didn’t wanna call in case you were asleep. I was just wondering what you had planned for tonight?” The grogginess in his voice is evident, and it raises a question before you can even think about answering his.

“Spencer, how long ago did you wake up?” The simple question makes him go quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“I woke up just before I called you.” He sounds nervous to admit it, like he’s embarrassed to be caught thinking of you so soon into his day.

“Must have been thinking about me in your sleep then. And to answer your question, I’m free tonight.” You can’t hide the tinge of satisfaction knowing he thought about you maybe as often as you thought about him.

The small breath he sucks in doesn’t pass by you. You may not be a behavioural analyst but you are a damn good journalist, and you know what that little breath means. It says “you caught me”. Was he really thinking of you in his slumber? You note it down in the back of your head to try and slip out of him later.

“Would you like to go for dinner to that restaurant tonight?” He seems to have composed himself as he asks his question, and you try not to sound too enthusiastic as you eagerly say yes. “Okay, great- that’s great! I’ll pick you up at six… I don’t drive.” The defeat in his voice makes you laugh.

“How about I pick you up?” You suggest, calming his nerves. “You can tell me where to go.” Truthfully, you had already planned to drive him. Penelope told you once how he doesn’t drive, and you called her two days ago to reconfirm. This information, however, is not something you feel the need to tell him, because it seems a little obsessive - but you were just thinking logically of course - and you don’t want to weird him out quite so early.

He seems to be okay with the idea, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t take it as a blow to his ego like most men would. The call ends after a few short pleasantries - that are actually pleasant - and you immediately get to work.

You throw open the doors of your wardrobe and go straight to the dresses, very slowly narrowing it down to two options. A flowy red dress that you almost go with, and a simple black silk dress that ends just below your knees.

This one is for special occasions, and you deemed this a pretty special occasion. As you rummage through your box of shoes and stack of earrings trying desperately to find earrings and heels in the same colour, you come across a pair of purple strapped heels that you know you have drop earrings in a similar shade to. You just can’t find them.

Suddenly you notice that it’s 12:30 and your brain short circuits. Your entire room is thrown upside down and inside out until you find the earrings you’re looking for, and then neatly arranged back to its original state, all within thirty minutes. Now you have your little purple dewdrops and your outfit is complete, but you have four and a half hours until you need to leave and you know you’ll need it, albeit mostly to panic.

Four hours passes and you’ve showered, shaved, styled your hair and put on some light makeup. Your nail polish is just dry and you have your dress on, so you buckle your heels and stand. Twenty five minutes before you can leave. That’s not bad. You just have to wait twenty five minutes… But what if traffic is bad? You should probably leave fifteen minutes early for that, right? And if you think about it, the time between leaving your house and getting to the car wasn’t considered in the time it would take you to get there, and if you drag it out that’s a good five minutes. So really you only need to leave in five minutes. But what’s the point of waiting five minutes really? You should just leave now. Good idea.

As you park at his apartment building you realise you may have been a little over eager. The drive was ten minutes shorter than expected, so you’re around thirty minutes early. Which is embarrassing, so to speak. But you decide to head up early, a gut feeling telling you that it’ll be beneficial.

As you knock, he immediately opens the door and then a sheepish look comes over his face. “I saw you get out of your car.” He nervously rubs his hand on the back of his neck and it makes you smile. Then you take in his attire. He looks similar to when you met him in the bar, although he’s wearing white converse to match a white shirt underneath his brown suit. He’s also sporting a watch, and - most importantly - glasses. Damn those fucking glasses.

You realise you haven’t responded and are now intensely looking at his eyes, and he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Shit- sorry. I was just looking at you- I mean you look good- Great! You look great. You look… pretty. I like your glasses, do you wear them often?” Although you can feel yourself rambling into oblivion, you somehow can’t stop the flood of words that come out of your mouth.

His mouth opens for a moment as though he might speak, and then it shuts again. He stands aside to let you come in. “I never let you in.” He comments, sounding apologetic.

You shake your head in reassurance. “That’s alright, I wasn’t sure if you would even be ready since I’m so early. I never meant to be, I just kind of over thought it and now I’m here.” You wring your fingers together. Spencer noticed that you do it as a nervous habit when you met in the bar.

“I was ready an hour ago, I’ve just been reading while I waited for you. You can sit.” He motions to his sofa, and you sit next to the armrest so that you can turn and lean your back against it to face him sitting a little away from you. “You look beautiful. You remind me of a painting called ‘Madame X’, you probably know it. You could almost be a modernised retelling. Did you know that the painting caused an extreme public discourse as people thought the artist, John Singer Sargent, made the woman look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed.” He says all this with a little grin, and you can’t help but grin along with him.

The decision to tease him comes before you can truly think about it. “You think I look deathly pale and scandalously unclothed, Doc?” As the words come out of your mouth, he pales slightly.

“No, of course not! You remind me more of the principle. The woman was so beautiful she was renowned for her looks. Painters had all but begged her to do a portrait before, but she declined until she found Sargent. But even then, the people of Paris thought the painting didn’t do her beauty justice. Despite this, the painting became famous and beloved for hundreds of years around the world, and to this day is still considered a work of true historical art. A timeless beauty. That’s how I think you look.” His passion for little things shines through again, and your mouth is left slightly agape from his words.

“That was…” You can’t even think.

“A lot, I know. I tend to ramble a lot. I don’t really notice that I’m bothering people until it’s too late.” He rubs the back of his neck again, and the thought of people being bothered by him sends multiple emotions running down your spine.

You reach over and grab his hand with one of yours, the other going to touch his face. “I was going to say, that was awfully considerate of you. Never assume that you’re bothering me. Talk quite literally as much as you please, I want to know what you want to say… If we weren’t on our first date I’d readily teach you exactly how much I enjoy when you talk, but that can be saved for another time, maybe.” Your voice drops nearer the end, and he picks up on it as he sucks in a breath and nods vigorously.

“Definitely- I mean yes, sure. I will keep that in mind.” He’s still nodding as you smile at him, a proper smile.

“You’re pretty when you get flustered. You get all red, from the tops of your cheeks all the way down your neck.” You silently wonder if it goes further. You wish you could check. The hand on his face trails down his neck as you speak, emphasising what you mean.

He gets redder. How can he get redder? “Pretty. You’ve used that word on me twice now.” The comment seems to be more of an observation than a question, but you answer it as though it is one.

“I think you’re pretty. Handsome is a word I dislike. It reminds me of Ken, like Barbie and Ken. You’re not a doll, you’re a man, who just so happens to be pretty. I could call you beautiful instead, I’d say that adjective very accurately describes you too. Gorgeous, if that’s something you prefer.” You relent as the redness gets impossibly worse, and it makes you feel a little guilty. “Sorry, Doc, I just like seeing you flustered. I’ll call you handsome or something more masculine if you’re more comfortable with that.” You give him a little smile and pull your hand from his face.

He wouldn’t say it out loud but he wishes you would keep it there. He grasps your other hand tightly in his, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind. You can call me whatever you feel like… You’re wearing purple. Purple is my favourite colour.” He looks away for a moment, and it warms your heart.

“Purple suits you, as a favourite colour I mean. Mine is green.” Your voice holds a gentleness in it that comes with caring for someone. It’s baffling. You’ve known him days. A week at most. You shouldn’t feel so… warm around him.

“Green makes sense. I think purple looks best on you though, which is definitely coming from a place of bias.” This makes you laugh, small and breathy, but he smiles at the sound.

You don’t realise how much time has passed until you hear a buzzing noise, and you both realise it’s a phone ringing. It’s coming from the other room so you assume it’s Spencer’s and he quickly gets up to answer. You can’t hear much from the wall between you, but when he comes back through looking thoroughly disappointed, you can tell it’s a work call. “Serial killers don’t stop for first dates sadly.” You remark, and he looks a little surprised.

“How did you know?” He questions, coming closer to you and you stand up to face him.

“I may not be a behavioural analyst, but I can tell what that face means. It means ‘I’m so sorry but I have to go stop murders’.” You smile to try and reassure him, but you can see the cogs whirring in his brain.

He seems to be thinking too many thoughts to process, but suddenly he dips down and kisses you. It’s short, but it’s soft, and you have a look of surprise on your face as he pulls away. “I wish we had gotten to go on our date, but I really wish that this doesn’t stop us from going on another one.” He looks at you in anticipation, and you melt.

“I wouldn’t pass it up for the world, Doc. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll drive you there. We can plan the next one in the car.” You kiss his cheek and go to sit back down, and he shuffles away to his bedroom with a stupid smile tugging at his lips.

A/N: So… thoughts on part 3 with newly established relationship reid x reader ? Equally, thoughts on me adding smut somewhere along the line?

[martyfive]

i lay in bed sick for two weeks straight. first there’s body temperature i never knew was possible for a human to have, then there are coughs that feel like they may be the last ones i could ever have in my life, then there’s weakness, then my five year old phone falls down from the bed ending up completely broken, then the bed sheets become something i couldn’t bear to see anymore. then i get up, go outside and unexpectedly find myself at the offer of a somewhat steady part job at this small italian restaurant we’ve been visiting every sunday sharp for the last year and a half except for these two weeks i spent lying sick in bed. we are leaving the bar for the night when R. asks me if i’d like to help her at the bar a couple hours a week.

“i have no experience or anything,” i say, feeling extremely daft. “i’m not even sure i can talk to people properly. i never really could.”

“it’s okay,” she says. “you’ll be polishing the glasses. it’s not hard. i’ll teach you everything.”

on our way home A. says, “it could be good for you, you know. being among people and trying something new,” and i feel like he’s right.

at this point this small restaurant already feels like another home i want to belong to. going there every sunday for so long totally helped with that. they have one of my works i gave them as a present for christmas on the wall. it hangs up above the table me and A. occupied the first time we ever came to eat there. the frame contains pages from a sketchbook i used to draw in while visiting italy five years ago. it feels too personal, but also somehow on it’s place. i hate to hoard the stuff i create. i want to be bolder.

regretting my life choices, i spend all what’s left from my last year’s salary on a new phone. it’s a first phone i bought without anyone’s help. it costs more than i deserve.

i can’t find any will to start drawing again after being sick for two weeks.

a couple days later i go to the restaurant to ask R. about the time i can get to work. she says, “this thursday, 6:30 pm,” and then adds, tugging on my star wars hoodie, “and put on a black shirt, if you have one”.

so i find one that looks like A. has been wearing it during his teenage years when he looked more like a stick than a human and i go for the job that for the first time in my life has nothing to do with any kind of art except the art of making cocktails i still keep messing up. a couple hours a week somehow soon turns into ten as normally as “polishing glasses” turns into “doing everything there is possible to do as quickly as possible”.

“would you like to do thirty hours a week?” R. asks one day looking hopeful as if i hadn’t broken ten of their glasses in the first five days of work.

“my back is gonna die sooner than you expect it to if i agree to that,” i answer. and it really is the only reason i don’t say yes.

i soon notice there is no time to think of anything else except the work to be done while i am behind the bar once again forgetting the difference between prosecco and chardonnay or picking the ice from the ice machine or freezing in the giant fridge while looking for the specific crate of beer everyone in this town drinks more often than water. the countless amount of crates are brought from and to the back room. the ten glasses are crushed, four of them in my own hands just from squeezing too hard on them. i cringe about every single one of them before falling asleep after coming home around midnight with my aching back and more money than i ever earned drawing pictures. i think about that one time my friend told me that once you start working in catering, there’s no way back. i haven’t talked to her in a while and i can’t ask her if she still thinks it’s true.

i still can’t draw. i guess it will pass. i still cough although i’m trying not to be loud when i’m behind the bar.

“you smoke?” R. asks. “i do. i just don’t have time.”

“i’ve been smoking since i was sixteen. but not anymore really,” i say to that. “when my mother calls me, then i smoke. but that doesn’t happen very often.”

M. laughs at that as if he understands what i’m talking about and says, “with this job, i either smoke a cigarette or kill somebody,” and i laugh with him.

M. is the chef and the restaurant is named after him. he cooks so good there is surely nothing better i’ve ever eaten in my entire life. i hear all about it from guests while picking the dishes from the tables, smiling and pretending my hands are not shaking. he and R. speak to each other in loud italian and i like how they sound even if i only understand a couple words from their dialogues.

“what’s allora?” i ask one time.

R. looks at me like i’m the only one who ever asked her a silly question like that, “huh,” she says, “i don’t know. it’s like here we go or something like that,” and she smiles.

i like talking to her. for some reason i like asking her questions and seeing the surprise on her face. she’s five years older than me but i feel like a child around her. she also has her birthday in november.

“all my family are scorpions,” she says after revealing the fact that there’s ten days between our birthdays. she names at least ten of the members of her family and all their november birthday dates in a row.

i say, “the parties must be hilarious when you all gather together.”

more often i feel like she’s my serious boss i keep disappointing with my every move but at the end of the shifts she turns into what feels more like a friend. i secretly hope i can be her friend one day even though it seems like she knows the name of every human being in this town and even some other nearby towns and doesn’t really need any more friends than she already has. but after all, i’m a part of this town now, too.

“what is your favourite thing to do here here at the bar?” i ask the other day.

she looks puzzled for a second, “maybe serving fish,” she says and this time it’s my turn to feel surprised. i saw how it’s done, and i don’t really know what she means.

“i thought it’s talking to people or something,” i say.

“nah,” she waves her hand, “it’s just my job, you know.”

i regret entering this territory but i still ask, “would you better like to do something else? some other job?”

“nah,” she says again, smiling, “i like it.”

and i like it too. horrifyingly, i like it too much. thinking about sitting at home and drawing stuff like i used to do all my life feels like a torture. it surely is one when i pick up my tablet and pencil and stare at the white canvas not knowing who i am anymore. there is nothing in my head i want to say. there is nothing my hands can do. i have no idea why. i want to go back behind the bar and ask R. what her favourite colour is.

“i’m proud of you,” A. says one night while we’re going back home from the restaurant where he got his two beers and one glass of whiskey i poured for him myself. he spent two hours sitting at the bar not far from these three teenage boys who have been drinking an enormous amount of beer and playing cards and then trying to guess where i come from according to my accent. “i’m proud that you’re doing good and you found something that you like so much.”

i buy two black shirts and jeans. i take my old black coat out of the wardrobe. i walk for two minutes from home to the bar and back looking fancier than ever. i feel happier than ever. i don’t look at my social media. i feel like this rotten sadness and loneliness that occupied my head for so long has nothing to do with my life now. i wonder if it’s just a phase. i consider finding a new therapist just to ask them if it’s okay to feel this good or i should be medicated before it’s too late. i want to go to bed at proper hour, wake up earlier, spend the day feeling good and then go to the bar and ask R. stupid questions and be stressed about the things i can control. i look at my workplace at home, at the white canvas that reflects nothingness in my head, at everything i have ever known, and i don’t know what to do.

i go back to work.

“you like it here?” M. asks almost every time. “is everything okay?”

“everything’s okay,” i say, smiling. and i mean it.

someone’s ordering an espresso at 11 pm. R. says, “tell them the coffee machine is already off,” turning it off while saying it. i laugh. i feel happy. i go home knowing there’s gonna be more work to be done tomorrow. i miss drawing stuff. i have nothing to say. i fall asleep thinking of the ten glasses i broke. in the morning, i can’t draw. i used to draw most of my stuff at the evenings and during the nights. now they are full of beer glasses and beer crates and adhd people who want an espresso before bed.

i ask myself if that really is how growing up feels like. i ask myself what i am going to do if i will not be able to draw a single piece of art ever again. i read the email of the person who wants me to draw an artwork for them. i wonder if they should know i’m an imposter who can’t draw anymore. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i go to work.

there’s a wedding at the restaurant. i once again bring what feels like an endless amount of bottle crates from the back room to the bar. i smile. i talk to people. i wipe the tables. i polish the glasses. i pour beer into them.

“my back hurts,” R. says.

“willkommen to the club,” i tell her, although for some reason my back doesn’t really hurt.

someone orders a beer and then changes their mind after the bottle was already opened.

“it’s yours if you want it,” R. says. “your shift is over anyway.”

and i stay. i sit at the bar as if i don’t really work there. i drink my beer, i talk to R. while she puts the new napkins on tables, makes sure everyone from the wedding paid what they had to and lets me ask her my questions. i pay for another beer, taking money from my fresh salary. R. rolls her eyes at that but allows me to pay anyway. she’s not a boss anymore. just… a friend. i tell her i don’t wanna go home.

“i can see that,” she laughs. “do you have friends here in town?” she asks.

i look at the bottom of my glass.

“no,” i say. there’s a lady on our street i sometimes walk our dogs together with. she’s as old as my mother. i always forget the names of her three kids although they’re all around my age. i wonder if i should mention her. “i have friends in other places. you know. not here.”

“i can be your friend here,” she says, smiling.

i feel like it’s the happiest day of my life. i’m also a little drunk on schwarzbier. even if my back would hurt i wouldn’t have noticed.

“if you need someone as me as a friend,” i say, “then. yeah. sure. uh. why not.”

we talk some more. the beer tests my language skills. i tell her i want a new tattoo. she says she got the first one when she was sixteen and it was a horrible butterfly.

“what is your favourite colour?” i finally ask.

she looks really baffled at that, then pulls out her phone. “i guess it’s red,” she says, showing me some of photos from her instagram where she’s younger than me now and is dressed up in red. “see, it looks good on me,” and she’s right. “but white is also good. and pink. and maybe purple. not black though. with my black hair, it doesn’t look good at all.”

we’re both dressed in black for work.

i come to the conclusion that colours are the least important thing in the world to her. that’s okay. i think about all the years i spent trying to make colours work. i wanna say something, but end up saying nothing.

she turns the lights off and locks the restaurant up. we spend a couple minutes walking in the same direction to our houses. i tell her about the name my friends from other places are calling me. i don’t tell her why it’s different from the one she saw on my id card. i’m not that drunk. she says she’s gonna use it from now on. she kisses my cheek before we part. i was at school the last time someone did that.

i go home. i sit at my workplace. i answer to the email of the person that wants me to draw an artwork for them from a new phone i spent enormous amount of money on. for a second i wonder if i should still tell them i’m an imposter and my career will be over by the morning when i wake up sober.

i think about the ten glasses i broke, then let myself forget about them. i tell myself to shut up and stop being dramatic.

i draw.

29/02/2024

[wwilsonbarness]

stay?

pairings:  bucky barnes x reader

summary: after one date with Bucky Barnes your life takes a turn for the worst.

warnings: awkward first date (kinda), violence, angst, fluff, sexual assault (warning just in case), kidnapping, sad bucky, sad reader, sadness lol (let me know if i forgot anything pleasee)

word count: 4170

a/n: enjoy :)

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

Your pinky finger was slowly inching towards his as he walked you up the steps to your door. It had been the perfect evening, starting off with a dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, then a couple games of mini golf followed by cheeseburgers because both of you agreed the portions at “WOZ” were nowhere near enough. You’d met Bucky through one of your friends, and if you were being honest the idea of dating an Avenger was very intimidating but she insisted you would be ‘perfect together’. 

“Thank you for tonight Bucky, I had a really good time.” You’d grown more confident as the night went on but now that the date was ending you were back to your shy self. You didn’t want the night to end and even though you’d only met Bucky a few hours ago you had felt an instant connection. It really felt like how the movies made first dates look. 

“I had a good time too, would..” He stops himself and you can tell he’s feeling nervous, so you smile up at him, silently asking him to continue. You see his shoulders loosen once he sees your smile, “..would you maybe wanna do this aga-..?” 

“Yes.” You answer before he can even finish his sentence. 

“You do?” 

“I do.” You were internally beating yourself up for being so awkward but you couldn’t help but jump at the chance at seeing Bucky again. What you didn’t know that was Bucky was doing the same thing, Steve had always described him as being smooth with the ladies but right now it was like all his flirting skills had completely disappeared. 

“I erm, I better get going, but I’ll call you!” 

“I’ll be waiting!” You cringed at yourself, why did you have to be so awkward? 

“See you doll.” Bucky flashes you a smile - which has become one of your favourite sights in the very short time you’ve known him - before he starts to walk down the steps. You wave to him as he walks away and wait until you can no longer see him before you close your door. 

You drop your bag on the counter, untie your shoes and start to unzip your dress as you walk to your bedroom before a knock at your door stops you. You don’t think twice before going over and opening the knock, the only logical person it could be was Bucky. Right? 

“Back alrea- Oh. Hi?” It wasn’t Bucky, it was a man with short black hair and tattoos and a black hood covering most of his face. “Can I help you?”

“You Y/N Y/L/N?” The man grunts at you in return.

“I am.. Who are you?” As soon as you answer him you regret it, it goes against every piece of advice you’d been given about being safe as a woman in the city. 

“You don’t need to know who I am sweetheart.” Your heartbeat was beginning to speed up now, panic setting in fast. You try to close your door as quickly as you can but his foot stops you. 

He begins to shake his head, “Uh uh, I don’t think so.” he pushes forward and you fall backwards landing on the floor. 

Your eyes were beginning to well up and you were frozen in fear, this was it wasn’t it? You’re gonna die right here. 

“Stop being such a baby jesus fucking christ.” He paced around your apartment a little, his jacket moving slightly which makes the gun he has in the back of his jeans become visible.

“P-Please, you can take anything you want. Just please don’t hurt me” You pleaded to him, hoping somehow there was a tiny part of him that would listen. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” You sighed deeply thinking there was a chance you’d get out of this alive, but if he wasn’t going to hurt you what was he planning to do?

“What do..what do you want from me?” 

“I’m just here to take ya to the big man.” 

You didn’t think you could feel any more scared than you already did, but the mention of “the big man” terrified you. Why were they targeting you? 

“Do me a favour, would ya sweetheart? Stop talking.” He smirked down at you which only made you feel worse, it looked like he was enjoying this. 

You were too scared to say anything else, and he was focusing on his phone instead of you. Part of you was tempted to try and escape but you were still frozen in fear, you had no defence skills and probably wouldn’t get very far and you really didn’t wanna piss this guy off anymore. 

Around 10 minutes pass of you sitting on the floor, wracking your brain to find any reason as to why someone would want to kidnap you. You weren't anything special, and you hadn’t even lived in New York for that long. 

“Get up. He’s ready for ya.” You get to your feet shakily and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

“Go on then.” He shoves you towards the door, and follows behind you. As you near the door you feel something hard against your back. “Make any noise and I’ll use it.” Shit. You didn’t say anything back, just nodding to show you understood.

After you get into his car he drives for what feels like hours to an underground garage, you tried to memorise the route you went but it was hopeless. You’d never been to this side of the city before. A few minutes walk later and you’re standing outside an office, you assume this is the guy who sent someone to hunt you down. 

The door opens and you get pushed in, stumbling a little before you find your balance. There are two men waiting in there, who look you up and down before smirking. 

“Soldier chooses them well.” The taller one says to his shorter friend. 

“Sure does. Shame he’ll never see her again.” 

Soldier? Are they talking about Bucky? 

“What do you want from me?” You tried to keep your voice calm but you could tell it came out laced with fear. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The shorter man walks towards you and trials his finger over the edge of your dress. “All you need to worry about is standing here and looking pretty, sweetheart.” 

—----- 

On the other side of the city the soldier in question was sitting discussing ‘the best night of his life’ with Sam, who was silently judging how his friend was acting. 

“And everytime she told me a joke she'd wait a couple seconds before laughing to make sure I found it funny first. And when she laughs her nose scrunches up, it’s so adorable. And everytime i told her she looked nice she’d do this thing where she bites her lip and she can’t look me in the eye. It’s ad-“

“Adorable. I get it, Buck.”

Bucky blushes as he realises how long he’d been speaking about you, but he can’t help it. He’s never met someone like you before and he can’t stop thinking about you since he left your doorstep. 

“How long is an acceptable time before I call her?” Bucky knows Sam is probably sick of hearing about you but he’s Bucky’s favourite (and only) person he feels safe enough to talk to, not that he’d ever tell Sam that. 

Sam looks at the imaginary watch on his wrist before answering. “Not 3 hours Buck.” A frown appears on Bucky’s face to which Sam snickers at. “I thought you were a ladies man.” 

“I was. Things are different now.” Bucky tries to force a smile out but he can’t. His voice grows a lot quieter as he continues. “Do you think she doesn’t want me to call?” 

“Hey, I didn’t say that! The way you’ve described the night, it sounds like she feels the same as you.” 

“Hm. Maybe.” 

“Buck I’m serious, I was just joking before. I’m sure she’s waiting for your call.” 

“So tomorrow?” Bucky asks with his smirk growing again. 

Sam laughs, “Yeah, tomorrow.”

Safe to say Bucky does not wait until tomorrow, actually he doesn’t even make it another hour before texting you.” 

Hey, it’s Bucky! Sorry if this is too soon but I had a really good time tonight. We need a rematch soon! 

He spent a further 2 hours staring at the screen, with every minute that passed that the message was left on ‘delivered’ he picked apart his message more. He finally locks his phone and heads to his room for the night. But not without a lecture from Sam first. “You called her didn’t you?” 

“No!” Bucky rushes to defend himself. “But hypothetically if someone was to text their date 4 hours after the date. How would that look?”

“Bucky! I thought you were waiting until tomorrow.” 

“I tried.” 

“Has she responded?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Is this what ghosting is? Oh god. Am I being ghosted?” 

“Please for the love of god stop letting Peter teach you modern slang. You’re not being ghosted, it’s late she’s probably just sleeping. Bucky looks at the clock behind Sam and sighs in relief. 

“You’re right. Okay, I’m gonna sleep too.” It was nearing 3am, no wonder you haven't replied to him he thought to himself.

Bucky gets around 4 hours of sleep before he gets woken up by his phone ringing. He answers it without looking at who it is. “You’ve got 3 hours to give me back my brother, or else your girl gets a bullet through her pretty little face.” 

That wakes Bucky up faster than he ever has before. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You heard me, Soldier. Clock’s ticking.” The call ends. 

Bucky freezes for a second trying to gain a little bit of understanding of what the fuck just happened. He pulls on the first piece of clothing he can find and runs towards the common room, hoping to find someone who can help him. Luckily the whole team is there, which is strange, normally the only time that happens is when there’s a mission going on. 

Before Bucky can even begin to explain what’s happening, Fury pipes up. “Barnes, what do you know about a Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Fuck!” This means he wasn’t imagining that phone call. We had one date, literally just last night. What the fuck is going on?” 

Half of the team moves so Bucky can see the big screen, and on it there’s a blown up picture of you, tied to a seat. Your dress is ripped, there’s blood dripping down the side of your face and your eyes are red, as if you’d been crying non stop for hours. Bucky walks slowly towards the screen and stops for a second to take in the picture, and almost instantly his brain switches to fighter mode. 

“What do we know?” 

“Bucky, maybe you should sit this one out.” Sam tries to reason with him, but Bucky doesn’t listen. 

“What the fuck do we know?”

Fury begins to tell Bucky all the information they have. “It seems your girlfriend wa-“

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Bucky wishes that statement wasn’t true, he wishes he could say you were his girl, but after this he was 100% sure that would never be the case.

“Okay.” Nick continues, wary of pissing Bucky off any more. “It seems Ms Y/L/N was taken from her home at around 11.30 last night. Her neighbours report seeing a black Audi sitting outside her apartment before she got home and say it left 30 minutes after you dropped her off. There’s no cameras in the area, her phone was left in her apartment so there is no way of tracking her. And just 30 minutes ago this picture was sent to my email. Along with a threat to her life if Zemo is not released from the raft in 3 hours.” 

Bucky tries to process all the information, you were taken just 30 minutes after he left? Guilt. Zemo has a brother? Anger. They were threatening to kill you? Fear. 

“I got a phone call a few minutes ago, said the same thing. Any leads on who this bastard is?” 

“None. No one is aware of Zemo having a brother.” 

Bucky nods along, “What’s the plan?”  

“You said you got a call? We’ll get tech to try and track it..” Nat suggests, knowing it most likely won’t work but it’s their best bet right now. “..and when they call again at least we’ll be ready to track it.”

“You think they’re gonna be dumb enough to leave a trace?” Bucky snapped at Nat. 

“It’s all we’ve got, Bucky. Look, we know you had some sort of relationship with this girl but you need to stay calm.” 

“I’m trying.” Bucky’s voice breaks a little, showing everyone how he is really feeling.

A couple minutes pass of everyone thinking the same thing but being too afraid to say it, until Fury finally breaks the silence. “There’s no way we can let Zemo out.” 

Bucky knows there’s no logical reason for them to listen to your kidnappers demands, he knows majority of the time they never stick to them, but the thought of you getting hurt anymore was too much to handle. 

“You’re just gonna let her die?” He shouts across the table. 

“Barnes I suggest you calm down or I’ll remove your clearance for this mission.” Bucky nods, knowing the best thing he can do right now is keep as calm as possible, panic will only make things worse. “As I was saying, I’m not willing to release Zemo from the raft, but we can make this brother of his think we are. When he next contacts us, we’ll let him believe we’re following what he is asking of us. Everyone got it?” 

The room fills with a mix of mumbles, mostly consisting of ‘yes sirs’ and ‘got it’s’. Bucky stays silent. He’d finally found a girl he liked and she ends up in this situation, the guilt he was feeling was worse than anything he’d ever felt before, including the years of physical and mental trauma he’s been through. 

Sam’s soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “Buck? You okay?” For the first time since he learned of your danger Bucky’s face softens, and his eyes begin to grow wet. 

“I don’t wanna lose her Sam.” Sam might not understand how Bucky feels this strongly about you in such a short amount of time but one thing he understands is that you are important to Bucky and that means you are important to him.

“We’ll get her back. Come on. Let’s suit up so we’re ready.”

—--

You made the mistake of asking for some water which resulted in you being slapped across the face with the back of a gun and tied up on a rickety old chair .You hadn’t spoken since. You’d accepted that it was just a matter of time before they killed you and part of you just wanted them to get it over with. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop the tears falling down your cheeks and these men did not like that at all.

“Tell me again why we’re keeping her alive? Her crying is starting to get real boring.” One guy asks the other. 

“Just shut her up will ya? I need to call them again” You try so hard to stop yourself from whimpering but the pain from the rope around your hands and the ache in your head hurts so bad and a couple of seconds later a rag is being stuffed in your mouth. 

“Darling.. You get what this means?” He lifts his gun up and trails it along the side of your face. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” You hold your breath, terrified that even a slight movement will make things worse. “Good girl.” His smile, it’s something you don’t think you’ll ever forget if you make it out of here alive. 

The other man dials a number and puts it on speaker. “You got my brother yet?” 

“He’s on his way to us. First we need some proof that Y/N is still alive.” 

The man walks over to you slowly and takes the rag slightly out your mouth. “Tell them sweetheart.” You couldn't answer even if you wanted to, the fear being too much. He whips his gun against your head again making you cry out again. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“I.. I’m alive.” You had no idea who you were talking to, it was a voice you didn’t recognise but one you’d never forget, maybe, just maybe they’d be the one who saved you.

—---

“I.. I’m alive.” Bucky nearly breaks down right there at the sound of your voice, Sam's hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes gently. 

“Why are you doing this?” Fury asks, he doesn’t really care why, he knows people like these guys have no moral compass but he’s trying to make the call last as long as he can so they can track it. 

“You took my brother away from me, I’m only getting him back.”

“At the cost of an innocent life?” 

“You mean her?” He scoffs. “Can’t be that innocent if she's dating the winter soldier.” Sam can feel Bucky’s shoulders tense under his touch at the mention of his past life. “Stop wasting my time, just get my brother back to me. I’ll send you an address in 1 hour. Be there or the girl dies.” The call ends before Fury can reply.

“We got them!” An agent Bucky doesn’t know shouts up from the back of the room. “Sir, we’ve got them.” 

Bucky immediately makes his way over to where the agent is sitting and tries to read the computer but has no luck, it’s all in code. “Where is she?” 

“Water Crescent Garage, on the other side of the city.” She replies, as she continues typing. “The jet will get you there in 15 minutes.”

“Let’s go.” Bucky’s out of the room before anyone can respond, running through the halls and reaching the jet before anyone else.

“Barnes, I’ll remind you. Stay calm or you’re off.”

“I know. I’m calm” He was most certainly calm. “Can we please just go?” His voice is dripping in desperation, he just wants you safe.

—-------

“Looks like Soldier wants you back, hmm?” The taller guy asks you, knowing you can’t answer him. “Maybe I’ll see what he’s getting every night huh?” He begins to run his fingers over your bare shoulder, nearing your neck and beginning to squeeze slightly. You try to move away but the rope keeps you in place. “This what he likes doing to you? He likes having control? He likes to own you?” He brings his other hand towards the zip on the side of your dress before an alarm stops him. He looks around to the other guy in the room. “Stay with her. I’ll go.”

The other guy grunts in response. Once the taller guy has left he walks towards you, gun in his hand. “You better hope your boyfriend isn’t trying something sweetheart. It won’t end well.” You don’t understand why these guys think you and Bucky were so serious, you’d only had one date. 

You start to hear gunshots in the distance, getting closer and closer to you every second. You were praying the good guys were winning and that they were here to save you. 

A few minutes pass when the door to your room bursts open and none other than Captain America himself walks in. It takes him less than 15 seconds to disarm and knock out the guy who was left with you, although it feels like longer for you. “Buck, I’ve got her.” He walks over to you and removes the cloth in your mouth. 

Bucky was here. “Bucky?” 

“Hey Y/N, I’m here to help okay?” He begins to untie the rope around your hands, careful to not hurt you. “Bucky’s on his way. It’s over.” 

As Sam was untying your feet Bucky runs into the room and rushes over to you. His heart breaks when he sees you upclose. Your cheeks that were so rosy just last night were now white as a ghost, your lips once red were now blue and bruised, the sparkle he had just seen hours ago in your eyes was now replaced with fear.

You stand up with the help of Sam and look towards Bucky. 

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Sam, call the doc, let her know we’re coming.” Bucky's eyes are moving around your body, scouting out every injury he can find and taking note of it.

The only thing you can bring yourself to say is thank you, your lip wobbles as you say it and your voice is shaky with each word but Bucky understands. “Tha.. Thank you for saving me.” 

He slowly reaches out to hold you against him, giving you enough time to tell him to stop if you want to. He wraps his arm around you, carefully avoiding anywhere that looks injured. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why they came after you. I promise as soon as I found out what was happening I started looking for you. I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head, he doesn't owe you an apology, none of this was his fault. The motion only makes you feel nauseous, and you feel as if you might throw up if you move anymore. “I can’t. I can’t.. I feel sick.” Bucky stops as soon as you ask. 

“Can I carry you?”

“Please.” You were embarrassed to be feeling this weak but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He just seemed sad. 

—---

After you get seen by the avenger’s doctor and prescribed some pretty strong painkillers you finally arrive home. Bucky tried to get you to stay in for longer, he was worried you would be feeling worse once the shock had worn off but you insisted on coming home. You needed to be in your own space. 

“I’ll make you some food, you wanna get changed out of those?” You weren’t really hungry but you couldn't bring yourself to say no. You did want to badly get changed out of the clothes Natasha had lent you, they were very tight. 

“Thank you.” 

Bucky wanted to tell you to stop thanking him, you should be angry at him and it was killing him that you were treating him with so much kindness after everything you’d been through at his fault.

Bucky makes you a sandwich, knowing you probably wouldn't be too hungry. “It’s just to get some food in you. Some water too.” He said as he handed you a plate and glass of water. 

The next words that left Bucky’s mouth were ones he’d never wanted to say but it didn’t feel right staying with you after what he’d put you through. “Do you need anything else before I go?” 

You nearly choke as you swallow that bite. He gets down to his knee and looks up at you. “You okay?” You immediately start crying, not even trying to hide it. “Hey, what's wrong?” You hadn’t been apart from Bucky since he found you, and now that he was leaving you felt so scared again.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” His heart breaks again at how soft your voice comes out, almost as if you were afraid to speak.

He wants nothing more than to stay with you, keep you safe but he feels that with every second he spends with you the more you'll be at risk. 

“Is there anyone I can call to stay with you?” 

“Could you?” You almost whisper to him. 

“What was that?” He asks softly. 

“Could you stay?” 

“You really want me to?” 

“I do.” 

He almost, almost says yes before he remembers how you looked when he found you in that room. He stands up and backs away a little. “I don’t think I should.” 

You try to stand up and walk towards him but get a bit dizzy as you do, grabbing onto his arm for balance. “Why not?” 

“Doll, sit down.” He guides you gently back onto the couch. “It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“No Bucky, that’s not true. I really like you Bucky, and whilst this may not have been the second date we had in mind, I don’t want to lose you. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same.”

“I never said I didn't feel the same way, I just.. I just can't put you in any more danger.”

“The way I see it, you saved me from danger. And I know now that you’ll always be there to save me. Please stay?” He nods. 

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

[luveline]

hi! i was wondering, how did eddie *formally* ask reader to be his girlfriend, would he ask roan first?! do you think you could write eddie asking reader out to be officially together?! thank you and i love your work<3

hi!!! let's pretend it goes like this, thank you!! fem!reader

Eddie's curls look really nice today. Sleek and springy, they do a little bounce as he turns to you and offers you a small smile.

"What?" he asks expectantly.

You're waiting to go into the Hawk movie theatre. It's warm and the line is super long. You and Eddie stand somewhere in the middle in light clothing, the sun kissing him all over and turning his pale skin golden.

"Do you think they'll open the doors soon?" you ask quietly. It's the kind of day where you don't feel like you have to be anyone but yourself, no matter how quiet that might leave you.

Eddie nudges you gently with his elbow. "Getting bored?"

"So bored," you agree, wry. You can't bite back a smile as you step a little closer to him, eyes on a long curl at his shoulder.

"Nah, I think they're gonna start letting people in soon. Stick it out. It'll be worth your while." He pretends to yawn and throw his arm over your shoulder.

"I bet." You mean it.

There a lapsing silence. You're not sure if it's awkward or not. It doesn't feel awkward for you; you could spend hours alone with Eddie now and never feel bored, he's that kind of perfect. His freckles and fanaticism, his ever-present wit.

You decide to give yourself what you want and reach for the curl you'd been eyeing up to wrap it around your finger. You're thrilled when it fits, like he'd slept with it coiled around your finger specifically. It's so stupid to think, so silly and ardently affectionate that you cringe at yourself.

"I fucking love your smile," Eddie says.

You let the curl spring free. It's impossible to stop smiling now he's said it. "My smile?" Your smile is more of a grimace, usually.

"Yeah. Best smile this side of the Atlantic."

"And the other side?"

He taps under your chin swiftly. You deign to lift your gaze and meet his eyes, honey browns edged in a thicket of straight, dark lashes.

"Best get over there before I answer," he says.

Eddie looks suddenly and acutely more handsome than he's ever looked before. He's pink with it, your affection, skin glowing and soft, hair perfect and pretty. A long chain dissapears into the loose neck of his tank top. Your eyes search all over him and can't find a single imperfection. Not the scar on his left bicep, not his callused hands.

"Oh, god. I really like you," you confess.

You'd be embarrassed if you thought Eddie cared. He hadn't been weirded out when you asked him on a first date, Roan in his arms with her tearstained cheeks. He hadn't cared when you'd kissed her tiny cut up knees at the supermarket, or when you'd said, Hi, handsome, on your very first date. You keep worrying about being too much and Eddie keeps showing you that you're not.

He doesn't let you down. "I like you more. Fuck, you can't let me have one, can you?"

"Have what?" you ask, laughing.

"One of our firsts!"

"Eddie Munson, what the fuck? Did you get bodysnatched by a teenage girl? Why do you care about firsts?"

He glares at you. Then, sudden, you can practically see the light bulb of an epiphany behind his eyes.

"Be my girlfriend."

Pleasure fills your chest, a dizzying static. You don't gawp, though you easily could, you only smile your awful, stupid, terrible smile — that he fucking loves by the way — and try not to laugh. You're so happy you can't keep it down, giggles bubbling up in waves.

"Yeah, okay," you say. It's more casual than you feel.

His shoulders relax in relief. "Yeah?"

You weave your fingers into the softest curls behind his neck and tap his jaw with your index finger. Eddie's quick to put a hand behind your back and tug you inward. The rose-tint surrounding him gets worse by the second.

"Is that enough firsts for you?" you ask softly. "Or do you want another one?"

He understands quickly what you're asking for, dipping down to share your very first kiss. You've kissed his cheek once or twice and you think he might've kissed your head one time during a short hug, but this is a real kiss.

His lips are soft. You feel him and nothing else, world tunneled into his hands where they pull up your back, almost like he's trying to drag you in closer, and the sigh that he makes as he does. You tentatively, so tentatively, part your lips. The slightest gap.

Eddie pulls away to wade in from a new angle, his own lips now parted in turn. You can't breathe right as you meld against him, hand closing much more roughly than you mean to around his neck and suffocating his poor curls.

He pulls away after a few seconds, seemingly assessing your expression.

"Sorry," you say sincerely, pulling your hand from behind his neck.

He closes his hand, rubs your cheek with the backs of his fingers, fingernails smooth over the slope of your cheek. It's a featherlight touch. You've never been touched this delicately.

"You're sure?" he asks.

Vigorous, vehement nodding. "One hundred percent sure."

He presses his lips together, an obvious excitement. "God, Roan's gonna blow a gasket."

You both laugh and fall into one another. Crazy, how your head fits into the curve of his neck as perfectly as it does.

-

roan only guest stars but there's more eddie and roan here if ur interested in this single dad eddie

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 5,368

Notes: My friend Tiny said this was very Wattpad era of me, so I'm so sorry that I'm cringe, guys. She also said she loved it and I am also p satisfied w it, so. Celebrations! It's also fucking long for me, like damn. Chill. I do have some disclaimers abt this tho. 1) I have never been to a k-pop concert, I am doing my best working off of what videos, vlogs, blogs, and Quora and Reddit answers for this. I'm very sorry if it's horribly inaccurate. Also it's idealized so it'd gonna be inaccurate 2) Covid never happened in this universe! Send-offs for everyone!

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, sort of dissociating? ish?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (coming soon <3)

“Yes, Ma, I promise I’m doing just fine,” You grunt into your phone, tucking the device between your cheek and shoulder as you juggle your groceries and try to dig out your keys, “No one has tried to mug me, I’m eating well, and the job is the same as the last time you called.”

You manage to both open your door and kick it shut as your mother replies, “I just worry about you dear. You’re so far away from us now, what if you need help?”

You waddle to your kitchen counter to offload your burdens, stretching your cramping fingers out as you go to properly hold your phone again.

“I know, Ma, but I’m sure I’ll make some friends with time and then they can help me out.” you finally reply with a sigh. You begin the arduous task of actually putting your groceries away, resigned to the fate of a functional adult.

You hear your sister bark out a laugh in the background. It’s possibly about hearing ‘you’ and ‘friends’ in the same sentence (Which, ouch. True, but ouch). You magnanimously ignore her.

“Honey, I love you, but it’s been almost a year. You have yet to tell me about a single friend.” Your Mom retorts. Again, ouch.

“I have Taylor!” You defend, slamming your fridge shut with a pout.

“Your roommate doesn’t count!” Your little sister taunts from the background. You hear your mother shush her but her agreement is implied when she doesn’t correct the little gremlin.

“He so does!” You argue, “We hang out in contexts that are not work or school, we eat meals together, and we’re even going to a concert this weekend! That’s friends! That’s best friends, even.” You sound a bit pathetic even to yourself, but the day your sister wins over you is the day you die.

“That’s a friendly roommate,” Is your sister’s amused response, “I bet you don’t even know what his favorite color is.” Your silence is answer enough, and she cracks up, laughing so hard that you hear a muted thump as she falls off of whatever furniture she’d been occupying.

Guess you’re dying today.

Your mother changes the subject to the goings-on of your hometown while your sister asphyxiates in the background. You’ve only been away for a little under a year now, but as you listen to her talk about which of your littlest cousins are starting school and which of your relatives are causing drama, you realize that it’s already been a little under a year.

You flop onto your couch as your mom babbles away, holding back an existential crisis.

Your fingers begin tracing the long-since memorized lines of your soulmark over your clothes as you ponder the passing of time, fully zoned out of your mother’s gossip. Your sister seems to catch on to your long silence, interrupting you mother to pester you into giving her more material to taunt you over.

“What concert are you going to, anyway?” She questions.

“Oh, it’s a K-Pop group called Stray Kids,” You tell her. You can practically feel her interest shrivel up and die as soon as you say K-Pop, bless her elitist, snobby, little heart. “Taylor likes them a lot, and his boyfriend dumped him last month, so I got some good tickets to cheer him up.”

Your mother coos at you briefly before your sister overtakes the conversation again, “Are they even good?” You can hear the sneer in her voice as she falls into Music Snob (tm) mode, so you roll your eyes when you reply.

“They’re fun to dance to when I’m doing chores, so that’s good enough for me.”

“You can’t even understand them.” She complains.

“I can, actually.” You inform her primly, “My language elective was Korean. I took the whole course.”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Tell that to my sweet, sweet, degree, kiddo.” It’s finally your turn to taunt.

“Whatever, you’re not even going with a friend, just your roommate. How fun could it be?” She pouts back.

“I told you, we are friends! Best friends, even!”

“You still don’t know his favorite color.” She retorts smugly.

“I know his favorite flower, that’s gotta count for something!” Your mother hums in agreement, and you picture her watching your bickering like a tennis match, assigning points in her head.

“It doesn’t, because you know everyone’s favorite flower! You know the mail guy’s favorite flower! It’s like an obsession.” You picture your sister rolling her eyes at you, exasperation pouring off of her. The image makes you grin as you reply.

“Only if it’s still Jim. I haven’t been around to ask anyone new.” You point out. Reasonably, you think, but for some reason your sister lets out a loud groan of annoyance and you hear her exaggerated stomps ass she removes herself from your presence. Your mother lets out an amused little huff and you imagine you’ve won the tennis match in her head.

No death for you today. Score!

Your mom yaps with you for a little longer, before finally bidding you farewell, telling you that you should call more often (like you don’t chat literally every Friday afternoon like clockwork), tell your dad to come home soon if you happen to call him (you won’t. He won’t either), and tell her all about how the concert goes next week. You promise to do that one easily.

When she hangs up, you’re left with the ringing silence of an empty apartment. Moving to LA has been a quieter experience than you’re used to in general, for many reasons. Sure, the city itself is louder than your little suburb by miles, but life has been... More peaceful, since. Quieter.

It still makes you uneasy, even 10 months later.

You get up from the couch and drift off to your room like a ghost, opening Spotify on your way. The opening notes of Ruth B’s Lost Boy and a something nauseous swirling in your gut is all that follows you.

On concert morning, you’re woken up bright and early by your air-horn of a roommate slamming your door open.

“Concert daaaaaaaaay~” He trills at you from the doorway. You don’t even open your eyes when you roll over and throw a pillow at him in protest. A soft ‘oof’ tells you that you hit your mark for once. Nice.

“Nice shot!” Taylor cheers, “But now I have your ammo, so it’s up time.”

You roll over again, taking the edge of your blanket with you and tossing it over your head. You pull a stuffed animal under with you, and curl tightly around it.

“Nmf gmf.” You grumble at him through a mouthful of fluff.

“Nuh-uh!” Taylor tuts, already fluent in Morning Grumble, “We gotta get up. There’s food to be eaten, outfits to put on, and lines to beat!”

You let out a long, agonized, groan, but obligingly roll over and starfish out with childish protest. Taylor waits until you open your eyes to glare at his annoyingly cheerful blond bedhead before he leaves your doorway with a sunny smile. Smug bastard.

He leaves your door open too, the shit, allowing the sweet smell of french toast and eggs to drift into your room. You sit up with a whiney groan, scrubbing harshly at your face.

You’d forgive him this time. Just for the french toast.

You lean over to grab your phone from your bedside table, just waking the screen to check the time. When the numbers register you lay right the way back down with another long wail of protest.

Four in the morning. That french toast had better be fucking good.

You eventually stumble into the kitchen and are promptly handed a very large and very welcomed cup of coffee. Taylor hands you a plate piled high with french toast and eggs, fruits and toppings already out, before you can even try to start bitching at him.

You take in the spread with a furrowed brow, before slowly lifting your head to pin Taylor with a suspicious stare.

“My dude, it is four in the morning. How?”

Taylor just shrugs at you. “Couldn’t sleep. Too excited.”

You nod slowly at him. “I’ll drive. You’re napping in the car.”

This triggers a round of outraged whining from your sleep-deprived roommate, which you cull by pointing out that headaches and concerts are an awful combo. He subsides but insists he’ll be even more excited in the car, since it’s closer to concert time. You tell him to do it anyway.

“Why are we up so early in the first place?” You complain as you drain the last dregs of your drink. “The concert isn’t for, like, fifteen hours.”

“The concert is only fifteen hours away! Countdowns have already started, mark my words!” Taylor counters, “You got us Soundcheck tickets! VIP! We have to take advantage! I want the entire experience. Freebies, insane merch lines, sponsor booths, everything.” He gets more and more incensed as he goes on, leaning farther over the table, his shirt almost dragging in the puddles of syrup on his plate.

You raise your hands in surrender to his wild-eyed look. “Whatever,” You concede, “You’re the boss, this is your day.”

Taylor nods in satisfaction, leaning back. You notice that he actually does take some syrup with him as he re-seats himself. “As it should be.” Is his prim reply.

You sort of just laugh at him, and your routine of friendly bickering continues as the two of you make quick work of fixing up the kitchen.

You two split off to get ready, Taylor demanding a leave time of 6am sharp. You do your best to appease him, dressing up enough to say you put effort in, but paying mind to comfort over style. You’re putting the last touches on your eye liner when Taylor barges in.

You give him a stink eye for not knocking, which he blissfully ignores as he looks over you top to bottom. He summarily declares you “Good, but not good enough” and stampedes over to raid your closet.

At this point in your cohabitation you’ve learned to just let him do his thing when he gets like this. He doesn’t let you dress yourself when you go clubbing with his friends either, the jerk. Your fashion sense is perfectly acceptable, thank-you-very-much.

He tells you you’re being assigned a bias for today based on your wardrobe as he tosses you a white and navy stripped polo shirt and some navy sweatpants with racer strips on the side. He pulls up a reference photo on your phone and tells you to accessorize while he goes to find an appropriate tie from his stash for you.

Looking at the picture of Han Jisung on your screen, you admit that the outfit is pretty close already. You decide to leave the polo’s buttons undone, grabbing a white camisole to put on under. Your accessories take a bit longer, and you can’t see the shoes to match those, but Taylor seems satisfied enough when he comes back.

He hands you a tie and a handful of pins to complete your look and begins pushing you out the door before you can even put them on properly. When you protest this he insists that the two of you are running late, despite the concert still being more than 13 hours away.

You do, in fact, make him sleep in the car. He does not appreciate this, but early morning traffic can lull even the most dutiful of soldiers to sleep. He’s somehow even more chipper than usual when he wakes up, despite being groggy and bleary-eyed.

The crowd, when the two of you arrive, isn’t as big as you were expecting it to be. With all of Taylor’s rushing, you’d expected to barely be able to see the doors. The merch booth he was so excited about isn’t even open yet, and he settles the two of you into the line to enter the venue instead of camping there.

It’s immediately obvious who the extrovert between the two of you is, Taylor’s bouncy blond head beginning to duck and weave among the small crowd as soon as you claim your spot, laughs and excited exchanges popping up wherever he stopped. You, on the other hand, stay exactly where you’d been left and fiddle around on your phone, Taylor’s clear backpack abandoned in your arms.

You’re pretty sure this is purposeful on his part. You know each other well enough by now that he’s well aware of your tendency to stay planted once you’re settled. You’re definitely being used to stake out your spot. You steal one of his granola bars as payment for your services.

An hour or so drags through, and Taylor has thoroughly befriended most of the people around you. Once he’s decided that it’s about time to line up for some of the merch booths, Taylor leaves you in the tender care of the other fans as he goes to stake out a spot. He gracefully accepts both your wallet and your request of “a t-shirt and something they can sign”

The group of four people behind you, in particular, take his (only semi-joking) request of “take care of my introvert for me” seriously.

“So are you a Han bias?” One asks you as Taylor prances off. Her outfit is majority blue, little Bbokari (You can admit that the little characters charm you. You probably know their names better than the Stray Kids themselves) hair clips and keychains decorating her person.

You look down at yourself and then back up at her, almost having forgotten that you were dressed up as him. “Ah, no. Taylor, my friend, dressed me this morning. We’re here for him today. Though, he did say Han was my assigned bias today.” You laugh nervously, hoping they don’t judge your lack of knowledge.

Thankfully none of them seem discouraged by your response, giggling along with your little joke. In fact one of them, dressed head to toe in merch, seems almost excited by the prospect.

“Are you a baby Stay then?” She asks you with sparkling eyes. You wave your hands in front of yourself a bit defensively.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t go that far. I like their music when Taylor plays it around the apartment, but I wouldn’t consider myself part of the fandom. This is actually my first k-pop experience in general.” You explain, “When I say we’re here for him, I mean I am here in total ignorance.”

Another girl, dressed in a loud assortment of colors you vaguely recognize from the music video Taylor had on loop in your living room for a week and a half when it dropped, lets out a low whistle. “Throwing you right into the deep end, huh? Hardcore.”

The group of you laugh a bit, the only guy in their group agreeing with, “Well if you’re not a fan now, you will be when you leave. Their performances are amazing, honestly.”

You absorb the gushing with an open heart, truly hoping for that to be the case. You take this opportunity to take the spotlight off of yourself.

“Oh, have you guys been to a Stray Kids concert before? It’s Taylor’s first.”

That question is the key to the floodgates, and you end up spending the next 3 and a half hours waiting for Taylor’s return (with text updates from the man himself, assuring you that he is still where he’s supposed to be) being regaled with tales of concerts, events, and comebacks past. You feel a bit like you’re getting a crash course in all things Stray Kids, phones often popping out to show you clips, fancams, and photos.

It makes you smile, feeling very included and welcomed as you occasionally pepper in a question or two to keep them going. It’s just like dinners at the apartment with Taylor, him unloading his stress through fandom, and you unloading yours through listening to his ramblings.

This is exactly why you came with him today.

Taylor makes his return loaded down with goodies both purchased and gifted by other fans, to which you welcome him by cheering loudly. This triggers your new group to do the same. Somehow, the five of you cheering leads to a large portion of the early crowd, which had grown by the hour, cheering with you.

You feel a bit shy at the power you apparently hold, and laugh about it with your new friends.

Eventually Taylor and Merch Girl (you hadn’t managed to catch any of their names, you realize belatedly. It’d be too awkward to ask now. You resolve to simply Not Address Them) split off to do more rounds among other fans, distributing their own freebies.

You hadn’t even realized Taylor had made freebies. You’re also not sure how he found the time. Love finds a way, you suppose.

The other group’s Token Guy Friend (who will always been Token Guy to you, so sorry Token Guy) passes the conversation back to you. Not appreciated, Token Guy.

You can’t be all that mad though, as he shuffles through his bag to produce a piece of paper and a chisel-tipped sharpie. He passes the items to you with a grin.

“If you’re close to the stage you should have a sign! You might get an interaction that way!” He enthuses. The remaining girls cheer at the idea, sighing over the possibility of you getting an interaction at your very first concert.

You hold back correcting them that it’s just your first k-pop concert. You’re sure that’s what they mean anyways, as the experience so far has been quite different from your usual.

You look at the items in your hand, and then back at him. He offers to let you use his back to write on. You once again stare between his meticulous outfit and the sharpie in your hand. You are so not going to ruin someone’s day with what was supposed to be a kind gesture.

You motion for him to wait a moment and dig around in your own bag for a moment, the seat cushion Taylor had insisted you bring slapping you incessantly from where it hangs as you shuffle both your shoulder bag and Taylor’s backpack around. Eventually you manage to pull out your travel first aid kit, pulling a gauze pad from it.

You unclip the seat cushion from your bag and place it on the ground, motioning for Token Guy to kneel. He does so bemusedly.

“I’m gonna make it fancy,” You inform him, “those random calligraphy classes from high-school aren’t going to fail me today.” He makes a noise of assent and you’re crowding over his bent back, unfurling the gauze pad to make a barrier between the paper and his shirt.

He and the girls make their conversation around you as you sink into concentration. It’s very difficult to make nice, even, lines on an uneven surface like a back, and you have to keep gently slapping Token Guy’s shoulder when he laughs to remind him not to move.

Taylor and Merch Girl have returned by the time you finish your sign, Taylor laughingly cautioning any of them from breaking your concentration for anything less than Token Guy’s health. Unless they wanted to face your Wrath(tm), of course.

His advice seems to have been heeded, because by the time you tune back into the outside world you have a sign with very pretty (and most importantly - legible) calligraphy that reads:

[HAN! You’ve been assigned as my bias today! Make me fall for you?]

You even took the time to add Korean translations in smaller script beneath each line. You also take the time to admire your own foresight for laying out the gauze pad, small black marks littering it’s surface. Token Guy seems equally impressed when he looks at it, before taking the initiative to trash both it and the wrapper for you.

Merch Girl reads your sign when you proudly hold it in front of yourself and cackles.

“So that’s why he really brought you along, huh?” She teases, elbowing Taylor like they’re old friends. He has that effect on people. “She can talk to them for you if the Aussie line isn’t around.” Taylor gives a sheepish laugh and a faux-guilty shrug.

“That, and she bought the tickets. I couldn’t leave her behind if I tried.” He pokes at you as he speaks, mirth dancing in his eyes. Laughter erupts around the group as you shout your offence, making to start roughhousing with him like you do your sister.

The time passes joyously this way until the doors finally open to begin letting people in for sound check.

You’re not gonna lie, you’re already super tired and peopled out. Luckily, Taylor had clocked you flagging before even you had, and sent you to sit in “introvert time out” on your cushion in a shaded spot away from the crowd. So you could make it through sound check and the actual concert. Probably.

You and Taylor pass through security unscathed, having already eaten or trashed any snacks or drinks you’d brought with you, and having not bothered bringing much else. Both of your bags were just full of merch and freebies at this point.

Once you actually enter the venue you take the lead, dragging Taylor by the wrist to your seats. You’re actually super excited to show him the seats you’d gotten, having kept anything beyond ‘soundcheck’ a secret.

Taylor is already vibrating with excitement as you lead him to the floor seats. He’s nearly trembling as you lead him right up the center, past rows and rows of little white chairs erected for the reserved seating tickets. When you finally sit him down right in front of the thrust stage, plopping into the seat beside him with satisfaction, he turns to you with saucer-wide eyes.

“Noo...” He whispers.

“Oh, yes.” You return, blessing him with a grin and little eyebrow wiggle.

Taylor basically tackles you in a hug, almost knocking you into the person next to you, and squeals his thanks so loudly that you’re sure the entire stadium hears. When he’s done thanking you he pulls back, hands on your shoulders, with the most deadly serious eyes you had ever seen on him.

“I would die for you.” He intones lowly. You crack first, the two of you breaking into a giggle fit that was almost concerning with it’s intensity. When the two of you calm down and turn to settle and sit properly, he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Seriously,” He says, eyes soft, “You’re the best ever. You need anything from today on? I’m your guy.”

You chuckle at him, nudging him back, “Do my dishes for the next month, then.” You tease.

He rears back, hands up in joking surrender, “Woah, woah! Let’s not go that far! I meant if you needed to escape from the mob or something, not chores.” He gives an exaggerated shudder before breaking into his usual silly grin.

The two of you spend the next however long indulging in familiar banter, waving at the group of fans you’d made friends with outside when you spotted them not terribly far away, and generally recharging your batteries for the concert. Taylor eventually moves on to talking to the people around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

You close your eyes for just a moment, trying to turn the lights off in your brain for a bit. You really needed the music to start soon, you were going to fall asleep.

Almost as if in answer to your prayers, the group begins trickling on stage for sound check.

To be honest, both soundcheck and the concert pass in a blur for you.

Once things kick off, you’re swept away in a wave of cheers, music, and lights. You hadn’t expected front row seats to be quite as intense as they were, but you made a note to yourself to not book such tickets for yourself in the future.

You couldn’t really handle it.

Still, Taylor seems to have the time of his life, and you manage to immerse yourself in the concert enough to shake your sign at Han when he passes by, earning yourself a wink and a cheek heart. Taylor was nearly euphoric at having caught the interaction with his phone camera.

By the time it’s over, you’re fairly sure you had a good time, but also 100% sure that you were completely overwhelmed. Taylor manages to drag you to the send off that you paid for spots at anyway. Curse his charming, sunny demeanor.

You can’t really process how it happened at this point, but you end up practically pinned to the railing of the barricade at the send-off location, separated from Taylor, and clinging to your façade of an excited fan with a white knuckled grip. You have three things on you to get signed, and a mission from Taylor to get all three scribbled on.

Your sign for Han, a ballcap Taylor had customized, and a Lee Know photocard Taylor had entrusted to you with a gravity you weren’t sure it warranted. He had, like, three of the same one.

You try to drum up the determination to see your mission through, but find it difficult to dredge up any will at all.

Time waits for no man, however, and soon enough the members begin making their way through, delivering high-fives, autographs, and aegyo as they pass through. You end up squished almost violently to the railing, ducking a bit and making yourself as small as possible as hands, phones, and items all get waved around and over you.

You’re not sure you like send-off.

There’s so many noises and sights and smells that you have a really hard time keeping track of which member is where. Plus, you’re still a lot overwhelmed from lining up before dawn and the concert itself. You’re tired, you’re cranky, and you want to go home.

At some point Lee Know must pass by you, and you must have presented the photocard properly, because you have a signed one now. That’s cool. The faster you get the requested autographs, the faster you can leave.

Bangchan spawns in front of you from the aether, from your point of view. You may be a bit more out of it than you’d like to admit. Still, you dutifully hold out your ballcap for him to sign, exchanging post-concert niceties on pure autopilot.

Because you’re not all that present at the moment, or maybe because all you’d had was your breakfast and some granola bars in the last 13 hours, you don’t hold your balance the way you should when someone shoves at you from behind. You catch yourself on the railing, but you dropped the freshly signed cap.

Bangchan kindly stoops to pick it up for you, and you thank him. A couple of things happen very quickly at that point.

1) Unlike the first two exchanges of the cap, because of the awkward and quick nature of Bangchan’s action, it is no longer being handed to you with lots of space between your hand and his.

2) You’re still being jostled around. No matter how much you brace for the impact of the bodies surrounding you, you couldn’t possibly keep totally still.

3) These two things have a consequence. Your hand brushes Chan’s as he hands you the cap.

The world stops for you for a moment, as pins and needles stab into dozens of familiar spots all across your lower abdomen. You freeze, dumb, awkward, overwhelmed smile plastered to your face as Bangchan turns away from you.

The pain isn’t that bad, really, more like a bad period cramp mixed with a sleeping limb waking up. Still, you curl your arm around your stomach, and your body bows with the motion. As if you could protect your reality from shattering and reshaping itself in front of you.

Static fills your ears and your poor, overloaded, brain throbs with the beginnings of a migraine.

Bangchan is your soulmate.

International k-pop sensation Bangchan is one of your eight soulmates.

Bangchan is part of a group with eight members.

Your soulmate is already moving away from you, your minor interaction just a footnote of his day, the tingling pain of your soulmate bond awakening probably blending in with a thousand other minor aches and pains from a very physically intense day for him.

You come back to clarity with the resolve that you’d like it to stay that way.

With a sense of urgency, you look around the crowd you’re part of, noting distinct faces and colors for the first time. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for until you spot it, and suddenly your escape plan is fully formed.

There, just a couple shoves and elbow throws away, is Blue Bbokari Girl from this morning.

You struggle your way over, people falling into the space you’d left at the railing like a pack of hyenas on fresh meat. When you reach her you the gently at her sleeve to get her attention.

She turns to you with confusion first, a bright greeting next, and finally a concerned scrunch of her brow as she takes in your hunched form.

“Hey, I’m feeling kind of sick, can you help me get out of the crowd?” You’re sure you look convincingly pathetic and weak as you plead with her. If only because you really did feel pathetic and weak at the moment.

“Oh, of course, hun! Just a moment.” She begins to crane her neck around to scan the crowd like you’d done moments prior. You feel a bit bad for interrupting her night like this, but as she calls out to someone behind her, you’re more thankful than anything.

Blue Bbokari Girl successfully gets the attention of someone you don’t recognize, and a quick summary of, “She’s sick, help her leave!” shouted over the crowd has you being passed through the crowd unmolested.

You find yourself enveloped in a chain of fans, one passing you to another, pausing, and calling on someone else to pass you to until you’ve finally stumbled free of the send-off mob.

Feeling a bit like you’d just been spat out of the maw of a great creature, you look back at the rustling crowd, now looking like it had never been disturbed at all.

The last lady who had finally freed you, an older woman with a Jiniret picket, eyes you with concern as you put you back to the nearest wall and slide down it.

“Will you be okay, sweetie?” She questions you worriedly, “Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

You smile weakly at her and assure her that you just have to get ahold of your roommate and he’d get you home safe and sound. She tries to insist on waiting with you, but you persuade her to return to the crowd with promises that you’d make your way to a bathroom or security guard once the worst of your vertigo had passed.

You watch her return with morbid fascination, amazed when she just sort of gets absorbed back into the mass of people. Almost like it ate her. You once again marvel at making it out of such a thing unscathed.

Truth be told, your stomach was only sore and tender this point, the sharp, needle-point pains long gone. Still, you take a moment to bring your knees to your chest, just breathing as you press your forehead to them. If anyone were to look at you then, you wonder what they’d think of you curled up on the floor and trembling like your dog had just died.

You hope they’d view you with kindness.

After giving yourself a moment to just feel, though you couldn’t tell anyone what you had felt, you gather yourself enough to totter to your feet and drag yourself to the nearest bathroom. You text Taylor as you go.

[Hey. Felt sick, in bathroom rn. lmk when we can leave pls?]

Perma Tag List: @mbioooo0000

[c0la-queen]

Heya, I just sort of stumbled across your blog and I’m genuinely so impressed by how good your writing is! I ended up binge reading a bunch of your works lol. I was wondering if I could request something for Eddsworld? Honestly, your last Tord piece has been stuck in my mind so I was thinking of a situation where the reader is either uncomfortable because of some other guy or even something more dangerous like being followed and Tord ends up being involved. I know it’s really cliche but I’m interested in how he would handle it and what he would prioritise first. Obviously, I know you’re gonna be busy for a while so don’t feel pressured to get this done soon or at all if you don’t feel up to it. Hope you have a wonderful day/night ❤️

HIII OMG reading this made me so giddy!! I had free time this weekend and your request got my neurons firing so I HAD to write a piece for this right away!!! Thank you so much for your sweet words, and I hope you enjoy it! Mwah mwah!

Scary Dog Privilege | Tord x Reader

Warnings: Creepy incel guy, heavy misogyny, homophobia if you squint, I cringed writing this guy, Tord makes a threat

Words: ~1.9k

----

The windows were down on Tord's car, letting the breeze in. It whipped your hair around, sometimes blowing a few strands into your face. It only made you giggle. A huff to your right drew your attention to the driver's side. Tord had one hand on the wheel, his other arm rested on the windowsill. His vape was in his hand.

"What are you laughing about over there?"

He blew a cloud out of the window before answering you.

"You're being silly. It's cute."

You settled back in your seat as you came to a stop at a red light. Without the rumble of the engine, the music playing from the speaker floated out into the town around you. You glanced at the display screen on the radio. fuK u lol by CORPSE. Your head bobbed as you took in the sights of the town. There was an older couple in the lane beside you. The woman seemed to be eyeing you suspiciously. It didn't bother you, though. You looked down, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit. White skirt, black tights, strawberry cardigan, and pink converse. Heart shaped earrings danged from your ears, and a matching heart shaped purse was at your feet. You felt cute and happy. Tord had, at least, put on a different outfit for your date, rather than wearing his usual red hoodie combo. It was still red themed, but you didn't expect any less. If your boys were anything, they were consistent.

You and Tord had always been opposites in most things. He was all doom and gloom, ice cold glares, vapes and cigarettes, black clothes and heavy rock music. He was blunt, he seemed apathetic, and often was rude. You were energetic and sweet. You loved bright colors and cutesy things. Cake and frappes with lots of whipped cream. You loved to share compliments with others, had a big heart, and cared deeply for others. That's not to say that you and Tord were incompatible - your relationship had been going strong for a couple of years now. Your opposite traits seemed to balance each other out. When you got too overwhelmed or worked up, he was there to douse you with a healthy round of realism, grounding you back to the present and calming you down. You were there when he started to feel like he wasn't himself, when he started to slip back into the person he was forced to be in the cold winters of Norway, you reminded him of the warmth of home.

And, over time, you developed similarities. Before you met him, you had dipped your toes into anime, but he let you watch them with him and soon it became a tradition of yours to binge-watch shows together. Tord had stopped drawing since high school, but watching you mindlessly doodle on blank paper while he tinkered away at his work desk reminded him of the joy it had brought him as a teen - so he started again. Plus, he had a brand new muse this time. Or if there was things that one of you enjoyed doing that wasn't quite the other's thing, that was okay too. Tord would sit at the kitchen table while you baked, scrolling away on his phone and occasionally showing you Tik Toks that you'd like. You would sit on his lap while he played PC games, either playing calmer games on your Switch or watching his gameplay until you fell asleep.

It looked strange to others, but for you and Tord, it worked.

You zoned back in as the car pulled into a parking space. Tord turned to you as he parked.

"Where'd you go, hm?"

"Nowhere. Just thinking of you."

Tord gave you a scrutinizing look, attempting to see if you were lying to him or not. (He always said you had a knack for downplaying your feelings. You insisted you had no idea what he was talking about.) Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he hummed and shut off the engine. You climbed out of the car, stretching out your legs.

The manga store that you and Tord liked to frequent was only a 20 minute ride into town from your neighborhood. It wasn't a little hole-in-the-wall, five sets of aisles in a tiny room type of place. This store was actually fairly popular, seeing an average flow of customers throughout the day. It helped that the owners had implemented a café area, where you could order anime character themed drinks.

The girl working the café counter waved at the two of you as you walked in. You smiled and waved as you walked over. She was familiar with you, since she worked on a lot of the days that you came in. You and her got along really well.

"Hi, Ruby! You dyed your hair a new color! The lavender looks really good on you."

"Thank you! I did love the red, but it was starting to get a little boring for me. Thought I'd spice it up."

She set down the equipment she was cleaning and walked over to the register.

"You guys gonna have your usual or do you wanna try something new?"

Tord was likely going to just have his usual drink, but you decided to give a new drink a chance. You looked up at Tord.

"I wanna try the Squirtle Sour Candy Boba."

He nodded, then ushered you off to the aisles. That's how things usually went during your outings here. He'd order your drinks while you went wandering off into the aisles, and he'd find you after the drinks were ready. It had taken a bit of argument between the two of you for you to give up trying to pay for your own drinks - he was just as stubborn as you were sometimes. You came to a compromise, though, when he let you buy your own manga and merch.

As usual, your first pit stop was to the romance manga. There weren't too many other customers - an older alt couple looking at the Jojo manga, a teenage boy at the BL section, and a small group of teenage girls giggling softly in the isekai aisle. You hummed softly as you looked over the covers, seeing if anything new caught your eye. You stopped once you reached the section you were looking for. Komi Can't Communicate.

You crouched down so you were level with the more recent volumes. Most of the time, you bought three volumes at a time. You huffed softly when you realized that this time, they were missing one of the ones you needed. Volumes 12, 13, and 15 were there - but no volume 14. With an exasperated sigh, you reached out and picked up volume 12, only to nearly drop it when a voice startled you.

"You know, there are more tasteful series that you'd probably enjoy more than that one."

You looked to your right. Someone had walked into the aisle with you when you weren't paying attention. It was a man, looking to be in around his 30s or so. You could feel yourself fight back a physical reaction to his appearance, and not in a good way. He had on what you could recognize as a Deadpool shirt on underneath a black zip-up hoodie that looked like it hadn't been washed in far too long. The ensemble was topped off perfectly with a leather necklace cord and a metal pendant that you would've guessed was a Naruto symbol of some kind (admittedly, you had never watched Naruto, and Tord mentioned that it wasn't really worth it in his opinion.)

Alarm bells were going off in your head at the sight of him.

"Oh. Is that so?"

As you stood up straight, you gave him a smile that you hoped wasn't too obviously forced. If he noticed, he didn't care.

"Since you're here by yourself, clearly you're a female of sense. You should start off with Dragon Ball. It is the very zenith of anime culture, and anyone who hasn't experienced it doesn't deserve to call themselves an anime fan."

Your alarm bells got louder.

"Actually, um, I know what Dragon Ball is. I've watched it since I was little - my older sibling showed it to me."

You hated the way an excited glint flashed across the man's eyes. He stepped a little closer to you.

"It seems I was right about you. You do have taste. It's not every day I meet a female who is familiar with real anime. Usually its only females who have been brainwashed by social media to think that they're bisexual, who come in here to read trash like Haikyu."

He stepped closer again. You tried to subtly shift backwards.

"Shows like that shouldn't even be categorized as anime. Its all woke propaganda that makes females change their dating standards for submissive men. But I can tell that you're different. You-"

"There you are."

Something solid and warm pressed against your back. You felt yourself immediately relax in Tord's presence. Turning to him, you gratefully took your drink from his hand.

His eyes weren't on you.

Tord was staring down the man in front of you, eyes the color of cold steel. He was easily taller than the other man, and definitely stronger. The man seemed to cower slightly.

"I was, uh, just talking to the lovely girl here-"

Tord cut him off by saying your name. Only when you tilted your head back to him did he finally glance at you.

"Get your other two volumes."

He didn't need to tell you twice. Ignoring the now blubbering man, who was once again the focus of Tord's piercing gaze, you dipped down and grabbed volumes 13 and 15. You could look for 14 some other time.

"Go to the plushie aisle. I'll meet you there."

You only spared one last glance at the man before slipping past Tord, heading around to the aisle filled with plushies and other merch. You couldn't see or hear Tord and the man, and you weren't sure you wanted to.

Standing in front of the bin of plushies, you slid your phone out of your purse and pulled up your private messages with Edd. You typed out a quick message to him.

'Tord might beat a guy to death.'

Edd, who was working on some commissions today, replied fast.

'Nothing new. What was it this time?'

'Creepy guy wouldn't leave me alone. Gave off incel vibes.'

'Yikes. I'm on Tord's side. Hope he kicks the guy's ass.'

Before you could continue the chat, you felt arms wrap around your waist. Tord rested his chin against your shoulder.

"You shouldn't tattle on me to Edd."

"Edd doesn't care, as long as you don't get yourself hurt. What did you do to the dude?"

Tord huffed. He was grumpy.

"Told him that if he was ever a creep to you again, I'd saw his balls off with a rusty scalpel and shove them down his throat. It was effective. He ran away, like a little bitch."

Despite it all, you couldn't help but giggle. You turned, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"My hero. Let's go look at the Jujutsu Kaisen section."

[whyse7vn]

MILITARY WIFE -

[ot7 x reader]

SEOKJIN -

jin: if you’re pregnant now this the time to tell me

y/n: blocking you

jin: you are my fire

y/n: kick fucking rocks seokjin

jin: breaking both my legs

y/n: are you gonna miss me that much?

jin: no

being in the army seems like so much effort

y/n: bye

jin: i’m so fr

what the fuck am i kim seokjin gonna do in the fucking army

y/n: ran laps and shit idk

jin: FOR 2 YEARS

oh no

sorry not going

i have a really bad knee and ur pregnant my arm is bent backwards and hitting all these c4’s has given me slight brain damage

y/n: clearly

jin: what

y/n: what

jin: plus ur like super depressed and me leaving would only increase that depression which is understandable

yk? since i’m me and all

y/n: i think i’ll be fine

jin: don’t lie babe

y/n: just say ur gonna miss me and move on kim seokjin

jin: i won’t and pls stop saying my full name i don’t know you like that…

y/n: suddenly ur single

jin: wtf what did i do

y/n: i’m so sick of you

jin: see a doctor or something idk?

but we need to make a baby like rn ur not pregnant right ?

y/n: no and i don’t plan on being anytime soon

jin: um that’s not apart of the plan…

i clearly said ur pregnant my arm is bent backwards and something bout a knee injury are you not following?????

y/n: no i am

i just think ur being ridiculous

jin: ME???????

i think ur the ridiculous one rn

ur loving bf is trying to stay with you and is willing to go against the laws to do so and ur not helping???

i think we should take a break or something…

y/n: for 2 years?

jin: OMG UR WORKING WITH THEM ARENT YOU?

you want me gone

y/n: …

YOONGI -

y/n:

yoongi: bye

i’m not even gone yet

y/n: i don’t know if i’m ready for the military wife shit…

yoongi: we aren’t married so you don’t need to worry about that life

y/n: shut the fuck up

anyways

bae why didn’t you tell me sooner i mean what if was pregnant or something ???

yoongi: you’ve known for a whole year and ur not pregnant.

y/n: WHAT IF YOONGI

yoongi: do not start this shit again.

y/n: you wouldn’t be there when i gave birth..

the first birthday…

i can’t do this yoongi…

yoongi: oh no i guess we have to break up😱

y/n: yk what i’m gonna have a blast when ur gone

yoongi: crazy

what about the baby

y/n: fuck the baby the baby isn’t real it was a test of your love and commitment to me and you FAILED

yoongi: damn :/

y/n: you’ll be fine tho right

yoongi: ofc my love

y/n: i mean idc i knew that lolz

was just checking

yoongi: i know bby

y/n: ew ur hot and i love you

yoongi: ew?

y/n: ew

yoongi: ew i guess i love you too

y/n: and u think i’m hot?

yoongi: the hottest

y/n: ur so cringe bro

yoongi: bro???

y/n: it’s time to put this picture up i think

yoongi: 😐

y/n: and when people come to our house i’m gonna be like “yeah that’s my husband… he’s out at war rn” (i’m looking out the window at this point) a single tear runs down my face as i rub my stomach and smile “he’ll be back soon” then there’ll be a knock at the door making me and who ever tf is with me jump a little i go answer the door with the person following behind me (they are nosey af) i open the door and gasp “bang pd… what are you doing here?” he’s holding his hat in his hands and looks really upset he looks at the ground as he speaks to me “y/n….”

yoongi: what the fuck

let the pregnancy thing go

and just because i’m joining the military doesn’t mean i’m going to war you know that right?

and why do i have to die at the end?

y/n: you need to be asking the real questions like who tf is in the house with me ?

also i never said you died YOU said that

yoongi: well it was implied that i died

y/n: shut UP

yoongi: anyways im omw home put the heating on

y/n: sir yes sir 🫡

JIMIN -

y/n: WHEN YOU SAID LIGHT IT UP LIKE DYNAMITE YOU WAS FR THIS WHOLE TIME ?!?

jimin: yeah babe 😔💔

y/n: you fr gonna me lighting hoes up ????

jimin: with a little funk and soul

y/n: omg send me a pic of ur first ak 🥺

jimin: idk if they’ll actually give us guns

y/n: why not?

jimin: kim namjoon with a gun make that make sense

y/n: ur so right

maybe they’ll just give you one

and yoongi the others idk…

my boys and their lil pistols 🥺🥺🥺🥺

jimin: do you think i’ll look good bald?

y/n: no

but it’s okay i’ll still love you

jimin: …

y/n: xoxo

NAMJOON -

y/n: you taking this army shit too far don’t you think…

namjoon: 🤨

y/n: i’m ur number one supporter always but like…

i’m all for army don’t get me wrong

but actually joining one i think you’ve got confused…

namjoon: babe.

y/n: so if you could fix ur confusion then we can continue

namjoon: buzzcut

y/n: ur bags are packed

when do you join

when do i get to see

you can take your phone with you right

GOd FORBID I LET YOU TAKE THAT FUCK ASS ANDROID make sure you take that iphone

you can definitely send me photos right

ur gonna be so buff omg

i’m gonna combust

but i like ur long hair

wtf no

☹️☹️☹️☹️

it makes you look so great

it’s so you

so soft

frames ur face so nicely

what if i hate the buzz

what if ur head is wonky

nvm u cant do it

tell them ur not going because what if the other people bully you for ur wonky head

i won’t be there to help you

i cant have that

ok it’s official you’re staying

namjoon: babe

y/n: call them namjoon before it’s too late

namjoon: it’s going to be fine

y/n: no it’s not

wtf am i gonna do without you

FOR 2 YEARS BABE

ur telling me i have to eat alone as in all by myself ?

no thanks

i’ll pass

namjoon: stop it

it’ll be fine

y/n: 😟😟😟😟😟😟

don’t talk to me i’m sad

man

what the heck

ok i’m over it

namjoon: oh?

y/n: yep

namjoon: cool

y/n: cool.

namjoon: 👍🏻

y/n: fuck you and ur stupid little thumbs up

namjoon: what

y/n: what if i also join the army

namjoon: be fr with me love

y/n: WDYM i could so do it

namjoon: right…

if you were to join

it literally changes nothing

y/n: :c

we could shoot guns together

and have a picnic on the field

namjoon: we would be separated babe

y/n: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

namjoon: oh wow

y/n: i am over it

namjoon: ofc you are

y/n: are you trying to fight me??

namjoon: no??

y/n: how about i pack ur bags now

just leave me in the dirt already idc

namjoon: ☹️

TAEHYUNG -

y/n: is all of seventeen single?

tae: idk wtf

i do not see why this is relevant

y/n: yk

tae: yk what?

y/n: i’m going to ask google

tae: hello what???

y/n: google didn’t help

the bitch said maybe maybe not

loser

she’s supposed to KNOW

tae: what is going on

and do you not have their numbers

thought u were besties

y/n: IK THAT

but i can’t just ask like that what if they catch on

what then tae

tae: catch on to what?

y/n: that i want one of them

are you silly

keep up

but that would totally ruin my whole plan

tae: ???

are you sick in the head

ur bf is right here

you are actively telling me all this yk that right?

ur kinda a bad cheater

y/n: hey

i need to make plans for the future ur gonna be gone for 2 years i need to be loved

tae: i’ll still love you when i’m in the army wtf

y/n: cute

but that will not cut it

who will i wake up to everyday?

who will play the trumpet at 9pm really loud and do it as bad as you?

who will talk to me about their sick obsession with feet?

tae: fine be like that

i just find a new gf fuck you

cheating BITCH

y/n: wtf

that is not fair i let you kiss and cuddle ur all ur little members for our whole relationship

i think it’s only fair that i get to hold a seventeen members hand for a bit

tae: i DO NOT kiss and cuddle them wtf

y/n: okay.

tae: what if somebody leaks our chats and the people believe that

it will ruin my perfect image

y/n: they already think you kiss and cuddle and ur doing perfectly fine

tae: how do you know

y/n: how do you not know

tae: what seventeen member do you want

y/n: don’t talk about my bfs like they are shopping items

but i am not picky woman

first come first serve

tae: but you-

nvm idc

fuck you

y/n: maybe i’ll date them all at once

then i fr never be lonely

tae: my fans will dox you and take all ur money

y/n: booo

my house is your house

my money is your money

we’ll be doxxed and broke together when you come back 😍

my 13 men will take care of me when ur gone

tae: 13 men is 26 feet 🦶

y/n: this is when i stop talking to you

JUNGKOOK -

jk: :(

me when i think about going to the army

:/

me when i think about being alone

:(

me when think about being away from you

:/

me 2 hours ago

:D

me rn

y/n: what changed in the last 2 hours

jk: i got something

y/n: what did you get

jk: i don’t want to tell you

just know it makes me happy and i’m a grown adult so i can buy what ever i want

y/n: omg okay.

why so defensive what the hell

jk: you shouted at me last time i told you about something i got

y/n: jungkook you brought a rock for 4k

a

ROCK

for

4

k

jk: the past is the past for a reason

y/n: anyways

what did you get

jk: not telling

anyways have i told you how much i love toy story

loved it for my whole life

y/n: you watched it for the first time yesterday

jk: ok?

y/n: bye

maybe going to the army will do you good

they might be able to scare you into acting right

jk: i act perfectly fine the heck?

y/n: a 4k rock is not perfectly fine to me

LIKE FR A PLAIN NORMAL ROCK it’s all coming back to me ur actually so sick in the head omg

jk: LET IT GO OMG

ur making me upset

y/n: what the fuck jungkook

jk: ?????

y/n: how much money did you pay for this

jk: not following

are we still on the rock?

because it was 4k you literally just said that

y/n: jungkook

jk: stop saying my name i’m kinda scared rn

y/n: WHY DID A PACKAGE OF 1462 TOY STORY SOCKS JUST COME TO MY DOOR?

jk: oh

lolz

why would you open it

was my package not urs :(

y/n: how much was it

jk: my phone is going crazy rn omg

i think someone leaked my number

i have to get rid of it asap omg

y/n: i will not let you into this house

how much was it

jk: haha

so um

funny thing is

omg is that car coming towards me?

omg i think itBDSHD/£:££:£:£:;£;&3&348(8(8(84847£4£44££;£3&3&

hey

this is a random lady on the street ur bf jungkook got hit by a car he idk if he’s alive let me pass the phone

hEy babbbe i cAn hrdly breatheee rn idk if i’m gnA make ittttt

jst know in my last momentttts i was thInking obf u luv u biye xx

y/n: do not come home unless you want to die fr

jk: hello this is the random lady again ur bf died i’m sorry for ur loss

y/n: how much did the socks cost you

jk: 7

y/n: 7?

jk: k

y/n: i pray the army takes everything from you

jk: ….

y/n: including ur will to live

HOSEOK -

hobi: until i join the army i have decided to live my life as an australian

starting now

y/n: how unfortunate

hobi: naur way it’s dandy mate

y/n: oh wow

what made you make this decision?

hobi: i saw that new jeans girl say let’s gaur and my life was changed mate

y/n: ur accents so strong it comes through in text that’s crazy i must say

hobi: let’s gaur down under on top naur way

y/n: this is taking years off my life

hobi: naur way mate hopefully it takes 2 years off mine mate let’s gaur

y/n: this feels like it’s a form of self punishment

hobi: bingo mate naur way you’ve cracked it i wanna die mate

y/n: wow

this is a lot to take in all at once

hobi: naur mate this is crush hour crush hour let’s gaur

y/n: idk if australians say naur in every sentence

hobi: naur mate it’s an auzzy thing mate you would get it let’s gaur

y/n: no cuz ur so right my fault

hobi: naur i think it’s time i end this let’s gaur

i will now only talk in song lyrics

starting now

pop pop pop

y/n: oh man

i was just starting to like the australian thing

hobi: pull my sneakers on

tell me tell me

y/n: tell you what?

hobi: got army right behind us when we say so

y/n: soon u will be army

isn’t that crazy

hobi: darling i don’t wish you well

y/n: omg ?!

rude

breaking up with you

hobi: i might kill my ex

y/n: sick little fuck

hobi: kiss kiss fall in love

baby i’m sorry

y/n: forgive you

hobi: i’m not sorry

ok i’ve decided i only want to talk in emoji

starting now

☠️

y/n: i feel like i’m having a stroke

hobi: 😭🙏🏻

y/n: i’m leaving now

hobi: 😟😟😟😟😟😟

😣😣😣😣😣

😰😰😰😰😰

😞😞😞😞😞

😐😐😐😟😟

…

kinda hate this one. did write it before jin left too so yez also sorry jimin’s one is kinda short it’s sosososs long to make these individual ones i feel like as i go through each member you can see me low-key going insane and shit not making any sense hope you enjoyed it tho xoxo

[average-vibe]

Taunt

Summary: You and Wilbur have been childhood friends your whole lives. what’s a bit more? Pairing: Wilbur x fem!reader tw: swearing,long fic with no proofreading a/n: hi! this was originally gonna be a Tommy fic but i changed my mind- lmk if you want the tommy ver. (also the name of this fic is based off of one of my fav songs lol) masterlist

*******************************

“Hey! thought you’d never come outta that thing.” Wilbur joked as you climbed out of the taxi, waving the driver goodbye.

“look, when your told 10 minutes beforehand that you need to be ready, it’s hard to be on time.” you said, cringing at the memory of applying powder to your face infront of the driver, who seemed to think you were a little crazy.

“yeah yeah. who ya trying to impress?” wilbur asked, walking down the pavement swiftly, his long legs striding with ease, and you admittedly struggled to keep up.

“me, myself, and i.” you answered. “i see your not trying to impress anyone, by the shape your in.” you joked, making wilbur laugh. it was true though, considering his socks were mismatched.

“whatever. your hair looks terrible, so i don’t know what your talking about.” wilbur said, stopping to turn and look at you.

You got on your tippy toes, attempting to smack wilbur in the back of the head. he easily dodged, and started laughing like crazy.

this is how it always was. wilbur laughing at you, or you laughing at wilbur, or you two laughing at yourselves. everything was always like this, and you never wanted it to change.

ok, maybe you did.

not in a bad way. you just wanted wilbur to love you. not like a friend, like a soulmate. like how you loved him.

the change you wanted was for wilbur to sweep you off your feet. for him to dance with you at night or in the kitchen, and for him to sleep with you peacefully. you’d never told wilbur this, obviously, you didn’t have the guts.

so you were quite surprised when wilbur took your swinging hand and held it.

“I’m not sure that’s the nicest route, is it, darling?” Wilbur whispered in your ear, bending over to do so.

your heart fluttered, and your breath hitched. you didn’t think you could say anything at all, even if you wanted to. but as soon as he did it, wilbur’s hand let go of yours, and his eyes were off of yours aswell. you two walked down the street in silence, barely even breathing.

“You coming to my show tomorrow, right?” wilbur asked, looking at you gently (don’t ask how someone looks at someone else gently-).

“yeah i guess.” you answered, sure that your cheeks were still bright red from the recent encounter. “I thought i would have to work, but my job closed.” you added, halving at wilbur.

“oh shit! really?” wilbur questioned, stopping in his tracks. “That’s terrible, y/n. you need a job?”

“yeah, i guess so.” you said shrugging. “you got something in mind, soot?” you asked, nudging him with your shoulder.

“yup. we need an editor for our music videos.”

“You pay good?” you joked, smirking at wilbur.

“only for you, dear.” wil said, smirking right back at you. that took your cocky smirk right off your face.

why did he have to be so damn good at flirting?

wilbur laughed at your reaction, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. you rolled your eyes at his exaggerated response, and continued down the pavement to the studio.

(wilbur’s POV)

Wilbur glanced at you constantly, even growing up he thought you were pretty. and as he got older, he slowly began to have a crush of you. luckily, his wits and quick thinking aslways saved him from slipping up.

but something about today, he couldn’t stop flirting, and he also couldn’t stop looking. he didn’t know what it was, but no matter what you did that day, seemed perfect to him. when you’d hum a song, or when you’d wave at pedestrians, or even just smiling at one of his jokes seemed amazing to him. you were so perfect.

as you two walked up to the studio, you took a glance at one another as you walked in. wilbur quickly noticed Ash and Mark, who were sitting on small stools, chatting about some idea they had for a music video.

“hey wil.” mark said, grinning at him. “and who are you?” mark asked, stretching out his hand for a handshake.

“i’m y/n.”you answered. “wilbur asked me if he wanted me to be an editor for your music videos.” you said, smiling at wilbur. wilbur smiled back, wishing that he could hug you without his band mates (and you) thinking he was a total freak.

(y/n pov)

I nervously watched the band record, wilbur’s voice ringing through the studio. when everything was done, you helped them pack up, and after a quick goodbye, you and wil were off to do whatever you wanted.

“what’d you think? did we sweep you off your feet?” Wil asked, putting his hand on his head to add to the dramatics.

“oh, for sure. i’ve never been more impressed with a show in my entire life!” You say, smiling at him. “it was great. and definitely good enough for ice cream..” you smirk, glancing at wilbur who’s smiling at you, making your face red with embarrassment.

“Oh was it now? well, since i played so good, i think you should pay.” the brunet taunts, reinginget an eyebrow. “or, we can get lunch and ice cream.”

“someone’s hungry.” you comment, glancing at him.

“yeah, i’m hungry as fuck.”

“maybe if you ask nicer i’ll consider.”

“oh please! your majesty! i’m fucking starved! please!” wilbur mocks, begging with his hands.

“hmm. well, i guess so.. since you asked so nicely.” you smirk slowly turns into a grin as you watch him beam in excitement. “but you’re paying for lunch. i got ice cream.” you say. “Damnit! thought i got away with it.” wil pouts, making your giggle like a school girl.

as you and wil go into the small shop, wil leans down or your level, saying, “i forgot this shop only has shit sandwiches. they do have incredible croissants.” making you chuckle. “somebody’s been here a time or two.” you joke, eyes squinting at the tiny words on the menu. “yeah, thanks for noticing.” wilbur says, smiling.

Wilbur’s Pov

I watched as she ordered her food, with her small smile and quiet voice that she suddenly got when she was in public.

“Thank you!” she said, e/c eyes glowing in the sunlight that shone through the windows. she slowly went to find a table and sat down, glancing at me and giving me a thumbs up, which i return with a chuckle.

After i order, i walked over to the small booth she has picked out for us. “Just a tea?” she questioned, motioning to my lone cup.

“you said i was paying.” i joke, smirking. “i also got a sandwich, don’t worry so much, love.”

“thought you said the sandwiches are shit?” she interrupted my sip of tea.

“they are, but i’m hungry and i don’t really care what i’m eating at this point.”

“huh.”

“huh.”

we sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just enjoying each others company.

“you’re cute, yknow that?” i say suddenly, words coming out of my mouth before i can think about them. She freezes, eyes wide with shock. or disgust. or anger. or hatred. oh for fucks sake, she hates me. she stares at me for a couple more seconds before she says, “you’re cute t-too, soot.” she stared at her hands for the entirety of the time she said it, but she did. she said it.

“I love you.” she says, eyes still glued to her hands. “I have for a while now. and i know taht we say we love eachother like every night, but i don’t love you like that. i love you like.. fuck. i love you so much i don’t know what to do with my self.” she sputters it all out in one big word jumble. but she said it.

“i love you too. 10 times more than that, too. hell, 20 times.” i say, smiling slightly at her small figure, glancing at me and her hands.

“glad we got that out, soot.”

“me too, love.”

—

a/n: SCREAMING CRYINH THROWING UP BC WHY WAS THAT NOT SHIT??? LIKE HELLO?- this was a draft from like, forever ago lol so pretty old but i like it so wtvr

REQUESTS ARE OPEN (i think?)

[rinsuniverse]

hi hiii ur woozi drabbles are so adoraaablleeeeee 🤧🤸‍♀️🤧🤸‍♀️🤧🤸‍♀️ can we get the members calling you to get woozi out of his studio since he is always working so hard 🥺🫶

[9:06]

imagine the members desperately calling you to collect your mans (woozi) from overworking himself 🫶

this is literally the cutest thing ever

anyway, you're clocking out of work one day, thinking about what you want to eat

when suddenly you get a video call from soonyoung

you quickly say goodbye to your favorite coworkers, then walk outside of the building to answer the call, plugging in your earphones quickly

"hey, soon-"

"Y/NNN, MY SAVIOR, MY ONE AND ONLY, MY BEST FRIEND, MY-"

"YOU GOT A HOLD OF Y/N?! HURRY AND TELL THEM-"

"guys, maybe we should chill out- haha, they don't know what's going on at all 😭😭😭"

"just pass the phone to me-"

"no, i got it! y/nnieee, how are you?"

you sit there, staring at soonyoung, dk, mingyu, and minghao who are crowded together in what seemed to be a practice room

"umm, i'm good. just got off of work. what's up?"

"oh, that's great! do you have any plans-"

"get to the point, soonyoung!"

"i'm getting there!"

"y/n, can you check on jihoon for us? we're all playing around in the practice rooms, but he's telling us not to worry about him and that he still has lots of work to do... but he's been in there like all day," minghao says, interrupting soonyoung

"oh, but what am i supposed to do?"

"convince him to come hang out with us, of course! you can come hang out, too!" seokmin says, popping his head into the frame of the camera

"he won't listen to me-"

"he can never say no to you!"

"oh, please. he says no to me a lot," you say, trying to think of a time

"pleaaaaase, y/n? we're really worried about him :(" soonyoung pouts, making you kind of cringe

"okay, fine, but if he says no, then i'm not pushing it."

"try your best! do some aegyo if you have to! we'll see you soon!" dk says before hanging up the call

you make your way over to his studio, kind of nervous about it

like, if he says no, what are you supposed to do? just... leave? alone?

you knock on the door, and soon enough, he's there in front of you with his long hair kind of messy and in his signature slippers

"oh, y/n. i didn't know you were coming," he says, opening the door for you

you nod, walking into the studio and placing your stuff down on the couch

he sits down at his desk before going back to his work

you awkwardly waddle over to his seat and peer over at the monitor.

"hey, jihoon..."

"hmm?"

"are you busy?"

"yeah, kind of. why?"

"i was thinking... maybe we should call it a day and go hang out? it's already pretty late. the sun is setting."

he tilts his head. "did the members set you up to this?"

"no! but it would be cool to hang out with them, right?"

he laughs lightly, before turning to look at you. "wouldn't it be better to hang out just you and me here?"

you frown, turning to look around the studio

he wasn't rejecting you, but you didn't want to let the members down

you internally cringe as you pull up a chair and sit down next to him, turning his chair so he can look at you

"can we please go hang out with your members? pretty please? ... um... it'll be really fun! i'll make it up to you, okay?... baby?" you give him your best puppy eyes as he looks at you with his jaw dropped

his cheeks quickly turn a nice shade of pink, but he silently wishes you can't see it because of the dim lighting he has

"what?"

"don't make me say it again..."

he cannot make eye contact with you

but he silently saves his work and shuts off his monitor before grabbing his jacket and your belongings

"let's go?"

you look at him, your cheeks still burning from embarrassment, but you follow him out anyway

he teases you after you hang out with the members when you get home

he pokes you and says "how are you gonna make up for it, hmm? should i call you baby, too?"

"what do you want me to do? it's embarrassing just thinking about it"

"come here," he says, pulling you closer. "give me a kiss."

you kiss him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pull him closer to make the kiss last longer

you let go, and he quickly disappears, leaving you in your room alone

def not because he is blushing out of his mind and needs to be alone to process how much love he has for you already 😗

thank you so much for this cute request! i hope you enjoyed reading it. feel free to request many, many more things! ✧( ु•⌄• )◞◟( •⌄• ू )✧

(p.s. requests are still open! i specialize in woozi stuff, but i don't mind writing about other svt members! i can also do some nsfw if you want! so request whatever and as much as you want! ς(>‿<.))

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #203

I did a lot of scattered things today.

First, though, there was therapy. And on the way to there, I managed to snag a few really nice pictures of a tree for ya:

I talked a lot about you today, especially as related to how your story will influence how people in my world see and interact with abuse survivors. Thankfully, my therapist understands the implications and why I feel so strongly about what happens to you; it's going to affect actual human lives in my world. If you are slaughtered like a rabid animal, I have to wonder how many people who relate to you will fall into hopelessness and despair, thinking like they can't change their circumstances.

My world absolutely does not like people like us. They would say that we are better off never having been born. They would say that our lives are tainted and have no value. I live in a world where people say, "hey, you should totally ask for help from the people around you if you need it!" but in the same breath, they'll call you inconsiderate for "trauma dumping" if you do. They say, "you should totally open up! just be yourself, it's fine!", but then their sanctimonious platitudes quickly dry up when they realize that we don't have happy answers to the standard social questions, and all of a sudden, you're either "oversharing" or "evasive". There's no winning for folks like us in social situations, typically.

…Apparently, the only solution for it is radical acceptance of the loneliness and isolation, because people have their own traumas in response to the unreasonable expectations that society as a whole places upon us, and it doesn't look like any of that is gonna change anytime soon, because, again, as mentioned in my last letter to you, people in my world, for whatever reason, dislike talking about solvable problems. It makes them uncomfortable, so the brainstorming required to build a better world never gets done, and so more people get hurt, and so on and so forth.

It's a vicious cycle. And I'm not smart enough to know how to break it on a mass scale. And even if I was smart enough to know, my voice doesn't belong to a body or a set of life circumstances that are considered valuable, so it's not as though anyone would listen to anything that comes out of my mouth or out of my fingertips anyway.

…What can ya do, ya know? So I just weave my stupid little trees. Make my stupid little music boxes. Make my stupid little acapellas. Doodle my stupid little pictures. Cook my stupid little noms. Write my stupid little letters. Help as many folks as I can in the meantime with my stupid little bits of advice. Pretend like everything's not on fire, just like everyfuckingbody else, because doing otherwise is apparently "rude" and "cringe" or whatever else.

So that's what I did today. I worked on planning a stupid little music box to sing to. Why not.

There's a fancy one called a Muro Box. It's got some 40 notes, and it is a mechanical music box that sounds beautiful. But instead of using music box paper, it uses midi files to strike the tines. My music box paper has only 30 notes, and using the paper comes with technical limitations as to how quickly notes can play; this one has no such limitations, it seems. So I decided to play with it, using midi files I already made. There's a phone app you can use and it makes the music box play. Here's how it goes:

If you like, I can set my midi file to play on it; I have the app on my phone, so it won't take but a minute - just lemme know. It's the midi file that I made of "In the Earthen Womb" from Illusion of Gaia, which I then adapted to play on a 30-note box; as it turns out, it doesn't need to be adapted on a 40-note box, and so this one sounds a little better. I want one of these, but it's not in production for real yet. But you can bet your bottom that I'm gonna get it once it comes out. Making music boxes will be so much easier as a result.

In the meantime, I'll be content with my 30-note one. I've mostly finished planning the basic structure of a new tune. I'm hoping to tweak the results for accuracy in the coming days. And then, rather than punch out music box paper, I might simply arrange pre-recorded notes from my music box, with the help of Audacity, to get around the technical limitations of using paper. We'll see how it goes.

Oh right. On the way home from therapy, I ended up needing to stop at the bakery. I was marked as absent, which is strange, given the fact that I was taken off the schedule for Tuesdays, going forward. The manager of my department was absent - he is on vacation. So instead I had to go to the manager of the whole store to get it corrected. And it did indeed get corrected, and that was very good.

I decided, for my trouble, that the thing to do is get hotdogs. LOTS of them. For science:

I wanted to see which one was best. So I got all of them, and I put cheese, onions, ketchup, and mustard on them:

I decided that the best one was the knockwurst. But the White Eagle hotdogs were probably a very close second. I liked the bratwurst least, I think. And this was all I ate today, because I probably ate too much in one sitting, and my guts still feel kinda weird from it, even though this took place like 9 hours ago. Oh well.

I wonder if you've ever done stuff like this. Like, comparing similar food items to see which one you like best. Or accidentally eating too much in one sitting and feeling weird for the rest of the day as a result. I wonder what some of the more ordinary memories you carry are like.

Well. I'm gonna finish up today's letter, methinks. It's getting late, and I gotta wake up early-ish tomorrow. So I had better shower and get to bed.

Please stay safe out there, okay? So that someday you can find your way to a nice shower and a comfy bed, too. I love you. And I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[terrainofheartfelt]

Dair + 9

Dair + 9…in public.

I wrote this as a sequel to this flash fiction I wrote for the last time I did a tumblr prompts meme. what can I say, I was inspired. and I could have written a wayyyyyy better breakup arc than the show. there I said it.

it got long (typical) so continue reading the whole bit under the cut &lt;3

The party is already in full swing by the time Dan and his group get there. The subway would have been faster, but someone insisted that the lowest she would stoop to get to Bushwick was a cab. 

“Why did we agree to this again?” Dan asks out of the side of his mouth. 

“Not like she gave us much of a choice,” Vanessa mutters back. “Maybe we can get her to do something really low brow, like drink PBR or sing karaoke.”

Dan snorts, watching as the third member of their reluctant trio stomps into the crowd, clad in the tunic and pleather leggings Vanessa loaned her. 

A lot has happened since Dorota and Vanya’s wedding: Serena skipped town and came back with her dad, Eric hasn’t spoken to Serena since she came back with her dad (or their dad, but only in the biological sense). Vanessa got into Tisch, Dan didn’t. They evaluated their relationship at the three-month mark and decided that it just wasn’t working.

And, strangest of all, in the wake of her breakup—and Dan decking her ex across the face in public—Blair has seemingly attached herself to Dan and Vanessa and NYU as a whole, like she’s using the whole of Greenwich Village as a shield against the reach of Chuck Bass. 

“Hey, by the way,” Vanessa adds under her breath, “Willa is probably gonna make a move on you tonight.”

Dan blinks slowly, unsure how to answer. Breaking up was the right choice, he knows that. He spent most of his time as Vanessa’s boyfriend missing his best friend, Vanessa. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel weird about how she’s been pushing him into the path of other girls ever since. Like he’s a loose end she needs to square away before she starts at Tisch. 

“I’ll try to stick to a minimum six feet distance then.”

“Better make it ten,” Vanessa advises as they approach the bar, “she seemed pretty determined.”

Dan inwardly cringes, then orders two shots of tequila. Tequila and Vanessa have been somewhat of a dangerous combination for him these past six months, but if he’s going to endure the awkward ordeal this party is turning out to be, he cannot be sober for it. 

Vanessa’s pulled into a conversation with other Tisch people soon after, and Dan lets her go and tries not to feel too bitter about it. 

He’d really wanted it, but honestly, he can’t really explain why. He guesses that if he had to, then he’d have to admit it was because if he could break into the prestige of the Tisch name, it would make losing out on Yale sting a little less. Which is just fucking embarrassing—that was a year ago. What is it with Dan’s inability to move on anyway?

“Humphrey,” Waldorf greets him with a cursory nod, “holding the wall up all by yourself?”

He tips his beer bottle towards her. “Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

She gives him a withering look. Fair, not his best material. 

“This has been a bust so far,” Waldorf declares, unprompted, slumping against the wall next to him. “The so-called art here is terrible, and there isn’t a single guy in this room I would even think about kissing.”

At a loss for how to reply, Dan just asks, “What?”

Waldorf heaves out a sigh. “To get around Chuck’s fatwa? That was the whole point of this exercise, Humphrey!”

He shakes his head, like Waldorf’s obstinance is something that’s possible to shake off. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“Whatever,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “The point is, no matter what I do, or where I go, he’s just –” she gestures wildly, “there.”

Dan follows the direction of her wave, and nearly spits out his drink when he sees Chuck Bass lurking in the corner. There could only be one reason for Chuck to come to Bushwick, and it’s certainly not to see Willa Weinstein’s performance art on corporate coffee chains.

“That’s…” he trails off, searching for an apt descriptor, “fucked up.”

Waldorf snorts at his eloquence, hands tightening around her elbows. “Yeah. It just – makes it impossible to move on. Him being around all the time.”

Dan looks at her carefully, holding herself in that defeated-yet-determined way she had been at Dorota and Vanya’s game night, and feels that same impulse to reach out, to try and make it better somehow, even though he hasn’t a fucking clue where to start. 

“It’s hard having an ex that’s always around,” he offers, eyes finding Vanessa in the crowd, laughing with the theatrical writing majors they met at the cabaret. “It’s not even that you want them back, you just…could do without your history popping out around any corner.” 

Blair looks at him curiously, her hard protective gaze softening into something more contemplative. Dan gets a sudden flash of deja vu, to a different year, a different heartbreak, a different warehouse wall. 

“For what it’s worth, Blair, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes cast down at the floor, at her boots that are disproportionately expensive to the rest of her outfit. She hasn’t said any more about why she and Chuck broke up, but Dan’s seen enough to know that it must have been really bad. 

“And – you know –” he stammers, “if there’s anything I can do –”

Blair’s eyes shoot back up, questioning. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Yes. Yes that would do it,” she continues, as if that explains anything. “Come on, Humphrey, hop to.”

“I…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to write a sonnet or whatever it is you do. This is just a favor.”

He arches an eyebrow. “A favor would imply that we’re friends. Are we?”

She blinks at him, nonplussed. “Does it matter?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t really care about the answer, it’s just that it’s easier to debate Blair on semantics. It’s a dynamic that makes sense to him. 

“Fine,” Blair huffs, “if it helps you sleep at night, then yes.” She pushes away from the wall, turning to face him. “So?”

Dan blinks. “Like – now?”

“That would be the idea, yes.”

“Okay,” Dan lets out a breath, and turns to face her, eyes dropping to her lips. She is pretty—it’s not like he’s never noticed—and there’s something about seeing her outside her typical Edith Head dress code that heightens it, or shines a light on her from a different angle. Or maybe he’s just drunk. 

He’s apparently stalled too long, because Blair mutters. “Oh, for crying out loud, Humphrey,” and yanks him in by the collar. 

A shock runs through him, then another, then another. First from: oh, she’s kissing him now, then from: oh, he’s kissing Blair Waldorf, then finally: this is actually a really good kiss. 

He opens his mouth on instinct, her lips moving with his. She tastes like cheap booze and expensive lip gloss, like every contradiction and complexity that makes his life interesting, that’s ever made him want to pick up a pen or sit at a keyboard. 

They break away to breathe at the same time, inhaling in tandem. It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but Dan’s sure Blair’s face is ruddier than when he was last looking at her. 

“Thank you,” she says bluntly, stunned.

“You’re welcome,” Dan automatically replies, blinking dumbly as Blair turns tail and disappears into the party. 

He’s going to need another drink.