#nothing really fits when you have six legs

[ickadori]

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio missed his wife, and she missed him just as much. two simps in love.

[cws] fluff. fem reader -> wriothesley’s wife. reader is a mondstadt native. kissing.

Wriothesley’s cup of tea pauses halfway to his mouth as there’s a knock at his office door. His fingers tighten unconsciously around the handle, that incessant throbbing at his temples that had been dying out suddenly tapping into its nth life.

He contemplates ignoring it; pretending he didn’t hear it and indulging in his fresh brew, but he’s never been one to shirk off his work, no matter how inconsequential the task.

He sets the cup down rougher than necessary, and the legs of his chair scrape loudly against the floor as he pushes it back from his desk and stands to his feet. Someone better be dead or on the verge.

It was an unspoken rule that Wriothesley wasn’t to be bothered at this time -a quarter after five until six- because it was official tea time, a very, very important time in his day that let the inhabitants in Meropide see his most agreeable side… although he had heard talk from a few gossipy guards and prisoners that his ‘pissy attitude’ this past month had nothing to do with his interrupted tea times, but rather that his wife had gone back to Mondstadt to visit family.

“You know how he gets when he doesn’t see her after a while—downright scary. I’ve never seen a man look so enraged and distraught at the same time.”

“He put me on pipe restoration duty —don’t laugh, it isn’t funny! Worst job in the whole place, I swear— for the next six months all because my wife dropped by with a bento on my break. Apparently no one can be happy when his missus is away.”

“I caught him staring at her picture the other day, y’know the one he keeps in that chain around his neck, and sighing like some schoolgirl. I nearly thought my daughter had somehow gotten herself arrested and thrown down here when I heard all those lovesick sighs.”

It was all hearsay and speculation, of course. Wriothesley could manage just fine with you away - he was a grown man, a weathered man, a man who could function fully without the company of his wife.

That’s right, he thinks to himself. He’s been doing just fine in your absence, a bit quicker to anger than usual, but with the looming threat of being turned into a big, sopping puddle right below his feet, could you really blame him?

The door is wrenched open, strands of black and gray flying back from where they rested against his forehead due to the strong gust of wind he created.

“What is it now?” He nearly hisses out, but he manages to get a reign on it last minute, the words coming out a bit strained instead. He eyes the guard standing in front of him, their eyes flitting between the crease between his brows and the floor. “Spit it out before I—”

He stops abruptly when he hears a voice that he knows intimately well, and had he possessed any shame when it came publicly displaying the love he harbored for you, he would have been a touch embarrassed at the speed of which his frown smoothed out and the throbbing in his head disappeared, a sparkle in his eyes as his shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

“Oh? He has? Thank you for telling me, Sigewinne. I’ll get right on that.” You come rounding the corner with the small doctor at your side, a knapsack in your hands, and had Wriothesley been any less sane, he would have swore that he could feel the rays of the sunshine beaming down on his skin and fresh air filtering into his lungs when you turned your gaze to him, scornful as it was.

You’re fitted in a dress that’s customary for the women in your homeland to wear, and flowers are weaved into your hair, and the ring on your finger seems to shine a bit brighter.

“Wriothesley.” You march up to him, eyebrows knitted together, and push your finger against his chest. “What is this I hear about you acting like a tyrant?”

“You look beautiful.” He breathes out.

“And going to the Pankration ring? You know those poor people don’t stand a chance against you. That’s just bullying.”

“Let me take your bag, it looks heavy.”

“And you haven’t been eating right, either! Look at your face — you’ve lost weight!” He transfers the bag from your hands to his, and when his fingers brush against yours, he finally lets a smile bloom on his face, being met with a huff. “Don’t smile at me. I’m mad at you.”

“Can’t help it, happy to see you.” You falter a bit, corners of your lips twitching, but you hold strong, choosing to save face in front of the onlookers—always put up a good fight, especially when others are looking, is what he had told you once upon a time. “I’ve missed you so much.” It comes out in a low murmur, eyes locked onto yours and refusing to stray, even when you decide that his gaze is a bit too heavy for the setting and avert your own.

“I-well-you…just get inside your office.”

He’s nice enough to hold back a chuckle, instead stepping to the side so that you can shuffle past him and inside. Before he shuts the door, his gaze turns icy and his smile thins out as he lets his eyes sweep over everyone present. A resounding groan is heard, the unspoken promise loud and clear, and then he’s pushing the door shut and turning on his heel.

You’re on him in a second, arms wrapped around his waist as you bury your face into his chest. He returns the hug just as quick, thick, burly arms circling around your shoulders as his head dips down so he can stuff his nose into your hair and breathe your scent in.

Your voice comes out muffled as you try to speak, and he loosens his hold on you a bit, allowing you to pop your head up so you can look up at him. There’s a halfhearted pout on your lips, and his response is a reflex as he leans down to give you a peck once, twice, three times before moving on to place one on the tip of your nose.

“You were supposed to let me scold you out there, birdie. Now everyone’s gonna know that I let you off easy.”

“Let me off easy? I’d say this is the meanest you’ve ever been to me,” he gives an exaggerated expression of hurt. “You haven’t even told me you missed me, or that you’re happy to see me, or that you’ll never leave again because you couldn’t stand being away from me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You smile despite yourself, and he kisses you again, scarred hands moving to cradle your cheeks. You part with a gasp for air, and its his turn to smile when you stretch up to reconnect your lips, the lack of air not deterring you in the slightest.

“Breathe, sweetheart…” He rasps against your lips, and you suck in a breath, eyes slowly blinking as you tug at the material of his shirt. There’s a rush of emotions that washes over him at the unspoken confirmation that you missed him just as much as he had missed you, and he lets his hands wander down to settle on your waist, fingers flexing as they squeeze at the flesh there through the material of your dress.

“Well, well, well,” he starts, and you blink out of your stupor to don a guilty expression. “Looks like you haven’t been eating right, either, hypocrite.” He lightly pinches at your side, and you squeal out a laugh as you lightly bat at his hand.

“Have I told you that I missed you, and that I’m sooo happy to see you, and that I’ll never, ever leave again because I can’t stand being away from you?” You flutter your lashes up at him, direct that heart-stopping smile up at him, and for a split second he thinks that the primordial sea has broken the seal and reduced him to nothing but a puddle at your feet.

“Careful now, words like that are liable to kill a man, and this place isn’t fitting for a sweet girl like you.”

“Oh? Then maybe I should leave earlier than I intended t—” He quiets you with a kiss, and you laugh into it, earning a gentle nip on your bottom lip. Your teasing smile settles into something sweeter, tender, vulnerable, and it mirrors him perfectly.

You both speak your next words in unison.

“I missed you.”

[gorejo]

▸ I'LL MEET YOU FOREVER IN THIS MEMORY. - GOJO SATORU. forbes30!gojo

synopsis: he'll argue it's fate — a divine moment — that he's always in your proximity, and you call it bullshit. he says his class was in the same building, panting with a sweat pebbling on his forehead, yet you've seen him run across campus just couple minutes prior as he awkwardly stood in front of you. he's a man on a mission, determined to succeed. to have you finally fall for him.

content: wc: 6.6 k (sigh), fluff, light cursing, uses of she/her to align with the original au but the fic can be read without it. reader lovingly calls him stupid for one part and is shorter than him because the man is canonically tall af. petnames (babe, sweetheart, angel). slight nsfw towards the end, Gojo calls himself daddy in one scene just for jokes. college forbes30!gojo !!

There was nothing but the sound of chalk hitting the board, the frustrated sighs of students trying to keep up, and the monotonous tone of Takashi sensei talking that filled the lecture hall. 

Students hastily typed on their electronics, while others chose to go old-fashioned with simple pen and paper. 

But for Gojo Satoru, none of that mattered, really.  

11:47.

Impatiently shaking his legs, his body just barely fitting in the cramped seat, uncaring if the attendant in front of him sent multiple glares for his crude manner of bumping his knees against the back — why the hell were these spaces always so damn cramped? 

Satoru released another long sigh as he clicked open his phone to check the time, again.

Infuriatingly, it was still fucking 11:47.

It'll take me about six minutes to get to the quad, and another five to make it to the east building...

“Dammit,” Satoru cursed, his supposed whisper radiating a bit too loudly throughout the silent hall as he slumped further into his seat groaning as his impatience imbued his mind with thoughts. 

One more minute and it’ll be just enough time to make it over —

"Satoru-kun,” releasing an annoyed sigh, “would you mind sharing with the class what could’ve gotten you so possibly worked up today?” his professor questioned without even turning his back to look at who just so rudely interrupted his class — again. 

What excuse should I make today? Maybe I can leave now and act as if —

“Satoru-kun?” The professor's voice laced with irritation as he put the chalk down, the click of the powder hitting the rail echoed throughout the auditorium — no one dared to speak a word — not especially when the semester was so close to ending. 

“Can you answer this question because you seem to be awfully more interested in something else rather than studying for your exam tomorrow?”

maybe I can ask her to study for finals? Oh, that’s good… I can show how studious and dependable I am, and then maybe she’ll fall for me. Goddamn call me a genius! But wait — fuck, I can’t use that because — 

“Satoru, uh… sensei's coming,” Gojo felt a nudge on his side, his colleague nervously squirming in his seat, whispering to get his attention but yet it went unacknowledged — far over Satoru’s head — surely, the man currently had other priorities than to be rotting in business calculus. 

Business calculus… the bane of his existence, his utter torture of attending every session, a complete fifty minutes wasted three times a week just for him to sit there and ponder about something else — most of the time, it was him getting antsy to get to you.

It was much to everyone’s surprise that he even went to all his lectures — the one student no one ever expects to have perfect attendance for a class he gives two shits about — well, he does give a shit because it’s all for his plan. 

…. 

“So tell me why you’re trying to take this class?” His best friend glanced over Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Don’t bother me, I can’t multi-task,” Gojo murmured, ignoring his raven hair friend as he lightly bit his lips, furiously typing up his course number into the system, his back hunched as he anxiously stared at his loading computer screen, “never thought getting a class would be so stressful," Satoru groaned.

“Why are you so stressed, it’s unlike you,” Geto’s voice was serene, “and what other dumb shit are you up to?” he chuckled while taking a sip of his coffee. 

“It’s not dumb,” Satoru shot back.

“You tested out of calculus, Satoru.”

“So what?” he grumbled — just a couple seconds more…

Geto didn’t quite understand why Gojo had to go to such lengths, completely acting out of his character as he pitifully waited for his screen to load.

He’d never seen his friend so riled up about something so simple. The last time Satoru got like this was a couple of years back when a small pastry shop he searched online closed an hour before they got there. His defeat and whines were understandable since the trip took three hours by train.

But this… yea, Suguru couldn’t quite put a finger on it… well not until a very minor dialogue he had with a certain someone, such small talk that even he forgot that it occurred a semester prior.

“Are you by chance doing this because —”

Cutting him off, “fuck…” was all Suguru heard as his best friend rested his forehead on his arm, body slumping from the adrenal fatigue.

In bold, a message read: 

Congrats! You have successfully registered for all your classes

Perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to learn a bit more about limits and infinities, Satoru thought before taking a nap in the library.

….

Or I can ask if she can help me study. because she’s good at that, right? she’s always at the library, always ignoring my texts because of her goddamn exams…

Gojo pondered, crossing his arms with his index and thumb rubbing against his chin, his cheeks squeezed while furrowing his brows. 

but fuck, that means I won’t be able to talk to her because last time — I mean, it’s been a month since then, maybe it’ll be different now, I figure we got closer. she's smiling a bit more and we’ve gone on a couple of dates… I suppose — 

… 

“Psst,” Gojo harshly whispered from across the table, “psst!” 

Glaring at him over your laptop, eyes sparkling and round, face needy for attention, “what do you want?” You spat out.

“Just wondering,” Gojo chirped, his ears perked in your direction with his elbows resting on the table, body leaning towards your direction, “Have you fallen for me yet?”

“No, you’re not my type.” you retorted emotionless.

“What’s your type then?” Gojo countered, unfazed, smiling as he challenged your words. 

“Someone, not Gojo Satoru.”

“Well, aren’t you spicy?” He stretched out his legs while leaning back on his chair, boyishly smiling with his arms thrown behind his neck, the lean physique of his body outlined in this position — he looked hot, no doubt about that, and… he knew that. 

“but i’m just going to tell you now,” cocking his head to the side, licking his soft lips that shined a pretty pink, confidently proclaiming, 

“there will come a day when your words will bite you in the ass.”

“Did your parents ever teach you about having some class  —“ 

“Can you guys lower it down, or move someplace else?” a student hushed, stating through gritted teeth as he witnessed the tortuous and unforgivable sight of you both, love, bantering in the library of all places. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, apologetically smiling at them before facing forward to meet your stalker — you swore he was stalking you because there was no way he and you could have this many “random” encounters, that would work out so perfectly with him just magically appearing wherever you go — it's bullshit you thought, especially when his acting skills weren’t necessarily that great… 

“Hey babe,” Gojo cheekily whispered,

“I’m not your babe,” you hissed back.

“Ooo, so you like the sweet pet names huh? Noted,” he nodded, the curve of his lips turned upward, humming a tune while he typed something on his phone.  

you couldn’t tell what annoyed you more, his devilishly handsome smile, or the fact that your heart was beating in unrhythmic patterns the more you talked with him.

A facade maybe, but you’ve come to undeniably enjoy his rambunctious company despite him getting on your nerves. 

“Then, sweetheart, do you wanna —“ 

“No.” you numbly stated while typing away at your report.

“But I didn’t even get to —“

“Still, no.” 

“Fine…” for a moment Satoru slumped into his chair, before quickly asking again, “how about —”

“No.”

Smiling as he rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward as he pushes down your laptop, his long, pretty fingers lightly tapping the case, “Do you hate Gojo Satoru?” His words slyly spewed out of his lips, anticipating your shy face when he catches you slipping for saying ‘no’ without much thought.

“Yes.” 

“Boo,” Satoru pouted while retreating to his side, slumping his back to rest his cheeks on his textbook as he closed his eyes.

With your screen down it was easier to take notice of his features. Not that you were blatantly indifferent about his looks — everyone knew Gojo Satoru was handsome — but you rarely got to see him for who he was underneath all the layers of superficial worth people praised him for. 

There was a lot on his shoulders from the brief mentions about his family and childhood that you could sense. It was easy to tell that behind all the crazy and loud was a little boy hiding his loneliness and pain under a mask and careless demeanor. 

You noticed his lips were mildly protruding out, his brows slightly furrowed and his white hair gently frayed down on his forehead with his lashes long and occasionally fluttering. His skin was unblemished and his jaw was sharp yet his face still held the youth of his age.

He’ll soon prepare to work for his family business, learning about the intricacies of the business and possibly becoming one of those cutthroat bosses you’ve seen in the dramas. 

He’ll probably grow a bit more — he’s been working out a lot Gojo would say, proven by the multiple thirst traps he’ll post. His arms were getting a lot more defined, and his abs… oh, you didn’t mean to take a peak. But guess you did have a front-row seat to his almost topless torso when he mindlessly pulled up his shirt while he took off his sweatshirt.

can't say you disliked the view.

You remember feeling warm that day — stomach fluttering with something, while your back felt gently embraced with his scent and clothing. 

“You checking me out?” Gojo muttered without taking a glance at you, pulling you back into reality.

“N-no!” you quickly looked away, opening up your laptop as you grimaced at the harsh stares you got from those around you for the noise, “j-just wondering if you were going to study or not?” you murmured, hiding your face behind your laptop and your cheeks starting to feel hot.

“For someone so smart you ask dumb questions,” Gojo chuckled as he stretched out his legs, his feet purposefully tapping against yours, “what does it look like I’m doing, sweetheart?” he quietly mumbled before his voice started to fade out, “you know,” silently yawning as his body curled inward — all 6’3’’ of him on the small desk that barely housed his long legs — the tapping of his foot now softly, soothingly, rubbing against yours, “you gotta work smarter, not hard…er…”

You weren’t sure if the man before you was a complete idiot or a genius. but for unknown reasons, this guy surprisingly scores the top grade in his classes when his only method of “studying” is sleeping with his head on top of his textbook — surely, the world isn’t fair.

Despite the little snore you heard in front of you, with the light grunts he made from the uncomfortable position, you couldn’t help but fondly look at the guy in front of you. 

Smiling — yea, you’ve been doing that a lot these days.

You decided — maybe, opening up wouldn’t be so bad… 

For you, you remembered it was the first time you felt odd in the stomach. A bit like butterflies as you watched him doze off to sleep, trying your absolute best to restrain your hands from moving a piece of hair that covered his face as he slightly drooled while you studied. You’ve been catching yourself stalling time to meet him where he supposedly just ran into you — he was nice and the epitome of warmth, and you liked that in your dull world. 

But for Satoru, it was another failed attempt to get closer to you. 

He remembered waking up in an empty library — alone. he swore he rested his head for no more than thirty minutes, but how the hell was the time three hours past that? 

Stretching as he released a low groan, his gaze foggy as he squinted his eyes to look for you, only to frown when he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

“dammit” Satoru grumbled while quickly packing his bags, “I wanted to buy dinner —” 

A neon post it leafed its way down to the table, planting face down as Gojo slowly blinked in confusion while touching his forehead.

Picking up the piece of paper, it read:

Hey loser, you were mumbling about some food while you slept, so I got you dinner and placed it next to your backpack. go home and eat ( :

p.s. also, stop bothering me, weirdo.

p.p.s. you know you drool while sleeping?

Dumbfoundedly wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Gojo wasn’t sure if he was blushing from embarrassment or the fact that you were the first girl to buy him dinner — well, it wasn’t in the typical romantic sense… but who the fuck cares, it’s the fact that you bought him dinner; therefore, a step a closer to his goal. So he wins.

Carefully folding the note and placing it into the safeguard of his wallet, Gojo quickly strapped on his bag as he gently held onto his dinner, cradling it like a prized possession, mentally noting what to use for his excuse tomorrow while he made his way down the stairs to the exit.

The air felt oddly cold for the summer. the slight breeze brushed against his face, the ends of his hair tickling his cheeks as he breathed in the damp air.

Everything felt good — right almost despite his lost chances of getting dinner with you. Perhaps he can save that for another day. 

“Just you wait,” beaming up at the moon lighting up the campus, his blue eyes sparkling as Gojo declared, “you will be mine.”

…

“ — Satoru-kun,” his professor called out. His impatience ran thin as he tapped his foot against the floor, “if you don’t answer, I will fail you —” 

“Sensei, the limit just simply doesn’t exist — it’s limitless.” Satoru nonchalantly responded, cooly peaking at his watch now — maybe the time would read faster with that — but the second hand still stayed the same, seconds excruciatingly feeling long. 

“No matter how difficult you propose this function, if the derivative doesn’t exist, nor will its limit.” Gojo continued to calmly iterated his reasoning.

“But doesn’t this point here,” pointing at the board, the chalk panging against the surface, “exist?” his professor challenged, “it’s a point on the graph.”

“Well, no matter how far you stretch this graph within the axes, going as far as trying to touch the asymptotes, it will never. because the limit will always be limitless since the function at those points won’t exist. So, no, that point isn’t on the graph.”

“And what about here?,” pointing to the chalkboard,“what is your answer, Satoru-kun?”

“Assuming you only have one x to one y, then the answer is simple. By definition, the limit will exist if the points on both sides of that graph approach the same point. To find that point, well that depends on the graph given. And looking at this graph, no. there are two points that are open.”

It should be about damn time. 

Gojo felt his blood rushing through his body, heart anxiously pumping with each heavy thud drumming to his ears, the only sound audible that his brain could decipher instead of the pointless questions his professor was asking — why was he making it so goddamn difficult. 

His urgency spiked up as adrenaline pumped through his body, anxiously shaking his leg, Gojo clicked his phone open again, his large hand covering the device as he peeped down. 

11:48 — shit.

“Well, what about when —”

“Shit, I'm late,” Gojo cursed, frantically packing up his bag and zipping it up.

“Excuse me?” His professor frowned, obviously taken aback by his student’s daring use of profanity in his lecture.

But paying no mind, Gojo quickly stood up and paved his way out, harshly whispering past with a light smile as he hugged onto his bag,  “Psst, sorry, going through!” doing his best to swiftly move through the cramped isles while his giant, uncaring if his lanky build caused a nuisance in the middle of the lecture, unbothered if his professor was done talking to him or not, 

“Satoru-kun?” His professor was flabbergasted at his student’s rude ignorance.

“excuse me, sorry!” Satoru cheekily exclaimed while finally making his way out.

“I haven’t dismissed —”

“Sensei sorry!” Gojo exclaimed while opening the lecture door, ready to sprint out, “I promise, I’ll pass your exam tomorrow!” he blurted, voice fading off into the distance and Gojo now nowhere to be seen.

“... at least don’t sit in the middle if you’re always going to barge out like that,” his professor murmured to himself, massaging the bridge of his nose as he sighed. 

Yet the only response he got was silence, the awkward creaking of the door closing, and the clock striking the end of his lecture. 

“Fuck,” he panted while brushing his fingers through his hair, a little damp from his sweat, his chest huffing from the sprint across campus as he looked at his watch, brows furrowed as his eyes searched everywhere for a glimpse of you. 

“Not there,” he mumbled, gazing to his side, “no, not here,” frustratingly turning around as he scanned the area just in case you slipped out the back door, his eyes loosely looking past a couple of figures, “damn it, not here too.”

“What’s not here?” he heard a soft voice from behind him. 

“Just looking for someone,” without processing, Satoru blurted out, “uhm… sorry just talking to myself —” Gojo mumbled as he slowly turned around, impatient that someone was taking away his precious time to find you.

Call him a dreamer but he was still hopeful that you possibly didn’t just leave — I mean how could you, when he made it a point to always see you after class, you couldn’t be that clueless.  

“You’re late,” you stated, trying to stifle your laugh, his busy eyes quickly changed to ones of nervousness as he registered who was exactly in front of him. His clear, azul eyes were imbued in sheer panic as his expression dwindled to eventual ease as a droplet of sweat ran down from his temple.

“Oh god, uhm,” scratching his head as he awkwardly looked off to the side, whispering under his breath, “I- I ended class a little late, but great to see you again,” he tried composing himself while smiling — the one that made his lips twitch from nervousness.

“I see,” you hummed, “you seem out of breath, Gojo,” you teased, remembering just how frantic he looked minutes prior while running over. 

You ended class a bit earlier, wondering if he’d be waiting outside like he normally did, pacing back and forth to make it seem like he simply ran into you — how utterly stupid was he?

But it was you that would giggle, feeling the type of happiness that made your heart full and cheeks hurting — guess you were the stupid one for falling for such an act. 

So you decided to wait today, standing off in the corner to witness how he would stage his act — you just didn’t expect him to be in such a panic rush trying to get here.

“Yea, y-you know those stairs, it gets me all the time,” Gojo stiffly laughed as he fisted his hand behind his back, trying to steady his breath and nose from embarrassingly flaring.

“Satoru,” giggling as you peeped up, noticing just how much taller he was compared to you while his hands nervously twitched and cheeks rosy despite his firm stance that his class was only but a few steps away from yours, you couldn’t help but smile at his innocence, “there are no stairs in this building.”

“Satoru, huh… that’s a change… sounds so nice rolling off your tongue,” he pondered while staring at your lips. It was cute and just perfect as you said every letter, every syllable of his name —

“Earth to Gojo Sa-to-ru,” waving your hands, tip-toeing to get his attention.

“Ah, right…. Sorry,” he mumbled, shyly looking away only to take a quick glance at you looking up at him. 

“So…” cocking your head to the side, eyes doe-like while looking up through your lashes, “ what’s the plan for today? You softly chirped.

“uhm,” eyes widen, shocked at your response, “what?” his voice was unexpectedly sharp.

“I asked what are we doing today….” Rolling on your heels, “I-isn’t that why you’re here?” you nervously asked.

“Just like that?” Gojo glanced at you, eyes full of suspicion. 

“What do you mean?” you questioned, lips starting to form a pout as you awaited his answer.

“Sorry,” he sighed, stretching his legs out to match his height with yours, “didn’t mean to sound harsh,” he apologetically whispered while gazing into your eyes.

“It’s just that you always reject me…  I - I mean,” holding his hands up, shaking in defense to not offend you, “don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it,” furrowing his brows as he shook his head, “no, no, let’s retract back. I’m thrilled that you’re asking me. It's just that…” his voice slowly fading as if embarrassment finally caught up to his head.

“It's just what?” you softly mumbled. 

“Well,” sighing, “I had all these excuses planned out just in case you said no,” he confessed as he pulled his phone from his pocket, “It’s all in my notes app.”

“Notes app huh?” your lips twitched from trying to contain your laugh.

“So what was the excuse for today? or… ” you teased, gently hitting your elbow against his arm, “should I say no, so your efforts don’t go to waste?”

“Thought we could go for coffee after I uncoincidentally bumped into you after your class,” Satoru shrugged.

“Coffee sounds nice,” you hummed, “you’re buying?”

“Here gimme,” he softly encouraged, quickly taking your bag and swinging it over his shoulder, “I mean, I do owe you one for bumping into you that one day.”

“Ah, so you do admit, that was your fault,” you jokingly glared, “the headache you put me through because of your stupid five hundred dollar shirt,” you grumbled.

“Well technically it was a bit more,” he grinned, “but not really, I believe in fate,” he winked, “it was a divine moment.”

“You’re ridiculous,” rolling your eyes, “but I need to study.” 

“I have an excuse for that too.”

“And what could that be?”

“I got an exam tomorrow, so you can watch me be handsomely studious,” Satoru smiled.

“For what class?” stunned to hear Gojo Satoru and studying be spoken in a sentence together. 

“Business calc,” he frowned.

“Oh my god! Who’s your professor?” you beamed. 

“The one and only Takashi sensei,” Satoru chuckled, softly patting your head as he couldn’t resist your cute enthusiasm.

“What?” your voice suspicious, yet you had no resolve to remove it — it felt nice, his hands were big… you realized. 

“Nothing,” biting his lip to contain his laugh,” it’s just… that’s the most you’ve shown interest in me.” 

“Whatever…” you huffed to flush out the embarassment, “I have him next semester —” 

“I know,” he softly responded, his words going unnoticed.

“— and I’m worried because math isn’t really my forte,” you honestly confessed.

“That’s why you have me!” he stood with his chest tall, his thumb pointing at himself, “I’ll be your dependable, hot tutor that you fall in love with.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

Winking, “I don’t charge pretty girls like you —”

“So you’re telling me, you tutored other girls by being their hot and dependable tutor?” you raised a brow, standing to one side as you crossed your arms.

“What? N-no, that’s not it!” 

“mhm, yea… playboy,” shaking your head,” so why are you taking business calculus? Thought you tested out of it, no?”

“Well… a man has his reasons,” he cheekily stated.

“And how does that help me to study?” raising one brow as you questioned his logic, “ I thought your method of studying was sleeping on your textbook.”

“Okay wow, I was not prepared for that. You’re making it difficult for me again, but you know what?” pulling his sleeves up as he stood tall in front of you, “I’m prepared for your rejections. And in answer to that, then we can study together.”

“But you talk too much, and snore when you fall asleep.”

“Not true,” Satoru murmured, “Suguru said I was generally a peaceful and quiet sleeper.”

“Explain generally,” you eyed him suspiciously, “and I didn’t know you both were like that,” giggling, your heart slowly expanding in adoration the more you talked with him, “... sleeping together and such.”

“We just had one too many nights where we would pass out a little drunk after a party,” scratching the back of his head, “and m-my body runs a little hot… so…”

“So…?”

“So, Shoko may or may not have some photos of us,” Gojo’s face started to contort in disgust, “cuddling…”

“But aside from that,” he tried defending himself, “I’m very great to sleep with!” 

“Sure…” you gave him a teasing glance, “I’ll ask Geto the next time I see him about that.”

“Hey…” suddenly stepping closer to you, his voice serious yet soft. He was careful to not overstep any boundaries you might have placed, slowly reaching down to grasp hold of your fingers, 

“just give me a chance yea? I’ll be good, I- I won’t snore, I won't drool, and I’ll only talk when I need to, hmm?” he reassured

You can almost feel the sore desperation in his voice as you feel the feathery grazes of his fingers against yours; his breath held as he anxiously awaited your answer.

“Okay,” you softly mumbled.

“Great,” releasing his breath, “you won’t regret it, I promise,” Gojo whispered while smiling.

“Hey Satoru,” you lightly called out, his name perfectly rolling off your tongue — so delicate, so pretty.

“Mhm,” he invited you to continue.

“Did you run here?” You questioned, playing with your foot as you rolled a rock on your shoe, “you’re normally not so out of breath.”

“Pssh, no,” he awkwardly laughed, “I told you my class is in this building as well —“

“Stupid, come here,” you murmured, pulling him slightly down, taking a piece of your sleeve as you tiptoed to reach his face. Gently dabbing the small droplets of sweat under his soft white bangs, “next time don’t run. And finish your class, Sensei’s going to hate you,” you softly told him.

“I- I told you,” blushing because your face was way too close — dangerous even — examining your features, ‘pretty’ he thought as he watched you concentrate on him,

“I just happened to have class —“

“I’ll be waiting next time, so take your time coming,” you smiled, looking into his eyes before quickly flattening your feet, “it’s quite far to come here from across campus, no?”

Satoru just gives in, like the hundred different times where he willingly lost to you, “Not as hard as scoring a date with you,” he smiled while spreading his feet out to make it easier for you to continue.

“It’s not a date,” you mumbled, your cheeks feeling hot as his soft eyes gazed at you, his two hands lightly placed on your hips to draw you closer.

“It is so definitely a date,” Satoru professed, “and I can just tell,” his voice feathery and light, “that we’ll have many more.”

10 years later —

The light scratching on his pen against the document loomed in his office. Ijichi, his most trusted secretary anxiously waited for his boss to finish signing his papers, watching guard just in case he didn’t go running off before finishing all his duties — again.

“You don’t need to stand there hovering,” Gojo nonchalantly stated, his wrist gently peeking through his cuffs, his watch shining with every stroke of his name.

“Well, these reports are important that you have them signed by today,” Ijichi nervously answered.

“Do you have it ready?” Gojo responded without removing his gaze from the file he was reading just before signing.

“I-I do, the flower shop did say it was difficult to find the specific color, but they made it work. I’ll bring it over when you’re done… and reservations have been made, sir.”

“Perfect, because…” his voice calm and emotionless, his hair once perfectly set in the morning, now just a little frazzled from his busy day, his tie now loose from his stress, “this should be the last one I do,” Satoru smiled while giving his secretary the folder. 

“Sir, uhm you still have —”

“I’ll do them tomorrow,” Gojo stood up, reaching over to grab his coat, quickly throwing it over his broad shoulder.

“B-but!” Ijichi was frantic, his eyes shaking at the visible stack of papers Satoru had yet to sign — and oh, god, he didn’t even get to read over the file for tomorrow’s presentation.

“Satoru-sachou, the Chairman will be there for tomorrow—“

“And the flowers are beautiful, she’ll love them, thank you,” Gojo warmly smiled while taking a whiff of its scent, walking past the frazzled man to a mirror to quickly freshen up his white hair and clothes, reapply your favorite cologne and spray some mint into his mouth.

“Satoru-sach —”

“Relax, when have I ever worried you?”

'always,' Ijichi thought.

Nonchalant and unbothered as he fixed his tie, “It’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, and you’ll be fine,” Satoru stated as he took one look at the mirror, his sharp cerulean eyes looking at his secretary, “go take the night off, you look exhausted.” 

You! You are the source of my stress and mental breakdowns! Ijichi wanted to scream.

While making his way to the door, Satoru quickly noted, “I’ll be here in the morning with all of it finished,” he stated before leaving his office.

At a loss for words, helpless in front of his careless boss, Ijichi just stood frozen, mind racing at all the changes and accommodations, the phone calls and e-mails he’d have to make to fit into Gojo’s schedule because he knew for sure… Gojo Satoru will not be here bright and early in the morning to finish his work — especially when it is date night.

“I should just quit,” falling to his knees, defeated by his boss’s carelessness to simply skadoodle off on a date when he was one impacted by the brunt repercussions of his actions, “surely he wants to kill me with all this— ” 

Disrupting his internal monologue, “Ah, I almost forgot,” Ijichi’s mortal enemy spoke while opening the door and holding onto the knob, “I booked a small vacation for you and your wife for this weekend, it should be in my drawer,” the man simply blinked in response, “and don’t call me until I text you, I got important business for tonight,” Gojo warned before his voice quickly changed to that of pity, “yea… you definitely need that break,” he stated as he shook his head and closed the door again.  

Registering what just occurred, Ijichi grunted as he lifted himself up, brushing his knees as he walked towards Satoru’s desk, lightly skipping as the scales of his exhaustion flaked off from the caring act of his boss, “Well, guess I gotta start sending those emails now…” Ijichi hummed.

…

“Traffic doesn’t seem too bad,” Gojo muttered while looking at his phone’s navigation, his steps pacing as the clicks of his heels echoed through the halls of the empty parking garage.

Sliding his hand behind the handle, the car automatically turned on as he opened the door. Lowly grunting as he entered his Bentley, his eyes quickly scanned his back seat from the rearview mirror, his mind recalling a moment a couple of days prior that left you rather speechless in his arms — hot and sticky as he reconfirmed once again his love for you in a rather lustfully carnal matter.

He could do that with you — boyfriend privileges.

It’s not like he picked out this specific car, testing out the back specifically for its… spacious seating and tinted window. Totally didn’t bring this car to work today because he wanted to test those specifications out again… but only if you were up for it. 

And stepping on the gas pedal, Gojo drove out, the light screeches of his car heard from inside. 

“Daddy’s coming, sweetheart,” Gojo chuckled while firmly placing a grip on his wheel, his vacant arm resting on the side. 

Though a decade has gone by, Satoru still feels the same giddiness that he did when he was eighteen. He’s gotten taller, bulkier in his frame, and styled his clothes better from the god-awful sweats he always wore — though you still seem to always complain if he wasn’t wearing his specific gray ones, he doesn’t blame you. It makes his dick look nice.  

He kisses you a lot better than the sloppy ones he gave you in his teen years. He gets to wake up with you — face cutely bloated, tummy peaking through his loose shirt, legs entangled with his as he takes in your beauty. He likes that, all of it. 

He reads and understands your quirks before you even tell him. And strangely so, when you have a headache, well god be damned, he had one too. 

He’s become more influential and held power to his name, leading a multi-billion company, but in the privacy of his home, he was still silly, honest, and vulnerable. Contrary to the changes throughout the years, Satoru was still the same — a lovesick man.

Despite your harsh decision to break up with him from a simple misunderstanding, Gojo never held it against you. He’s grown to understand and works to amend the loss — together. It was his time to grow, his time to expand his horizons and his time to explore his options. But guess fate was really on his side because he walked back to where it all started with a fresh start — finding you two years ago at a college reunion. 

Life was good for Satoru — better when you came back into his world. Mornings weren’t so tough and nights didn’t feel so lonely. His mundane days of meeting and mediocre dates were of the past. Now, even the simplest days felt refreshing.

Looking out as he drove through the highway, a couple minutes from your workplace, he watched the city’s skyline sparkle in the dark. He recalled the days when he looked out the night sky, thinking if you were happy, wishing he could just understand why you decided to leave him — only for him to make some regrettable choices of relying on alcohol and texting quick fucks, slipping into weakness during the quietest of times.

It’s often when everything was quiet that felt the loudest — the most difficult to bear for him.

But now, when he sees the night sky he can’t help but feel warm with a slight tingling resonating from his core because even if it's quiet, he isn’t alone — you’ve nestled into a portion of his heart that he could never forsake, nor did he want to. 

She’ll like that, Gojo thought while looking up, making a mental note to mention it to you later.

He felt his heart beating fast as he imagined what face you would make when you would see him today — happy, relieved, excited? Or did you happen to have a bad day, the exhaustion dripping from your slumped shoulders simply needing a hug with light kisses as he expressed his love?

And parking his car, carefully grabbing the bouquet as he took another whiff — he doesn’t remember flowers smelling so beautifully fragrant when you weren’t in his life, but strangely now… it does. 

“Yellow tulips are my favorite,” you mentioned once while Satoru dropped you off at your dorm. 

“Why,” he asked. Repeating ‘yellow tulips’ in his head multiple times just so he can type it into his notes app later when he was alone.

“Just cause… they’re beautiful and they symbolize hope and happiness,” you softly said, “I like to think there’s something out there I can be hopeful for… and maybe find the answer to finding true happiness, if that even exists, ” you shyly confessed with a gentle laugh.

And grabbing hold of your hand, gently bringing it up to his lips for a soft kiss, specific to a finger on your left hand, Satoru marked a promise, “I’ll buy you all the yellow tulips in the world, till you find that answer.” 

Obviously, no flower could come abysmally close to your natural scent when he held you tightly in his arms, naked bodies touching as he breathed into your skin. 

And he hoped the time he spent with you was a step closer to finding your true happiness because, to him, you meant the world.

“She’ll be out in a few, so...” he murmured while taking a look at his watch, briefly scanning the entrance to find a good spot to wait. 

“There should be perfect,” he whispered to himself as he made his way to the corner — a place difficult to see through from the dangling tree leaves and vines.

Satoru couldn’t help but pleasingly reminiscence the times when he would run from his lecture to pick you up. Who can blame him, he was a man on a mission to find his princess — just so happens that she broke his heart eight years ago — but who the fuck cares about setbacks, things were good now.

He feels his heart beating, the familiar thumping in his chest as he waits for you. The usual sweating of his palms as he checked his phone for the time again, mentally groaning as time seemed to be infinitely fixed. Good thing there was no sensei asking him useless questions as he nervously waited.

“I’ll see you next week, have a great weekend Tanaka-san.” 

Gojo could realize that voice anywhere.

There you were, waving goodbye to a fellow male coworker that he had never liked — the lovely Tanaka-san, you always had so many great things to say about. He should just have you transferred to his company, you’ll thrive, and even have a chance to expand your talents … but you’ll give him an earful if he does.

But that’ll be a conversation for another day when he’s more willing to put up a friendly fight with you.

Because right now, he had a mission  — one he’s been striving for since eighteen.

“Ah, fancy I see you here,” Satoru voiced out, coming out from the dark with a hand behind his back, “must’ve been fate that we meet,” he stated with a wink.

Rolling your eyes with a chuckle, turning around to see your boyfriend walking over, “did you run here? Or…” you hummed while looking over to find his Bentley parked on the right, “are you gonna tell me you work here too?”

“Neither,” he shrugged while walking, “just came here to ask a pretty girl out on a date, that’s all,” his voice soft yet enticing as he now stood so closely in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry but I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend,” you looked around, your knees feeling weak when you caught his confident smirk, the sweet scent of his cologne hypnotizing your senses, “have you seen him? He’s really handsome, you know?” you played on.

“You do?” Satoru warmly stated as he gave you the bouquet he was hiding behind his back, his fingers gently resting on your hips as he pulled you in, your dainty heels standing in between his larger dress shoes while he pressed a warm kiss to your cheek, “Bet your handsome boyfriend doesn’t have flowers for you like this, no?”

“He gets them for me all the time,” you took a whiff of the rose and caught sight of the yellow incarnation of hope, “and always picks me up from work even though it drives his secretary insane.”

“Pssh, what a bad boyfriend,” he whispered with his gaze traveling to your lips, “you should totally dump him for me,” he pitched while cupping your face, lips teasing to touch, the slight minty breeze of his breath warming your cheeks, as he slowly closed the impending gap between you two, 

“what do you say, sweetheart? Give me a chance and I’ll treat you to more than just coffee for our date tonight.”

note: hope you all enjoyed! it was rather difficult to pull out this piece because I was heartbroken from the last jjk chapter... but all is well now because gojo is healthy and well in the forbes30! universe. this was a headcanon that spiraled into a 6k fic... and hopefully i'll be able to expand on the other hc's i have for him, without breaking the word count rip

[pedrito-friskito]

hello my dear!! 🫶🏼

🌸🌸🌸

eddie with smut prompts 10 & 1 pls 🥵

hello my love!!!!

I apologize in advance for this (well, kinda but not really…)

patience (or a lack thereof) - eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: the horny really jumped out on this one. drug use, cockwarming, unprotected p-in-v, fingering, dirty talk, soft dom!eddie vibes (I think)

The problem here, is that weed makes you horny.

Like…really horny.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. Friday nights at Eddie’s place have a pretty repetitive flavour, and it’s one you now crave. You’ve been seeing each other nearly six months now, and your friends have all given you shit for it, but you don’t care. Fridays are for Eddie.

More specifically, Fridays are for getting stoned in Eddie’s bedroom and cumming so many times you lose count. 

By now, you’d usually be between his sheets already, two or three rounds down, a quick breather in between. But tonight, something’s thrown a wrench in your usual plans. Really, it’s your own fault — you’d shown up unannounced at Eddie’s place Wednesday night, the night he usually reserved for D&D planning. Wayne had taken an extra overnight shift, leaving the place to the two of you, and well, you made the most of it.

But with Wednesday night planning out the window, Eddie has a Saturday session and nothing prepared, which you know is not a good thing.

But weed makes you horny.

You’re sprawled out on his bed, your pants long discarded, wearing only one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts, flipping through one of his music magazines. You’ve tried reading the book you keep in your bag, tried distracting yourself by changing the records on the player, you even tried taking a quick cat nap. Nothing has worked. The ache between your legs is ridiculous.

He’s been at it a couple hours now, and you know he takes his time when it comes to D&D. He’s meticulous with his planning, thinking out every possible outcome and coming up with a contingency for each, even having a few throwaway plans just in case his players come up with something completely outrageous. You don’t mind it at all; it’s quite the opposite actually. His passion is…sexy, in a nerdy kind of way. It just adds to his charm.

And right now, it’s not helping matters. He’s perched in his desk chair, flipping through the Dungeon Master’s Guide, a pencil between his teeth. He’s wearing an old Hawkins High Phys Ed t-shirt, sweat shorts, and his hair's a mess. Unable to stop yourself, you roll off the mattress and onto your feet, crossing the room and standing behind his chair. He makes a little noise as you gather his hair in your hand, sweeping it over his shoulder so you can fit your face in the curve of his neck.

“Eds.”

“I know, baby,” he replies, the words muffled by the pencil between his teeth. “I’m almost done, I swear. Gimme like five minutes, and then I’m all yours, yeah?”

You whine, closing your lips around his pulse. You left a nice hickey there the other night, and your cloudy mind yells at you to make it bloom against his pale skin even brighter this time. Your arms hang over his shoulders, pressing your palms against his stomach, humming into his neck.

“Eddie, please?”

Your hands move lower, one glancing across the crotch of his shorts. The pencil falls out of his mouth. “Sweetheart,” he sing-songs, a halfhearted warning. But you do it again, fixated on the way his cock twitches to attention, even with just the lightest of touches. You let your teeth graze his throat, nipping at the same spot until the bruise starts to reform. Eddie tilts his head back, a low rumble moving through his chest, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When they open again, his pupils are blown, and he lifts his hand, burying his fingers in your hair. “Someone’s needy tonight.”

“You know that weed makes me ho—”

“Weed makes your horny, I know, baby,” he finishes, dragging his nail lightly against your scalp. “I’m almost finished, I promise. Come here.”

He turns in the chair, swinging around until you’re standing between his legs. Eddie drags his hands up your thighs, the cool metal of his rings making you shiver. He’s fully hard now, shorts tented, and he hooks one thumb in the waist of your underwear, pulling it down slightly. It makes you throb.

“You can sit on my lap till I’m finished,” he says, squeezing your hips. “That make you feel better?”

Your eyes widen slightly, feeling yourself melt into his touch. “You mean…?”

“Come here,” he says again, his tone more assertive this time. He pulls your underwear down further, lifting the hem of your shirt at the same time, and swoops in, pressing a sloppy kiss to your hip. Your underwear drops to the floor and you kick the fabric away. Everything in you goes tight as he hooks his fingers in the waist of his shorts, pulling them off and settling back in his chair. The sight of his cock curving towards his belly makes your mouth fill with saliva. “You need something else first?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. “Need me to open you up a bit, pretty girl?”

He pulls you closer, one hand back on your hip, and the other slides between your knees, moving up to the inside of your thighs. He moans when he feels out wet you are, dragging his fingers through it, pushing them past his lips a second later as he pulls your body even closer. You move quickly, lifting your legs and planting your knees on the seat either side of his hips.

Eddie grins as you lower yourself slowly, reaching around to take himself in hand, guiding his cock into your nearly dripping pussy. The feeling is overwhelming, to say the least, and you bury your face in his neck again as you sink down, your breathing coming faster as he fills you up. 

Fully seated, your first instinct is to move, rolling your hips into his, but Eddie grips your waist tightly, clucks his tongue at you. “Ah, ah, ah, not yet, sweetheart. Let me finish first, and then I’ll take care of you, alright?”

When you don’t answer right away, he lifts his hips slightly, the tip of his cock nudging at that delicious nerve inside you. “Shit.”

“Gimme five minutes, baby,” he says again. He takes your hands, draping your arms around his neck. A soft kiss is pressed to your mouth, and you have to stop yourself from chasing it, taking what he gives. “Just five minutes.”

It’s fucking torture. Five minutes feels like five hours. Every tiny movement makes the pleasure spark, but it’s just shy of not enough, leaving you wanting more and more and more. If it’s driving Eddie just as crazy, he doesn’t let it show, giving you a broad grin when you settle deeper into his lap, resting your forehead against the dip of his shoulder. 

Finally — fucking finally — he flips his notebook closed, tosses his pen aside, and puts his hands on you. He grabs your hips again, guiding you along him, and the sudden movement sets your whole body alight. You toss your head back, your mouth dropping open as he lifts you up, pulls you back down. He fills you so perfectly, leaning in to suck a mark at your collar.

“There she is,” he murmurs, dragging the tip of his nose along the underside of your jaw. “C’mon, my needy girl, tell me how bad you want it.”

Eddie slides his hands under the hem of your shirt, fingers tapping along your rib cage. Your fingers chase his, reaching for the edge of the fabric, pulling it up and over your head. You toss it away, and Eddie groans, instantly lowering his head, scraping his teeth along your tits, your nipples pebbling at his attention. Your hips roll, dragging yourself along his cock, the pleasure making your eyes roll back.

“Look at you,” he moans, sucking a bruise beside your nipple, his other hand coming up to toy with the other. “You just need to be fucked so bad, don’t you?”

“Eds, please,” you manage to mumble out, a whine trapped high in your throat. You can feel how wet you are, the slick glide of your thighs against his. He grins, pulling his face from your chest, tilting his head back so his nose pokes yours.

“Almost there,” he says, his voice goading. “Use your words. Tell me.”

“Eddie—”

“Tell me specifically,” he mutters, pinching your chin in one hand, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip, “how bad you want it.”

You start babbling. His request opens the floodgates. Your words are in time to the movement of your hips, and Eddie is grinning like the devil he is. Please, Eddie, I want it so bad, I want you so bad, fuck me please, I want it hard, want it fast, wanna feel you tomorrow. Please, please, please, please, please.

He gives you what you want.

You squeal when he scoops his hands under your thighs, lifting you as he moves out of the chair, keeping himself buried inside you. He aims for the bed, you think, but gets thrown off course, and instead you end up sprawled on the floor of his room. He hikes your legs over his hips, grabs your waist and pulls you down onto him with every thrust.

Back arching against the floor, you’re climbing higher and higher, and the weed buzzing in your veins only makes it that much more thrilling. You’re probably going to have carpet burn on your ass, but you don’t fucking care.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Eddie coos, and when your thigh starts to shake, he drops a hand between your legs, tracing his fingers over where he’s disappearing inside you before drawing a perfect circle around your clit. “Give it to me.”

You nearly shout his name as you cum, and Eddie rides you through it, his own orgasm not far behind. He pulls out at the last second, cums hot against your stomach, and flops down on the floor beside you. His hand lingers, tracing the curve of your tits, making them peak harder just for him. You curl your hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close while you catch your breath.

“You alright, baby?” he asks, dropping his jaw to kiss your shoulder, still petting his hand across your chest. “You want a pillow or something?”

You shake your head no. “Just…don’t move yet.”

Eddie chuckles, teeth nipping at your skin. “Okay, baby.”

Your body is caught between begging for more and tapping out for the night, but you think you know where the scales are about to tip. Especially if he keeps touching you like that. Your mind whirls, eyes fluttering open so you can look at him.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur.

Eddie hums the affirmative, sitting up slightly to pull his shirt over his head. He uses it to clean his cum from your stomach and leans over you slightly, mouthing at your tits again. “Anything, baby.”

“Why didn’t you ever make a move on me before,” you ask, “when we were in high school?”

He tilts his head, lifting one brow with his lips still latched to your skin. “Why do you ask?”

“Just realizing how much mind-blowing sex I missed out on,” you reply.

Eddie chuckles. “I wanted to make a move. I really wanted to, trust me. But you had a thing for jocks back then, if I remember correctly.” He bites at you again, softly, dropping his chin to your chest. You can feel his hand roaming lower, glancing over your knees and thighs. Your legs part slightly, letting him in again, your blood spiking when his fingers trace the inside of your thigh. “It sucked, honestly. You have no idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you, when I wanted it to be me.”

The tips of his fingers prod at you, curling just slightly. “But now you can,” you tell him, your voice turning breathy again, back arching as he pushes his fingers deeper, scrapes his teeth against your nipple.

“Now I can,” he agrees, “and I’m never gonna stop.”

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[killergee]

Hi, hi! First thing first, im in love with your hoshina x designer weapon reader! It's really warm my heart!! (I LOVE IT TO THE CORE HEHBFJSHDHC😭🫶🫶🫶 BLESS U)

Can i request you (this is kinda awkward) i want to see Highschool AU! For Hoshina x Reader. Kendo player! Hoshina x Archer! Reader👉👈 i would love to see them bantering each other (of if it's not Highschool AU! You can use the close range user! Bf x long range user! Gf thing!)

Thank you!

Ahhh my first request, how exciting! Sorry for posting so late. So many things have been happening lately. Also had to do some research and ended up watching tsurune LOL.

Here's a bunch of little stories of your life as Archer! Reader x Kendo! Hoshina.

Part 2 (one shot)

Synopsis: The club captains of the kendo and the kyudo (archery) club don't seem to get along. Or rather, that's how the club members see it.

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

"Oi, what do ya think you're doing? The kendo club's got this gym booked for today."

Toppled on top of each, the members of the kendo club huddled nervously outside the door to their gym. They could only take small peaks and glances from their place as they were all too scared to step foot inside.

All except one.

The Captain of the Kendo team, Hoshina, was the only one who dared to enter the gym. Standing tall with his arms crossed, he gave you a menacing glare.

Rising from your kneeling position, you exhaled a tired breath and put your training bow down. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see your name on the registrar, so I presumed the gym was empty and booked it." Despite the courteous words, your apology dripped of insincerity and a smidge of condescension. "Had you actually done your job correctly, this could've been avoided."

The members of your own club shifted awkwardly. Exchanging knowing glances, they braced themselves to watch their Captain go at it once again with the rival club Captain.

Hoshina lets out a scoff as he rolled his eyes at your attitude. He ignored your comment and continued on with his interrogration. "What are ya even doing here, ya can't shoot in here. Why aren't you in the kyudo hall?"

"It's under repair, and kyudo isn't only about shooting. I gotta teach the newbies the correct form before they can even touch a bow." You stated before offering a fake smile. "Why don't you go build your stamina with some laps? It's not good to slack on basic fitness."

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? When's the last time ya used your legs?"

After a brief moment, Hoshina flashed his own small smile, although there was nothing friendly behind it. He leaned down until his face was a mere couple inches from yours. He knew you hated the height difference. That you hated the fact that there was something he had over you. Going by the tiniest twitch in your perfectly crafted smile, he knew he was right.

"Hey, give me the room, and I'll play nice and let you watch us practice. Maybe then you'll learn something of actual worth." He suggested, feeling a deep satisfaction at the slight clench of your fist.

"I don't understand the need to swing a big sword. Overcompensating for something?"

"Ah, and I suppose hitting a massive target from far away is much more impressive."

"Oh my, if you think a target that's only thirty-six centimeters is massive, then I'm definitely worried for you."

"Are dick jokes the only jokes you can make? Are you a child?"

"Sorry, did I hit too close to home?"

A vein popped on his cheek. He could never really get a handle on your snake-like tongue.

Everyone felt the heavy tension and chill in the air. The first years had trouble believing that the two people squabbling like children were their beloved Captains.

You were known for your kindness and elegance. But you knew when to be soft and when to push harder. Where you went, people's eyes would follow whether consciously or not. You were the most talented kyudo archer the school has ever seen and an equally good captain.

Hoshina was among the top strongest kendo player in the division. Diligent. Attentive. Trustworthy. His laidback attitude attracted a lot of people, but when his serious nature slipped through during matches—that's when it was impossible to take your eyes off of him.

You two rarely crossed paths, but when you did, it was a blood bath. You two brought out the worst in each other. Or maybe you simply brought out each other's competitive streak.

All the members of their respective club could only pray for the day the two of you stop bickering.

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

"I heard you guys passed the preliminaries," you said as you sat and watched him practice. It was late into the evening, and only the two of you were still in school. You had locked up the kyudo hall but saw how the lights were still on in the kendo dojo. Curiosity got the best of you, and you went to see who was still practicing.

"Congrats," you said quietly, barely audible to anyone around you.

"Oh, sorry, what was that? Awww, are ya congratulatin' me? I'm so honoured, oh, glorious captain." He jested back, pausing his activities against the training dummy. He stopped because he's had enough practice and shouldn't overexert himself. He definitely didn't stop because he wouldn't hear you against the sound of the strikes.

"Whatever, your opponents were shit anyways. It would've been harder for you to lose."

He lets out a low whistle at your words.

"Way to ruin the moment." He said, beginning to take off his armor. Placing his wooden sword at the stand, he peeled off his gloves.

Then, realization hit Hoshina, and he froze. The corner of his lip curled into a dangerous smirk as he turned to look at you.

"Wait, does that mean ya watched me compete?"

You flushed a pretty shade of pink and looked away from his amused eyes.

"Well, we're hosting the tournament this year, and I happened to pass by the dojo, so I just took a look."

"Right..." He chuckled. "Your preliminaries are tomorrow, right?"

You nod your head as you get up from your spot. The way you stretched your arms above your head reminded him of a cat.

"Yup, and we're gonna show you guys why we're number one in the division, unlike you guys who are only what again? Right, second."

"Hope you miss." He grunted in response. Though, despite the gruff words, Hoshina found that there wasn't actually any bite to his remarks nowadays. His once heated bitter words are now nothing more than poorly disguised teases.

At hearing your chuckle, he looked up at you, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Me? Miss?"

The look in your eyes was hypnotizing.

"Never."

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

Why others seemed to admire you was beyond Hoshina's understanding. You were immature, vain, cocky, rude, and knew exactly which buttons to push to annoy him. If people saw the side of you he got to see, they would run for the hills.

Walking from the main school building to the dojo, he heard the faint but recognizable sound of the kyudo bow releasing an arrow.

Ah, that's right. You should be playing right now.

He stopped in his place as he looked to the direction of the sound. He had to pass the kyudo hall anyway to get to the dojo, is what he told himself before he changed course to take the longer route to the dojo.

There was a crowd gathered around the hall by the time he made it there. Not wanting to be seen, he kept to the edges of the crowd but still in a good enough spot that he had a good view of the archers.

Hoshina thinks to himself that he'll only stay to watch your first shot as he watched you ceremoniously kneel with your bow and arrow.

However, he found himself stuck in his place as he watched your elegant and meticulous gestures. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your figure as you drew your bow. He didn't know much about kyudo, but he couldn't help but think that your draw was beautiful.

Everything about you screamed confidence and assurance. With the twang of the bow string, the arrow released and hit dead centre of the target.

Like always.

By the time he realized he's stayed longer than he should've, you had fired 5 shots. Not a single arrow missed the target.

The cocky smile that bloomed on your face as you lowered the bow and admired your work made his heart race.

Huh... so that's why so many people are head over heels for you.

He left before your team could celebrate the victory.

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

As the season continued, you two made it a habit to stay later than usual when practicing. Whoever would finish first would go to the other and watch or tell them to pack it up.

As captains in your last year, both of you needed to win your tournaments.

"Don't ya ever get tired? Or are the rumours true and you're actually a robot?" Hoshina said with his head resting on his bag as he sat and watched you.

"Only partly, actually," you quipped back before drawing another arrow. "One more shot."

"And how many times have ya said that?" He asked looking at your target filled with dozens of arrows. Unlike what he was used to seeing, a third of your shots were off target.

"Can't afford to miss. "

"Ya need to go home."

"No"

Hoshina rolled his eyes at your stubborness. "You think this is going to help ya? You're just burnin' yourself out."

Although you lowered your bow at that, your focus does not move away from your target. "We were one point away from not advancing to finals. I need to be perfect. My team is depending on me. I can't afford to drag my team down or disappoint them."

At one point in time, he'd have paid someone to bring you down a peg. Now, however, his heart twisted at seeing you doubting yourself.

"Listen, I know the pressure better than anyone else. This tournament is important to me too. But ya just need to have faith in the skills that you've built up over these years. You've earned the title of best kyudo player for a reason." He sat up straighter when you finally turned to look at him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued, "also, have faith in your team. They've worked hard and don't want to disappoint you either. Don't forget you're in a team, afterall."

You stared at him for a moment before giggling. Your giggle turned into a full-blown laugh at his pout.

"Now why's that so funny?"

"No, no," you managed to say as you try to collect your composure. "I just never imagined getting a pep talk from my arch nemesis."

A smile replaced Hoshina's pout. "I'm your arch nemesis?"

"Aren't I yours?" You jested back as you began putting away your equipment.

Were you? Arch nemesis wouldn't be the words he'd use to describe you. He didn't quite like the idea of you only being a rival to him.

His on the other hand. Now, that didn't sound too bad.

With your back turned to him, he called out to you, making you turn to him.

"Here."

You caught whatever he threw at you before it could hit you. Sitting in your palm was a key chain with a cat shaped charm, and beside it, an omamori charm with the embroidery "victory."

"Hasn't really been working on me, so you might as well try it," he said, looking rather bashful.

You let out another laugh at his actions. "Can't be owing you, here's mine," you said amused, removing the charm that hung on your bag and tossing it to him.

"It might give you my luck, but I doubt it'll be able to give you my amazing skills. So don't put too much pressure on it."

The charm was of a heart with an arrow through it and a wooden good-luck charm with the engraving "grind them to dust."

"How fitting," hoshina said outloud as he held the charm in his palm.

"Oh yea," you chuckled. "The statement is quite aggressive, but I thought it was funny"

"Hmmm? Oh yea, that too." Before you could even think twice about his statement, he closed his palm around the charm and gave you a determined look.

"Let's win this."

You couldn't help but smile. "That goes without saying."

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

Bonus:

"Hey, isn't that Hoshina's charm?" One of your club members asked curiously as they stretched on the ground. Although the rest of the members pretended they weren't listening in, they were dying to know why you had it. They were able to spot it right away when they saw it on your school bag. It was the charm that Hoshina kept on his bag for all the years they've known him. They also couldn't forget how the Kendo members were forced to stay after school to search for the charm when he lost it.

"Yeah," you responded matter of factly as you stood and watched them.

"Why? I thought you two hated each other?"

"Now, who ever told you that?" You responded slyly.

Their mouths hung open at your statement. Were you gaslighting them? Or were you just pretending you didn't pick a fight with Hoshina every chance you got.

"Oi, y/n hurry up. I'm hungry"

At the voice, they all snapped their heads to look at the owner of the charm himself. Leaning against the doorframe, he was in his school uniform with his bag tucked under his arm.

"Yea, yea, coming old man, don't be so pushy," you said, making your way towards him. When he turned to head out, the members saw your unforgettable charm hanging from his bag.

"You buying lunch this time or is it my turn?" They heard you say as the both of you walked by the window of the gym.

"Don't remember. Let's just say it's my turn. " Hoshina responded with what they think was a smile.

"What the fuck just happened."

[s0ulsniper]

getting caught making out || avengers + loki

warnings: fem!reader, cursing, suggestive/spicy but never any actual smut, not really proofread

synopsis: making out with the avengers (separate) and getting caught, how they would react.

pairings: avengers (separate) x AFAB!reader

a/n: it's not just the og six by the way, gotta little carried away, also let's pretend there was a point peter lived with the rest of the avengers.

NATASHA ROMANOFF | n.r.

it was risky, up against the wall in one of the many training rooms. Natasha had been sparring with you, teaching each other tricks also. one thing led to another and nat was pushed up against you, hands roaming your body.

she knows very well how to control herself, but when it came to you she struggled. the frustration with it also didn't help any bit.

you felt her knee between your legs and her hand beside your head, it all made your brain go straight to mush. you didn't care about being caught or the consequences. all you cared about was making out with your girlfriend.

her other hand suddenly comes up to grip at your waist and push your hips even closer to hers even though it felt impossible.

the door of the training room creaks open to reveal an unamused Steve.

he apologizes profusely but scolds you guys for it being the 3rd time this week.

nat just smirks, still holding you in her arms.

"hey, we actually finished training this time. only thing wrong with this is-... well nothing." she laughs and Steve has nothing to say

he grabs his gym bag and walks off, annoyed as if he just found his kid doing something wrong.

when he finally left Natasha turned to you.

"now where were we?"

BUCKY BARNES | b.b.

unlike usual, you guys found a private spot to make out, figuring you learned your lesson on oblivious people catching you. the spot being his room in the tower, just a couple doors down from yours, peter's and wanda's.

you were on straddling him while he rested against the headboard, he couldn't get enough. especially after not seeing you for two days while you were out with tony, bruce and rhodey to some government complaint he could care less about.

he was pretty sure he heard something about the suits and concerning things made in the lab by you and Bruce. obviously they wanted to know about it because they wanted to be greedy and take from it.

they weren't successful at all, and you guys decided to celebrate.

it was already cold in the tower but there was a noticeable change in the temperature when bucky was close, human heater was one of his many nicknames.

but there was just something about the contrast of his body and his cold arm gripping at your hips.

"missed you so much..." he mumbles into your lips.

before you could respond there's a short knock on the door before it cracks open.

both of your heads whip to the side to see who's interrupted, peter standing in the doorway.

"oh- uh sorry Mrs. y/l/n and Mr bucky" he stutters out nervously before slamming the door shut, pattering footsteps heard running down the hall.

you burst into a fit of laughter and slump against bucky, your head falling to the crook of his neck.

"not one bit of privacy..." he complains, throwing his arms over your body and flipping you over.

"anyways..." he smirks.

TONY STARK | t.s.

even though you were cautious of it, he could care less. pushing you up against a counter in the lab. it was late, and Bruce was said to have gone to bed and continue in the morning, tony took it as a chance after not getting any good alone time with you in centuries it felt like.

"tony-... tony this is risky. what if Bruce comes back?"

he grumbles while he kisses down your neck, hand at either sides of your hips securing you against the counter.

"he won't, babe... plus the doors are locked."

you roll your eyes as if there weren't glass walls everywhere.

even though you were so against it, you couldn't help but fold at the way he kissed you so passionately.

you hear a sigh behind you and Tony look up.

"had to get my phone." you hear Bruce mumble awkwardly before walking away.

you hide your face in embarrassment and tony laughs.

"guess I should listen to you more often, huh?"

BRUCE BANNER | b.b.

it was a rare occurrence, but bruce was stressed beyond belief so you wanted to help him unwind.

you both lay in bed at the compound, lights off and a dimly lit tv playing a movie you both agreed on.

except it doesn't matter what the movie was, because you certainly weren't paying attention at all.

another thing you weren't paying attention to was the door opening and an unamused bucky in the doorway.

"hey lovebirds, tony told me to tell you guys that we've got a mission in two days and take the time to relax... have fun." he smirks and walks out.

you turn to Bruce and see him turned crimson with his face in his hands.

"well at least we have time to relax." you shrug.

"that doesn't change the fact of how embarrassing that is..." Bruce mutters. "I'm seen to be the professional one 24/7."

"not anymore!" you laugh and he couldn't help but smile.

STEVE ROGERS | s.r.

it was obvious eventually you two would be caught considering you were pushed into a small closet for 7 minutes in heaven.

you had to convince him to relax a little, and when he did... oh boy.

there wasn't much in the closet, a couple random jackets, supposedly Tony's because he apparently 'doesn't have enough room in his closet'... his closet is as big as your bedroom. you laugh at the thought, though.

"can't believe you convinced me into this..." he mutters between kisses, hands cupping your cheeks.

"guess I'm just that convincing..." you smile into his lips.

you feel the distance close between your hips at his attempt for friction, and his other hand pulling you against him even harder.

the closet door flies open and tony smirks at the sight, Steve's hair messed up and you pushed against the wall.

"not so innocent, huh Rogers?" he jokes, walking away for the next round.

"were continuing this later..." he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

LOKI LAUFEYSON | l.l.

he wasn't ashamed for anyone to see, nor did he care. you were in a dressing room while shopping at the mall and he couldn't help but kiss your perfect face.

"you're so gorgeous, darling." he smiles at you, his hands moving up and down your waist and hips.

you loved how he always showed you affection, but he really went over the top at inconvenient times.

you turned to the mirror to observe the outfit you had picked and you loved it... so did loki.

you saw him lean down in the mirror to kiss your head, then down to your neck, right at your sweet spot.

" 'mon loki... we're in public."

he presses against you, feeling him smirk into your neck.

"were secluded in public, actually. darling you have nothing to worry about-"

knocks a heard from the locked door.

"um- could you guys please hurry up? every room is taken." a worker calls.

"I stand corrected." he laughs.

PETER PARKER | p.p.

aunt may had been out for the day running errands and peter called you over to watch a movie and hangout.

you both were laying on the couch, him on top of you, his head near your collarbone comfortably, a blanket messily dropped over the two of you.

he leaned in to kiss you, but came back for more and it led to him pressed against you and kissing your neck.

"you're so pretty..." he compliments and you pull him up to kiss you, feeling him bite on your bottom lip for access.

you kiss down to his neck, his bodyweight falling limp between your legs from the pleasure.

you hear a knock on the door and ned practically screaming to let him in.

he groans and gets up fully off you.

"why does this always happen..." he complains, kissing you once more on the temple before going to answer the door.

THOR ODINSON | t.o.

it was your birthday on asgard and thor obviously had to tell the entire civilization and invite everyone to your palace.

you found yourself being held by him, kissing passionately in the empty guest room.

you two were supposed to be greeting the guests and thanking them for coming but instead he wanted to truly show you how much he loves you.

"I am so grateful you are my queen, y/n." he praises.

his large hands find the sides of your neck and face to somehow pull you closer.

"thor we should really be out saying hello to everyone..." you insist.

"m'lady, I think everyone is too drunk to notice." he smiles, his accent soothing you. "and it is our kingdom after all, I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

you feel the door move the air around you and loki complaining.

"could you guys come downstairs, please. when you aren't around, guess who's put in charge?" he pinches the bridge of his nose. "can I just tell them all to leave, lady y/n?"

"sure, loki go ahead."

"thank you."

he sighs in relief and closes the door.

thor pauses for a moment before bringing you back to kiss him, his hand at your throat.

CLINT BARTON | c.b.

he has you pressed against the door just in case anyone had tried to walk in; his hand moving from your waist to lock the door, lips never leaving yours.

there was no plan to it, the moment you walked in his room he couldn't keep his hands off you.

with wanda just had moved in, it had been very... hectic.

everyone was ecstatic and welcoming, trying to help left and right. it left no room except for at night for just the two of you.

he took the little time to his advantage, even if there would be interruptions, he didn't care and neither did you. everyone around the compound is aware of your relationship and has definitely seen pda before, so what's it if someone walks in?

a sound of yelling and laughing was heard getting progressively closer to the end of the hallway, where Clint's room was.

"OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!" you heard someone scream, getting closer.

clint rolls his eyes and pulls you away from the door, a hand pulling you against him and the other opening the door.

in flies peter and Wanda, roughly shutting and locking the door behind them laughing uncontrollably.

"what did you guys do?" you quirk a brow at them.

they both look at you like kids in trouble, ignoring the pounding in the door.

"well..." Wanda starts.

"just cut to it." clint rolls his eyes.

"mr.stark, bruce and I were in the lab giving Wanda a tour and we might've knocked over a special beaker thingy..." he mumbles. "we didn't mean to! we swear..."

the pounding in the door never stops, annoying both you and Clint.

"CUT IT OUT ASSWIPES, THAT'S ANNOYING AS HELL!" you angrily yell at the door, halting the pounding.

"...sorry..." you hear Bruce mumble even though it definitely wasn't him doing it.

your demeanor suddenly changes as you talk to Wanda and peter, concerning the three of them.

"anyways, just go say sorry. if they give you anymore shit just come get me." you wink.

"and me." clint adds.

they thank you guys profoundly before walking out to go sulk to tony and Bruce.

TAGS 🏷️:

[foxynez]

Bound For Life - Chapter 2

Pairing: OC!Orc x Human Female Reader

Story summary: Your life is nothing exciting. Until one day when you encounter a creature in the forest and your life is changed forever.

Chapter summary: A week has passed since you met Yolmar, the days blurring into one, euphoric bliss of pleasure.

Chapter warnings: Nsfw, Smut.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Yolmar would fuck you several times a day, leaving you in a pure state of satisfaction and exhaustion, despite the soreness between your legs. Even now, as the morning sun peeked through the curtains and you woke up by Yolmar pushing into your sore sex, you felt nothing but sheer pleasure despite the burning sensation as he first entered you. It quickly subsided and was replaced by your wet arousal as Yolmar's fingers found your clit and rubbed circles onto it. Moaning, you pushed your ass back against his hips, meeting his more and more eager thrusts.

"Yolmar," you mewled quietly, earning a breathy growl from the massive orc as he emptied his seed inside your womb. You sighed and smiled as you leaned back into his broad chest. If you weren't pregnant by now, you never would be.

"We're leaving tomorrow."

"Huh?" You turned around and looked into his yellow eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I need to return to my clan and your place as my mate is by my side. You will come with me."

You blinked as you stared at him. Come with him? To live your life with a clan of orcs? To leave your current life behind you? Not that you had that much of a life anyway. Six days ago, you had told the manager of the Inn that you were sick and you hadn't heard from him since then. So, you really didn't have anyone that would miss you...

"Will they accept me? As part of the clan?"

"You're my mate. They have no choice but accept you."

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Don't worry, little human. I will never let anything happen to you," Yolmar mumbled and smiled softly as he pulled you closer to him, searching for your lips. You leaned in and met his lips with yours, your mouth fitting in the space between his tusks. His lips were rough against your softer ones. Your thoughts drifted away, reminiscing about the first time his lips and tongue were between your legs, and a bolt of arousal shot through your core. Yolmar groaned, his hand on your hip digging into your flesh.

"I can smell your arousal, little one," he said playfully. "What are you thinking about?"

"Your mouth between my legs," you said bashfully.

Yolmar chuckled softly and quickly dashed down between your legs, holding your ass in a firm grip as he licked up the slit of your pussy. You gasped and bucked your hips against his face as he lapped his tongue eagerly between your folds.

"Taste like heaven," he mumbled before taking you to paradise once more.

*

Yolmar steered the horse forward on the path leading out of the woods. You turned to look at your home for the last time as the cottage faded into the forest. Soon, it disappeared amongst the trees and you turned your head forward again, hugging Yolmar's broad frame closer and swallowed the nervous knot in your stomach as you and Yolmar began the long journey back to his clan.

You rode to nightfall until Yolmar found a cave where you could spend the night. Yolmar kept a watchful eye on you as the two of you gathered branches for the fire, scouting the area for wild animals that might attack. His eyes lingered on your small form as you bent down to pick up some branches from the ground, his dick twitching at the sight of your ass pushing up in the air. Yolmar growled as a whiff of your scent reached his nostrils. Fuck, you were like a drug to him, he couldn't get enough.

You gasped when you suddenly felt Yolmar lift your dress up over your hip, yelped when he pushed you forward and you stumbled down on your hands and knees. Another gasp left your lips when Yolmar tore your undergarments apart and pushed inside you in one, hard thrust. Yolmar was always protective over you, but when it came to sex, he truly became the monster he was. Yes, he always ensured your pleasure, but he didn't hold back for anything. And you loved it. Loved how he made your core flutter and your legs shake as he pounded your pussy.

*

You grimaced as you shifted your position behind Yolmar, cursed him for destroying your last pair of undergarments and you now had to walk around naked under the dress. Not that Yolmar cared. He only had a proud grin on his face when you smoothed the dress down your naked body and glared at him.

*

It took a week for you to arrive at the clan. Your heart hammered wildly as you entered the orc village, hugging Yolmar's waist tighter as the orcs filling the streets watched suspiciously as the two of you rode through the town.

You avoided looking directly at them, didn't want to risk angering them. Instead, you kept your gaze on Yolmar's muscular back and listened to the orcs quiet mumbles until Yolmar stopped in front of a large, impressive stone house in the center of the village. The top of the entrance was adorned with horns from some massive creatures belonging to this land.

Yolmar jumped off the horse and offered you his hand.

"Come. You will meet the clan leader."

You stared down at your beloved, your heart pounding nervously as you took his hand and jumped down. Clinging to his arm, you let him lead you inside the building. You had your gaze fixed on the stone floor and slightly hiding behind Yolmar, seeking the safety of his closeness as you entered the great hall of the building.

"Tarod. This is my mate. Y/n."

You heard the orc leader's snarl and instinctively stepped closer to Yolmar.

"A human?" Tarod's voice boomed through the room. "You couldn't find a suitable orc to breed?"

"Her scent reveals she's my true mate, Tarod."

Tarod let out another scornful snarl and you felt the contempt oozing from him fill the room, making the air thick to breathe. "Look at me, human."

Blinking your eyes, you felt like your heart would burst out of your chest as you lifted your head higher and higher. Your eyes widened when your gaze finally landed on the orc leader. Yolmar was huge, but Tarod was even taller and broader, the top of your head barely reaching his chest that was marker by a scar on his left pec. You lifted your gaze higher and met his gaze, feeling your body flush with heat at the intensity of the way he was looking at you. His eyes were different than Yolmar's. They were as blue as a cloud-free sky, piercing into your very soul. His head was bald, accentuation his pointy ears and the large tusks protruding from his bottom lips.

"Such a fragile, little thing. Are you sure she can take you, Yolmar?"

"She already has. Many times," Yolmar assured and his voice was filled with pride.

You blushed at Yolmar's words and lowered your gaze, couldn't believe he was saying such things in front of the other orc.

"Is that so?" Tarod placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head, forcing you to look at him. "Is this true, little lamb?"

Fluttering your eyes, you lowered your gaze once more and nodded.

"Speak, woman."

You flinched at his voice and swallowed hard. "Y-Yes."

Tarod growled and leaned down to your neck, inhaling your scent. You instinctively moved your head to the side and closed your eyes. His breath grazed your hair, sending a trail of goosebumps down your skin.

"You're right, Yolmar. Her scent is delicious," Tarod grunted and grabbed your hip, his calloused hand swallowing your entire waist. You jerked at the contact and stared up at Tarod, who only smirked back at you.

You saw Yolmar in the corner of your eyes, lunging forward with a guttural growl rolling off his lips. Tarod growled back at him, silencing the smaller orc with a glare. Yolmar took a step back and glared back at Tarod, the growl lowering to a low rumble in his chest. He knew he was no match for the bigger orc, and if he were dead, there would be no one to protect you. Tarod wasn't as gentle as he was, and Yolmar doubted Tarod would care much about your safety.

"Yolmar?" you whispered and flickered your eyes as you looked at him in confusion. His shoulders slumped down as he lowered his gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. Your scent reveals you're his mate too. You belong to the both of us and he must mark you as his."

It felt like you'd been punched in the guts, like all air left your lungs as his words swirled in your head like a whirlwind.

"W-What?" You stared at Yolmar, hoping it was all a joke, but the sadness in his yellow eyes told you everything you needed to know. No, no, no...this couldn't be true...You turned your head back and stared up at Tarod who grinned down at you, showing off his large tusks, and the reality of it all finally hit you. This enormous creature would fuck you, mark you as his mate and there was no turning back, no escape. All you could do was submit and surrender to your fate.

[setsugekka]

❥six-thirty (m)

↳ sunwoo is just a friend. A friend with a fire-hot possessive streak.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader — friends with benefits, explicit sexual content [2,5k wc] cws: penetrative sex (unprotected), possessiveness, rough sex, a lot of dirty talking, praise, a drop of humiliation.

“Just tell him to fuck off already!”

You pretend to be taken aback by the words in spite of you doing everything in your power to bring the man to this point of contention — a friends with benefits situation going on for far longer than any of the other ones have lasted, but hey, what can you say?

Sunwoo happens to be a bit more fun than the rest.

His voice whiny and exasperated as he dramatically tosses, turns and kicks his feet in your bed like a toddler; under typical circumstances a far from enticing display, but from him, you know what it means for you to get him upset like this.

And shortly after tiring from his fit, Sunwoo makes quick work of snuggling up from behind you — chest pressed against your back and chin comfortably nestled between your shoulder and your neck as he showers the exposed skin with delicate kisses. Phone still in hand, you dim the screen as you feel him creep up — partially, because there’s nothing to be seen there, anyway, but mostly because you know doing so will make him feel crazy.

It’s a point of contention, sure, his jealous-streak, but more than that, it makes the sex fucking spectacular.

“Why are you even talking to him right now when you’re with me?” He finally asks, opting out of the previous demand and instead slinking back into his usual role — a pointed knee pressing between your legs in an effort to part them just slightly as his hand begins its anticipated journey down the side of you and between your legs from over your hip.

“Oh, but he’s just a friend.”

A playful quip back to him as you turn your head just slight enough that he can see your attempt at making eye contact. The scoff escaping from his plump lips telling enough that you’re triumphant in precisely what it is that you’re aiming for.

“I’m just a friend, too.”

“So, why are you so possessive then?”

“Because! It makes me crazy thinking about you being with other men! Why do you even need other men—” pausing then as his middle finger finally meets it’s mark against your clit, and hesitantly drawing slow, dull circles into you as you press your behind back and against his barely clothed form.

What’s wrong with a little jealousy-fueled round two, after all? With both merely in undergarments as is, may as well make the most of the time.

“—who makes you cum like I do? You get me like this so I’ll fuck you sideways, I’m nothing but a pawn to you, huh?”

At face value, the words seem more pointed than they are; hot breath fanning over the exposed skin of your arm as he continues trailing his lips across any skin that he can sink his teeth into and still more than focused on the busy work of his hand — surely, if he were really upset, he simply wouldn’t be partaking in any such games.

But suppose the being a pawn works in both of your favors.

“Maybe so, what are you gonna do about it, then?”

A cunning retort, you know it’ll drive him mad.

“I know you want me to say that I’ll fuck you dumb and just have to make it so you never crave another man ever again,” he bemoans against your ear, voice low and heady and simultaneously feeling the way the pressure of his finger against you picks up just that much more as he says the words. Arching your back even more to press yourself against his now ever present erection, the both of you silently opt out of further conversation on the matter in the immediately present tense and instead — Sunwoo with his other hand, gently shimmying his underwear down and out of the way enough to pull his length from the confines of the fabric and press the tip against precisely where you want him to be, it’s only then, than he finally decides you worthy of a continuation of the thought.

“So, I won’t say it. I’ll just have to do it.”

With the hand between your legs, pulling your hips back and towards him as he effectively uses the leverage to push you down and onto his cock all over again — the sinful sigh that eventually transforms into a groan against your ear as he feels you envelop him — you meet him there, having received exactly what it was that you had set out to achieve; a pitiful whimper dropping from your lips at the feeling of him filling so you completely as his hips meet flush against your ass with an excruciating slow drive.

Stilling inside of you, Sunwoo drags his hand up the front of you — lingering slightly on your breast to gently pinch and run circles into the nub as he kisses and nips at the flesh of your neck and jaw so hungrily it’s as if he has intent to devour you entirely — shortly thereafter, the continued journey upwards as his hand settles on the underside of your chin, pulling your face up to grant him better, easier access to previously untouched skin there.

Sucking and biting marks into you, he finally pulls his hips back slowly only to press forward just as leisurely as he had previously. Torturous, and of course it is — just as intended.

It’s sort of what makes sex with him so good.

A languid, slow rhythm against you, offering such little friction that you feel as though your mind may numb from the want and need of more of him — faster, harder, more, more, more.

Shifting the placement of his hand ever so slightly, from your dazed, needy state you feel the tapping of his middle finger against your lips and almost instinctively you part them for entry — Sunwoo quickly sheathing two of them against your tongue and groaning at the sensation of you tightly closing your mouth around them as if so painfully hungry for his cock in any way that even just having this will have to do, for now.

“You’re so mean to me,” he finally says with words that are half air. “Tease me, get me all upset with you just so I’ll fuck you — you know, you can just ask nicely.”

With a face stuffed full of him, you only moan in response. Well aware of your inability to answer him, he carries on the discussion as if speaking only to himself.

“If you were nice, I’d fuck you nicer, too—”

Pressing his hand further towards the back of your throat, you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes beginning to water before he grants you quick reprieve.

“—but you don’t want that, do you?”

It’s such a small shift in speed that you might not notice it if not painstakingly hungry for the release that you know will eventually be granted to you — now hyper aware of every movement he makes from behind you in any effort to get more friction from the cock buried inside of you — another whimper spilling from between his fingers at it, to which, Sunwoo can only laugh.

“When did you get so needy? But, I suppose—”

Drawing from you nearly entirely only to fully sheath himself inside of you again with a fast snap of his hips — impact so hard it has you jutting forward against the mattress as he does so — Sunwoo finally frees his other arm from the awkwardness of the position to bring it up and fold a hand into your hair. Not especially hard, and not with intent to hurt all that much, but rather, a familiar sting that lets you know that he’s there.

And then suddenly, the removal of his fingers from between your lips, hand back to its firm position at the place where your chin and throat meet.

Hot breath against your ear again, then another hard, quick drive of himself into you. You can’t help but cry out in response to it.

A man not known to be a domineering, or violent lover — but rather, a man who likes to stake his claim on what he sees as his.

“How d'you want me?”

A question coming a bit out of left field: The inquiry in and of itself relatively innocuous between lovers, but when pulled apart to be viewed in layers — ‘how do you want to receive me?’ — the understanding that he be the one giving himself to you, rather that alternatively, or even beyond that — perhaps it be both simultaneously.

You don’t answer quick enough for his liking, however, now well into playing his role. Fingers just ever so faintly digging harder into your hair to entice you to respond — your lust-filled mind instead honed in on the perfect drag of his cock and the way that his breath catches in his throat with every glide into you. Pulling it together enough to give it what it is that he’s searching for — you do what you can, but it’s not much.

“F-fuck me from behind.”

“Yeah,” he huffs out, already halfway through pulling himself from between your legs as if he anticipated the answer all along. Which he had. “Thought so.”

Quick with his work as he pushes you forward and brings himself to his knees just behind you, hands dipping down to your hips and pulling them up to meet his own — leaning forward to pull each arm back and clasped within a hand like makeshift handcuffs as he uses the other to carefully position himself for reentry.

The whole thing happening in a span of what you can only fathom to be ten seconds or less.

Balancing yourself on your chest and shoulders with no hands for leverage otherwise as your head is forced to be turned back for what little of him you can visualize, once again the slow, smooth slip of him entering you from behind, but with the new angle feeling fuller, longer — more of him entirely as he’s painfully slow with bottoming out inside of you.

“Feel good?”

You hate that he’s asking, largely due to the fact that the ability to speak is not one that comes easily to you now, but you also know that to be highly in part why it is that he’s doing so.

Intent to wreck you. Destroy you. Not with aggression, or violence, but rather with attention to detail, pleasure, and hopefully, the insatiable need to have no one but him inside of you ever again.

“Already can’t talk?” He teases, quickly settling into a steady pace against you as he holds you firmly in place with your hands pressed into the small of your back and whimpering with every drive of his cock into you. “You’re so pretty like this, God, you take me so well. Come on, baby, tell me how good I feel.”

It’s far more mental for Sunwoo than it is physical.

“You feel so good, so good.” You finally manage out, for his sake — gathering enough mental fortitude to string a sentence together for the man since you know he needs it so badly.

He likes the praise just as much as you do.

Groaning at the words and the confirmation even more so with an especially hard few snaps of his hips into you — you kind of hate how easy it is for him to make you cum, but also, it’s sort of why you’ve kept him around this long, after all. Tightening in your abdomen, you whimper out his name just enough for him to catch onto — he knows the signal, free hand darting down to between your legs to rub against your clit with the flat of his fingers.

The feeling nearly has your knees buckling then and there, but not with his hold onto you.

“Gonna cum, baby?”

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop—” you say, coming out as a bit more like a demand than intended, but knowing it probably gets him going all the same, who cares, really?

“This what you wanted? So needy and pathetic to have me fuck you into the mattress like this? Now you’re making demands?”

Oops.

“Can’t wait to make a mess of you,” he says, first slowing the intensity of his thrusts to allow a small, trailing of saliva to drip from his mouth to the precise place in which his cock disappears inside of you before slowly at first carrying on again. “Messy, nasty, baby, but all for me.”

Mentally, it does a bit of a number on you. More than anticipated, and you know that he can feel the way your muscles clench down around his length as he settles back into his hard and fast drive into you. Moaning at the feeling, Sunwoo can’t help but comment on it — “Oh? You like that, huh? You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

The 'yes’ falls from your lips before you even have a shot at pulling it back for reconsideration.

Grip on your wrists tightening that much more, Sunwoo pulls you firmer back and against his hips, fingers digging harder circles against your clit to finally push you into your orgasm. It’s certainly working as he fucks you harder than before, fuller thrusts as he pulls nearly entirely from your drenched cunt to deliver back the complete glide of his cock to you.

“Cum on my cock. I’ll give you what you want.”

Not sure if it’s the physicality of everything, the sinful throatiness to his voice, the words themselves, or everything combined that has the simple demand pulling exactly that from you — thighs quivering and teeth gritted as you whine and shout through the intensity of your high — Sunwoo all the while fucking you through its totality. Over the peak and tailing towards the come down is when he cums with a loud groan and a few extra hard and rough snaps of his hips. Whispered chants of “gonna cum, gonna cum, fuck—” before burying himself so deep into you it nearly brings discomfort as he empties his load.

Heavy breaths resounding through the room as the both of you slowly come back down from your euphoric releases, Sunwoo gently pulling his softening length from you with a wince of overstimulation — only to watch in awe as his cum messily spills from you as you lazily remain in your assumed position.

“You better tell me if you let another guy cum inside of you,” he begins, and at first, the words set off a particular set of alarm bells in your head. Alarms that say 'this isn’t part of the game,’ and 'this is getting a bit too serious,’ before you feel long, adept fingers fucking his work right back into from where it had left.

“Because I’ll fuck my load into your already cum-filled cunt, too.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask  (⌒‿⌒) —this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'Till you Make it | Part 14

“Eye Spy… with my little eye… something beginning wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiith T”

“Is it tree?”

“God, how do you keep doing that?”

“That’s been your fifth tree in six rounds, Eddie.”

“There’s loads of trees!!”

Steve was driving, he’d taken the driver’s seat of the rental car, Eddie calling shotgun putting his parents in the back seat, which neither really minded as they still had a few things to work out that they’d put on the back burner to allow Steve and Eddie to take those middle seats on the plane.

“Okay my turn, eye spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… T.”

“Is it tree?”

Steve sniggered but shook his head no. “No it’s not tree.”

“Can I have a hint?”

“It’s black.”

“T and black… can I have another hint?”

“You only get two hints are you sure you wanna use it now?” It was actually quite cute how Eddie hesitated, hand lifting to his chin, fingernails caught on his bottom teeth. “Maybe try another guess?”

“T and black…” Eddie looked down, and around himself, there was nothing outside that fit the bill, so it had to be inside the car. “T… and black… it’s definitely black, and begins with T… Teeelevision?”

“Do you see a television?”

“No.”

“No, Eddie, it’s not a television” he clicked his fingers in disappointment, as if it were actually a plausible guess.

“Tuuuuuaardvark.”

“What the hell is a tuaardvark?”

“An aardvark with a Tu at the beginning.” Steve really was trying to focus on the road, but Eddie was so effortlessly funny that it was impossible not to laugh. “Okay gimmie the hint, and make it a juicy one. An I do mean juicy, it needs to rival your—”

“Eddie!”

“Your juicy personality, get thy glorious head and its voluminous hair out of the gutter, baby.” He got a quiet giggle out of Lynda with that one, both parents trying not to get involved. They had things to do, even a getaway had work involved.

“For that alone I’m only going to tell you that there’s a few of them.” But he was going to smile about it, because he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, it was just… to hard to not smile around Eddie. His enjoyment was as infectious as his happiness.

“Awh shit, I always knew I’d be my own undoing. Go on then, put me out of my misery.”

“You sure you don’t want one more guess?”

“Do you think that’d help?”

“I think if you really look you could get it.”

“God you have such confidence in me, where was this support when I was trying to graduate? Okay.” Eddie pulled his long legs up and awkwardly crossed them in his seat, eyes skimming the surrounding area, then dipping down, brows furrowed in thought. A black few things beginning with T… a black few things, beginning with T… Teeee tee-tee-tee-tee-teeeee…teeeeshirt?”

“No, it’s not T-shirt.”

“Shit. Okay, not T-shirt” he reached up his hand and scratched his cheekbone, and out of the corner of his eye— he gasped sharply and yelled, “tattoo!!”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the car, he’s GOT IT!” There was a polite round of applause from the back seat that Eddie turned back to bow to, hands clasped together in victory. “Ooh, we’re almost there, one more round I think, and don’t pick a tree.”

“Okay! Okay lemme think, let me think, leeet me…OOH, eye spy, with my little eye, something beginning with M.”

“It’s mole isn’t it?”

“GodDAMMIT!”

Eddie had no idea what to expect when they started their journey, he had no idea what their end result would look like, he had a vague idea that it’d probably be extravagant, and that maybe he wouldn’t like the look of it purely going off of the Harrington’s house back in Hawkins, that place looked cold.

It looked empty.

What sat nestled at the end of a long woodland driveway, was nothing like the Harrington House.

Sure, it was large, could probably fit a good few families in there with room to spare, but it was styled like a log-cabin, just, bigger. It was all wood undoubtedly farmed from the surrounding areas, natural stone work making up the foundation and the chimney probably mined from the mountains around them, and glass windows.

It looked… huge but still so cosy.

Like the inside would probably smell a little like Christmas and warm every inch of you just by standing in it.

“Okay,” Eddie turned around in his seat to look into the back, and really did try and school his tone into something as respectful as he possibly could manage “not to disrespect your house in Hawkins but why would you live there in that if you have this out here?” Hawkins was a shithole in Eddie’s opinion, it was full of backwards thinking angry church types with vendettas against fun and honestly nothing happened there.

The most exciting thing to happen in Hawkins in the history of ever, was when an owl attacked Eleanor Gillespie’s hair because it looked suspiciously like a nest.

They had no creepy ghost stories, no weird happenings, no strange people unless you count himself and maybe a few of the hellfire kids, maybe his bandmates, but it was boring. He wanted out. The only thing keeping him there was… well… his Uncle.

“It’s not ours” John answered as the car pulled to a stop outside of the slowly opening garage, the eldest Harrington putting his things back into his bag and unclipping the seatbelt. “It’s Steven’s.” And that wide-eyed stare was immediately switched from the elder Harrington’s to the youngest, the sheepishly smiling Steve.

“It belonged to my grandparents, or well… my grandpa. He left it to me in the will, but we’ve been coming here to spend time with them for years this is just… the second year now without either of them here.” They had a maintenance guy, or multiple guys on retainer who’d go in once every two weeks to keep the place clean, but other than that it remained empty. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from placing a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder, expression softening, Steve shook his head though, “sorry, that just set a weird mood, let’s just… get inside and get settled, yeah? I’ll even let you pick our room.”

“Room as in… one room? For the both of us? That’s—that’s uhm” he looked back at the parents “that’s okay with you guys?”

“Sure, again it’s not our house.” And even if it was, both John and Lynda figured Steve would wind up in Eddie’s room anyway “we’d prefer it though if you picked one on the other side of the house to ours.” John opened the car door, catching Eddie’s attention again “we’ve been burned by those old wooden walls before.” And then he was out of the car, followed by Lynda who he helped climb out, leaving both men in the car alone while they made their way to the house.

Steve pulled forwards into the vacant garage, the door to shut behind them, and a light automatically switched on, replacing the darkness of the garage with a warm white light.

“They’re not the only ones who’ve been burned, trust me.” Steve shook his head with an amused smile as he cut the engine. “Is the one room okay, Eddie? It’s not like… crossing any lines with you, is it?” His parents weren’t there, they couldnt hear them, there was no reason to pretend, even if he did want to try and make it as realistic as possible as per Robin’s idea, he had to keep checking in with Eddie to make sure he was okay.

“No! No, no it’s okay… I’ve never… I haven’t really… shared a room with anyone before” only child, and Wayne had given him the only room in the trailer “is it like… a two bed situation or—”

“One bed, Eddie… one room, one bed, there’s only one room in that house with multiple beds in it and it’s full of bunk beds from when I was twelve an all the cousins used to visit around the same time… it might seem a bit weird if we pick that one.” He was going to be spending an entire week… sleeping in the same bed as Steve Harrington, in what was essentially a dream house nestled in the woods.

He was going to get used to it. He was going to get used to it all, and it was going to kill him to leave it all at the end of the week. It was going to destroy him to lose it all.

“Heh… maybe—maybe someday we could bring the kids up, they could stay in the bunk bed room” grin and bear it, maybe it’d all work out if he just… went with the flow. Wishful thinking usually went against the good ol Munson Doctrine, but… everything Steve had been doing since they first started their whacky plan had flown in the face of that stupid doctrine so… maybe deviating from it wouldn’t hurt as bad as it could if he just… went with it.

“I mean… we could force them to use the bunkbeds, an that could be pretty funny”

They probably wouldn’t be as psyched to stay in bunkbeds as they would have been back when they were all tiny, squishy middle schoolers, although it’d probably be easier to get their parents to agree to the trip now they were older.

“Payback for all the shit they’ve thrown at us over the years.”

“It’s like you’re in my brain.”

Part 16

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; THE FINAL FINAL

Shen Qingqiu Propaganda:

The entire series is told from his POV and the story seems like a comedy. The side stories from other characters POVs make the story sound like a tragedy. He thought that Luo Binghe hated him and wanted him dead while everyone else knew that Binghe was in love with him.

the whole book he’s using his OWN interpretation of the world to explain literally everything, not knowing that his introduction into the world changed it so fundamentally that his prior knowledge of it is less than useless. he’s like “binghe is being sweet to me because binghe is sweet to people that wronged him before repaying their slight a thousandfold, and he only adds their acceptance of his sweetness to his tally of their sins!! i have to run away forever or he’ll tear my arms and legs off!!!!!!” and binghe in reality is like “wow the love of my life my beloved shizun is scared of me still :( i should act sweet and nonthreatening so he’s not scared of me :(“ and he literally doesn’t have this corrected until the end of the book. but even when that one thing is corrected he still is like “haha okay but these other six things-“ bro……. cucumber bro………….. you homosexualized the world just accept it

He examines the entire reality he's isekai-ed into as if it's still fictional and his inner monologue ignores any "character trait" of the people around him that doesn't fit into his perception of "canon" despite everything he's done to change reality from the canon of the novel he first read. He routinely mislabels his own emotions as well as making heteronormative assumptions about himself and the people around him before he finally realises he's in reciprocated gay love with a man. It's a book that benefits being read twice, so the second time around you can focus on the implications Shen Qingqiu blatantly misses.

Transmigrates into a novel he “hates,” assumes he’s doing a good job pretending to be the character whose body he got stuck in, assumes other characters will stick to their original paths. Lotta assumptions, lots of rationalizing, lots of incredible feats of misunderstanding/misinterpreting things. His internal narration is also hysterical.

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

[jellybeanium124]

thinkin bout like, ed and stede as kids in the 80s. they're like, 10, maybe. let's say ed's 8 and stede's 10. and stede goes to the library to return a bunch of books and check out new ones. so he returns his books and wanders around the library to find new books to read, and ends up in the nonfiction section all the way at the back which is completely empty, except for a pair of feet sticking out from a gap between a couch and the wall. this seems pretty odd to stede, so he walks over and sees a kid hiding inside an oversized hoodie, curled up to be as small as possible. because of the hoodie stede can't see much of them. he hears little sniffles. in his head he hears his dad's voice telling him to mind his own business and not bother strangers. but something's off here. and fuck his dad.

"hello? are you ok?"

the child goes very still and quiet. "don't tell anyone I'm here," they say, barely audibly.

"I won't. it's a public library, you're allowed to be here, you know. at least until six. if you're worried about getting in trouble for being unsupervised, miss lisa says kids are welcome with or without a parent."

"oh..."

the kid pulls their hoodie down to reveal a tearstained face. he wipes his nose and runs his hands through his hair to smooth it out. he looks a little bit younger than stede.

"so... are you okay?" stede asks again.

the kid pulls his legs into his chest. "I'm fine."

stede frowns. the kid is very obviously not fine. "I'm stede."

"...ed."

"so... are you picking up some summer reading?"

the boy shakes his head, and stede feels something squirm in his gut. "summer reading?" really? now ed's gonna think stede is a big loser nerd. which he is.

"some tapes?" stede asks. "they have a lot of cool movies on VHS."

ed shook his head again.

he wasn't being very conversational, and stede didn't exactly know where to go from here. he didn't want to leave ed alone, though. he still looked terrified.

"you wanna... sit on the couch, at least?"

ed seemed to consider it for a moment, and then nodded. he extracted himself from his spot and curled up on the couch instead, fitting as much of himself into the hoodie as he could. it was an old, gray hoodie, with the name and symbol of the local public high school on the top left bit of the chest.

"do you have an older sibling?" stede asked.

ed shook his head. "it's my mama's. from when she was in school."

"I don't have any older siblings either. or younger siblings."

"I'm an only child too."

"do you get lonely?" stede asked without thinking. his face turned beet red immediately after, mortified that he said that out loud. ed was gonna laugh at him for sure. but when stede dared to look back at ed's face, he looked sad and thoughtful.

"maybe..." ed said in a small voice. "my apartment's too small to feel really lonely though. that's why I came here."

"oh..." stede said. he couldn't relate, and he felt rather awkward. ed seemed to feel vaguely awkward as well. "do you like reading?" he blurted out.

ed bit his lower lip. "yeah, but not for school."

"school sucks."

"school sucks so much!"

"do you like roald dahl?"

ed shrugged. "who's that?"

"he's a writer from england. I love his books. my favorite is 'danny the champion of the world.' it's about a boy and his dad who get revenge on an evil beer baron by stealing all his pheasants. they live in a little caravan together and his dad owns a gas station. his mom died when he was three months old but his dad takes care of him and walks him to school and is in on the plot to steal all the pheasants. in fact, his dad teaches him how to poach. that's what it's called. poaching, not stealing. his dad makes fire balloons and kites too and at one point danny has to drive a car and his dad doesn't get mad at him at all."

"that sounds like a good book."

"c'mon, the library has a copy. let's see if it's in."

they went to the YA section and found the book. stede found "tales of a fourth grade nothing" and decided it looked interesting. then they went back to their quiet, empty section of the library, and read their books while sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch.

when stede finished, he looked up at the clock on the wall. "oh dear. it's 5:45."

ed looked up from his book. "danny the champion of the world" was much longer than "tales of a fourth grade nothing," so he hadn't finished it.

"c'mon. let's go check it out."

"I can't," ed said in a small voice. "I don't have a library card."

"I can check it out then," stede said.

first, they went back to the YA section, so stede could swap "tales of a fourth grade nothing" out for "otherwise known as sheila the great," and then they went back to the front desk, and stede checked out the two books. they walked out the door and towards main street together.

"I should probably go home," stede said. "my dad will have a fit if I'm not home in time for dinner..."

"I should go home too..."

stede stopped walking, and pulled a pen and small notebook out of his pocket, and wrote something down. he tore the page out and handed it to ed. "this is my phone number. it's mine. my grandma got me my own phone line for my 10th birthday. My dad thinks I'm too young to have my own separate line, but my grandma told him..." stede lowered his voice, "to 'stuff it.' so you can call it and it only rings the phone in my room, and none of the others."

"wow..." ed said. "I wish I had my own phone. ours is in the kitchen. it's not very private..."

"well... you can call me and we can arrange to hang out, and then we can talk about private things."

ed's smile grew a thousand times, and it made stede smile too. "okay! I will!"

"I'm only here until the end of summer, though," stede said, hating the way it wiped the smile off of ed's face. "at the end of august my dad's shipping me back to boarding school. there's a phone on the first floor of the dormitories but it's not exactly private either... still... and we can write letters--" stede cut himself off. "sorry, I don't know why I'm saying all of this."

"coz... we're friends?"

"really? and you would wanna write letters?"

ed nodded. "yeah. I think so."

they walked to main street, and then started in opposite directions. they stopped and turned around and looked at each other.

"wanna go to rocky's arcade tomorrow?" ed asked.

"I've never been there."

"it's in the same strip mall as the wal-mart."

stede nodded. "ok, sure. when?"

"two?"

"ok. see you tomorrow!"

"see you tomorrow!"

for a moment they stood, facing each other awkwardly.

"well, bye!" stede said.

"bye!"

they turned and walked their separate ways. they needed to come up with a secret handshake.

when stede got home, he realized he never figured out why ed was crying and hiding in the first place. as he rushed up to his room to comb his hair and put on a polo and khakis for dinner, he wondered if he wanted to know. at seven pm sharp he was sitting in the same spot he always did at the dinner table, keeping his eyes on his plate and letting his father prattle on about the stock market. he wished he could proudly tell his parents he made a friend today and they would be proud and ask him about his friend. but he knew by now that they weren't going to be happy, because nothing he did ever made them happy.

he wondered what ed was eating for dinner. he wondered if ed's dining room table was happier than his. if his parents would enjoy listening to him talk about his new friend. he had a feeling deep down that the image he conjured in his head of a happy mom and a dad who looked suspiciously like quentin blake's drawings of danny's dad and ed at a happy table together was not very aligned with reality. still, he let himself fantasize for a second, about being invited to a sleepover with a happy family, and staying up all night with ed watching television and tapes and playing games and sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags.

he sighed quietly and kept his eyes on his underflavored chicken and broccoli.

[ickadori]

Thinking bout Naoya with a male reader who gets over his own homophobia and shit while fucking him by justifying it’s not that bad if the guy’s wearing cute girly clothes.

Down for plowing another guy but only if he promises to wear a cute skirt or smth like that. Something something about getting off on emasculating other men and it being somehow “less gay” when the dick is attatched to something wearing a frilly skirt.

Idk I’m down bad and Naoya seems like he’d be pathetic like this

cws for male reader -> feminization. naobito walks in & naoya doesn’t stop. misogyny aka typical naoya. internalized homophobia.

~

Naoya curses the Zenin name and reveres it in the same breath — he hates his family and actively roots for their defeat in battle, but he’ll argue to his last breath about how the Zenin clan is the strongest, the most elite, how they would have long surpassed the Gojo clan if it wasn’t for that freaky, six-eyes having fuck.

The perks that come with being a Zenin are great and many; money, respect, power, women (if you’re into the pathetic things), and much more, but there’s a few drawbacks as well.

The traditions.

Those old, barbaric traditions and customs that had somehow survived into this day and age. The arranged marriages, the family practices, the rituals, the ceremonies, the taboo of same-sex coupling. That last one was especially important in the Zenin clan - Naoya had seen many a Zenin get disowned for being caught with their dick slotted up against another man’s, or some woman with her head between another woman’s legs. It wasn’t accepted under any circumstances, and even if Naoya was next in line for clan head, he’d meet the same fate if he was found with another man.

Not that he would ever be careless enough to be caught fucking a man, or that he would even fuck a man, because you weren’t really a man, not like how he was a man. You weren’t strong, you weren’t tough, you couldn’t hold a sword and you damn sure couldn’t exorcise a curse. Your body was soft where his was hard, your jaw curved where his was sharp, your skin free of scars from battle while his had a few here and there.

You cleaned and cooked - dusted the shelves and scrubbed the floors of the estate, folded the laundry and neatly put it away, tidied the bedrooms and the bathrooms, prepared his meals and brought them to him on a platter, took away his empty dishes and scrubbed them clean…just like the women and servants of the clan.

You would have made the perfect woman. You were meek, but not mute, you knew that your place was always behind a real man and you didn’t hate it, unlike the other woman who cried about it all being so unfair. Your cooking was a level above decent, you knew how to properly starch his shirts, and his room never had so much of a speck of dust floating around after you were done with it.

The only downside of you was the adam’s apple in your throat and the cock and balls between your legs - but even that could be overlooked if he dressed you well enough. A kimono with all the bells and whistles, a painted face, along with a feminine hair style and you looked no different from the women his father tried to arrange for him to marry — and when he fucked you in the solitude of his room you sounded just like them, too.

If Naoya could have you prancing around the estate in nothing but women’s lingerie and short, frilly dresses without you being executed in the front gardens he would, but he has to settle for dressing you up in the privacy of his room where prying eyes can’t see.

“This thing just really ruins the look.” Naoya mutters, his gaze trained on your cock that’s straining against the fabric of your panties. It’s a lacy red pair that’s fit snug against you, the fabric cradling a pair of plump balls and soft cock. He cups you and squeezes, ignoring the way you whine and shuffle on your feet. “Turn around.” He fondles you again before allowing you to turn, and his tongue swipes out to wet his lips as he admires the way your ass practically swallows up the fabric.

With one hand on each cheek he spreads your ass apart, a low hum sounding at the sight of your puckered hole, and he moves his thumb to circle around the rim, pulling a breathy moan from your mouth. If he were to reach forward he knows that he’d find your cock leaking and hard already, and the thought makes him snicker.

“Turn.” His palm collides with your cheek, his own cock stirring in his pants as he watches the globe of flesh ripple under his hand, and then his eyes are on the matching bralette you wear. “Your tits are getting bigger.” They’re not, obviously, but he likes the way you duck your head down and how hot your skin gets when he says it.

He meanly pinches at your nipples, pulling at the buds until they’re puffy and sore and your lashes are wet, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your noises. He soothes them with slow rubs of his thumbs, and then he’s leaning forward to suck on them through the fabric, hands moving to grope and squeeze at your ass as he tugs you further between his spread thighs.

His cock is fully hard now, a bead of pre-cum forming at the uncut tip, and one hand leaves your ass to instead stuff venture into the drawer beside his bed. His fingers close around a small tube, and he pushes it into your hand before pulling his mouth away from your chest. “Spread yourself open for me.”

Naoya leans back on his elbows on the bed as he observes, eyes lidded as he watches you coat your fingers in lube, pull your panties down to your thighs, and move your arm behind you. “Tch.“ He can’t decide if wants to see your fingers stretching your ass open, or keep looking at the way your cock twitches and dribbles pre down to your balls. Naoya had never been interested in the sight of another man’s cock, they all paled in comparison to his own, until he had seen yours. It was small, smaller than his at least, and your balls hung close to your body, high, and it fit nicely in the palm of his hand in the rare times that he actually touched it, because he didn’t need to touch it to get you to come. The sensitive thing was spurting cum as soon as he got his cock in you.

“Naoya-Sama.” You gasp, knees buckling as you stumble forward, your lips parted due to your heavy pants as you fuck yourself with your fingers. “I’m -ah- I’m ready for you.”

“Keep going.” He ignores the impatient look on your face, instead leaning forward to wrap his hand around your length. You let out a choked moan and jerk into his fist, and he holds you still by your hip, hand freely gliding up and down your shaft. His thumb mushes down against your slit and smears your pre-cum around, and then he’s moving to squeeze at your balls, his eyebrows furrowing when he comes to the realization that he likes the weight of you in his palm.

He strokes you faster, too absorbed in the wet ‘shlick shlick’ of your cock to notice the footsteps that near his room. He’s close enough to smell you, and he breathes in the scent of the perfume that he had doused you in earlier - it’s sickeningly sweet, a scent that’s been popular among women recently, and while he had scrunched his nose up when he smelt it on them, he greedily basks in it now.

A cry of his name leaves your mouth and then you’re coming, cock twitching in his hand before spurts of cum shoot up to decorate your stomach, a bit of it dribbling over the backs of his fingers. As if in a trance, he leans forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your stomach and collect your cum - it’s tangy, a bit salty, but not revolting, and he licks another broad stripe, his eyes raising to lock onto yours.

With your cum gathered on his tongue, he tugs you down until you’re straddling his lap, one hand moving to grip the back of your neck as he presses your mouths together. You suck on his tongue, matching groans leaving the both of you, and he fights to free himself from his pants, the door to his room sliding open just as his cock springs free.

“Naoya.”

“Busy.” He breaks the kiss to say, just to mash his lips right back to yours, free hand grabbing a fistful of your ass and lifting your hips. Your back is to the door, effectively hiding you away, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing in his lap as you register his father’s voice.

His fingers trail down to your hole, teeth painfully nipping at your bottom lip when he feels the shit job you did at stretching yourself out.

“What did I do to deserve having you disgraceful pigs for sons? You won’t marry the women I bring to you, but you’ll defile the servants left and right.” Naobito says, and Naoya pays him no mind, too busy focused on lining his tip up with your hole.

Your eyes widen in shock as you give a small shake of your head, and he grins into the kiss as he thrusts in with a quick snap of his hips. You yelp, forehead dropping to rest on his shoulder, and Naoya gives his father a bored as he trails his nose up and down the slope of your neck.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me fuck her?” Your skin burns hotter under his touch, and he pulls you impossibly closer, amusement threatening to overflow when he feels your cock plump up against his hard stomach.

“If you impregnate her, you’ll marry her, and you’ll be the shame of the Zenins’ - marrying a lowly housemaid, tch. You could never hope to be head of the clan.”

“It’s a good thing she only likes it when I put it in her ass then, isn’t it?” His fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, spreading you open so the sight of your hole fluttering around his fat cock is visible, and you whine into his shirt, hands fisting the material. “Don’t worry, old man, you won’t have to worry about any bastard kids anytime soon.”

Naoya has half a mind to spin you around and show you off to his father - show him the hard-on that you’re sporting and your flat chest, but that would cause all this to end a bit too soon, and he was growing quite a liking to you.

Naobito leaves soon after, insults spewed from drunken lips as he slams the door shut behind him, and Naoya is fucking up into you as soon as the door clicks into place. “You were squeezing around me so tight - you were scared, huh?” His back lays against the sheets as the heels of his feet dig into the mattress, hands locked around your waist to bring you down to meet his thrusts halfway.

You can’t talk past the moans leaving your mouth, but you manage a jerky nod, hands braced on his chest. “You’re so pathetic,” he groans, hands moving to pull you down so he can smack his lips against yours. The kiss is messy, tongues rubbing together and forcing drool to spill from the sides of your mouth. “Just like a woman. You need a protector, hm? A real man to keep you safe? Someone like me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you sob out, and he doesn’t have to check to know that you’ve came again, your cum wetting his shirt. His teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, and his eyes roll as he stuffs his cock in deep, balls tightening and stomach rolling as he fills you full of cum, nails biting into the fat of your ass as he grips it.

His body relaxes into the mattress a few moments later, lips ghosting over where his teeth have left a mark, and hands softly kneading at your ass. “You don’t need to worry about any of that trash,” he talks low against your ear, rearranging the both of you so you’re lying on your sides, his arms keeping you close. “No one but me is allowed to touch you.”

His fingers find your puffy hole, and he pushes the cum back in that’s began to leak out, earning a tired moan in return. “No harm will come to you as long as I’m around.”

[lilac-rose-writes]

KINDERGARTEN 3: Questions + Crack Theories

(Some done with @charismabee in messages <3)

1. Where are the other kids?

THEORY 1: The correct one. Bob adopted them all. Grabbed as many kids as he could see and took off with them. Their home lives sucked before? That's okay! Now they have a Bob! Unfortunately, despite his large janitor arms, he could only carry six children at a time. And by the time he went back for the others, they had been signed up to a new school and carted off by their parents. How sad. :(

THEORY 2: The Kindergarten one. They've all been kidnapped. Uh oh! They're hanging out with the mysterious disappearing former principal somewhere. Jerome is crying. Lily is furiously looking for an escape. Billy is having a panic attack. Ted "Felix" is being "Felix". Buggs is hitting things. Ozzy is having a panic attack. Things are fun <3

THEORY 3: The silly one! They're in the library. Regis looked at the troublemakers who have killed/want to kill/look like they want to kill people and put them allll in study hall together. And then put Ozzy there too. For funsies! So now they're all being scolded for committing all the murders and/or being Ozzy. Carla finds out she wasn't invited to Murder Club and she is furious.

2. What's up with Felix/Ted??

THEORY 1: After going home on Tuesday, Ted somehow discovered Felix's plans to kill him. Maybe he found the contract, maybe Felix straight-up told him (he is such a terrible liar. The WORST. I will be going back to this point in theory 2). However it happened, Ted learnt Felix wanted to kill him, pulled a Cain's Not Able alt route, and got his own back. He's in his Theodore era now. No more silly expressions. He looks at the space Felix left behind, and slots into it seemingly perfectly.

THEORY 2: The better one. Felix is pretending to be Ted. Felix too was grouped into the intended Murder Club, but he wasn't going to spend all day in study hall. Ew. So, he does the logical thing, and has Teddy fill his place. Felix thinks he's completely inconspicuous- like a sneaky hawk, so to speak. The thing is, he keeps "teehee"-ing between words and doing a frankly terrible impersonation of Ted. Remember all of his smug gloating throughout Cain's Not Able (e.g. "heheh... you have the most important part", the stealing Monty's arm plot failing so badly that Monty somehow knew Felix wanted to steal something from him and that said something was an arm, etc)? Take that and multiply it tenfold. Even the kids he's never spoken to before can tell he's not "Teddy". Meanwhile, Ted is sitting in Murder Club and trying so hard to act like Felix, but the only preparation he's had is switching shirts and he keeps trying to kill Ozzy when no-one's looking.

THEORY 3: Cain's Not Able just carried over through loops. Stevie's bandaged up, we only have one twin. Once again, Theodore arc initiated.

3. Alice & Ms Lovelett are related

THEORY: This one is simply because they are both redheads & Alice is an amnesiac. It's probably not going to be canon considering the amount of staff members' (principals') kids we have so far, but it's interesting to think about! I think it could add a lot of depth & mystery towards Ms Lovelett as a character, as well as giving us something to unpick about Alice's lost memories.

4. What's up with Monty's legs?

THEORY 1: The popular "Monty has Penny's legs" idea- part I. He went down to the lab (bc hey! Secret Lab! That sounds AWESOME for science!) and he found a Penny. A very dead, very robotic Penny. With legs. So, fitting right in with the weird limb rules of this universe, he does what Nugget did with Stevie's arm and takes those legs for himself. After all, it's not like Penny needs 'em anymore. He's being eco-friendly and reducing, re-using & recycling. It sucks that the skirt was also robotic. He could potentially get it off if he tried hard enough but he really wants legs again now and if he did there would be nothing else covering his new legs.

THEORY 2: The popular "Monty has Penny's legs" idea- part II. He still has Penny's legs, but this time, it wasn't his idea. If Applegate can somehow rise from the dead, who's to say that the superior-minded Dr Danner can't? Wouldn't be surprised if he's made himself immortal or something. He sees legless alive specimen Monty and legful dead specimen Penny and goes "hey little boy, want to swap legs with this robot?". Doesn't really matter if Monty wants to or not. His own legs are chopped off & replaced with Penny legs. He's so embarrassed about it. This will 100% ruin his street cred and also he didn't want his one-day broken legs to be gotten rid of forever. Sigh.

5. Romeo & Juliet

THEORY: This one's more of a silly guess/prediction, really. Either "Ted"/Ted gets cast as Romeo or we as Kid do (I like to think Kid will be managing all the behind the scenes stuff instead though :]) and Cindy demands to be Juliet. Only problem is, they're horrendous at acting. Cindy is over-the-top and overdramatic (like the queen she is). "Ted" is and always has been the worst actor to ever act ever. Ted too is pretty terrible at it and completely unused to being in the spotlight for anything. At least one character has stage fright. I can see Ms Lovelett as one of those teachers who start out sweet and welcoming, reassuring them all that they'll have lots of fun and put on a great show. But this is, of course, Kindergarten, so things quickly take a turn for the worse. She quickly becomes overbearing towards the performance, trying to perfect every little thing and criticising everyone repeatedly. With each passing minute, she becomes more and more frazzled. Her love for theatre is "insatiable", and she can't be stopped. The performance ends with the actors of Romeo and Juliet actually dying. Someone is poisoned, someone is stabbed. Maybe Nugget stabs someone. Maybe Nugget poisons someone. He has before. Seriously WHO thought it was a good idea to give him a knife in this game-

6. Regis' Deal

THEORY: Piecing together what we have so far, I'd say it's almost definite that he's the one behind the former principal's disappearance. He's taken on the role of classic Evil Kindergarten Principal, making both drugs and goo, making not just children but adults disappear too (hey K1 principal, imagine only being able to kidnap one child. To be fair he's a pretty sneaky hawk child who likes to hide in places but still. Skill issue).

Nugget's playing in the green goo outside. At lunch, he claims that he's "feeling funny again!", and at the start of the day, he encourages Kid to eat it. Upon doing so, Kid seemingly goes to the principal's office, where he is then sent to the medical room, looking distinctly green himself with a goo globule implying his death inside his last apple. It's safe to presume that this goo is at least somewhat similar to that of the goo in Kindergarten 2. Agnes adores it and it significantly disoriented Bob, so we can infer that it could have addictive/drug-like properties. It can kill people, as shown by the janitor's closet in K2. We know that it mutated people, and sustained Penny. It's dangerous. And there's a great deal of it all over the place.

In fact, there are elements from both of the previous principals' research scattered throughout the trailer. We see:

Green goo in a pool the janitor is cleaning in the cafeteria, a little away from the taped-over "STAFF ONLY CLOSET" door. Who has closets? Janitors. Who's a powerful member of staff? Regis, the former janitor.

Green goo pouring out of some sort of pipe into a puddle right below three tinted windows

The nurse's green cigarette smoke. We can guess that she designed the nurse's office, and therefore the posters within it- including the one discouraging/banning smoking inside of the medical room. So why would she be smoking herself?

A darkened, red version of the door presumably leading to the classroom. Dark, greenish stains cover the entire wall, but especially by that door in particular

The hole Regis drops Kid into for some reason. It has blood streaked down it- has someone been crushed by the closing mechanism before? Was one of the bloodied bags deposited there? Or, of course, did someone before Kid just spray up blood with the same absurd propulsion as a particularly bouncy ball?

IN THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE-

A brown monster with some sort of sword through its head

A bloody bag, perhaps containing the rest of the monster. It's leaked onto the floor, and bears a lot of resemblance to those seen in K1

A sword in a glass case, similar to the guns the principal had encased in K1

What does this all say? Well, I'd take it to mean that we have yet another shady principal/ murderous janitor on our hands. There's something behind those windows, something inside the staff-only closet, a reason why there are goo stains everywhere. Something happened to the former principal. Something's happened to the other kids. And Regis is the one behind it.

But other than that? Atm I've got nothing lol

I'd love to hear your own theories and thoughts on the trailer!! Maybe I'll add more to this tomorrow; the KG3 reveal has thrown me straight into analysis mode. No detail shall escape my scrutiny <3

[dirtyvulture]

The Beef-Off

Beefy!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: See below.

Summary: Just a whole lot of beef.

Word count: 1446

AN: Just popping in to drop this off for y’all. ✌️ Enjoy.

Requested by anon: Picture it, Beefy Nat right? …But wait!

There’s more 😱 —Beefy R!

The two have been flirting for eons, but it never really went anywhere significant, until the tension becomes unbearable as both of them started working out together on like a semi consistent schedule. Natasha, little shit that she is, challenges the R to a bit of a “beef-off” (please, word it differently) where they see who can do more reps as the weight increases on a bunch of different machines/equipment.

They each win/lose a couple areas, but when they get to the final zone—the bench press, Natasha stands unnecessarily close to the R’s head (to spot her obvi) as she lifts the weighted bar (easy peasy normally), but seeing Nat’s sweaty physique (like drops down her abs), and smelling her 🫣 cause the R to falter in her reps, nearly dropping the bar on herself, but Nat (knowing lil shit) feigns concern, helping her to re-rack, then the tension just kinda explodes.

Please, and many Thank You’s if you find this interesting. 🙏🏼 🥰

AN: I will not word it differently, anon, you filthy genius lmao.

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

"A what?” you say, wondering if you heard her correctly.

“A beef-off!” Natasha explains, with a concerning amount of seriousness.

“What the hell is a beef-off?”

“It’s...It’s a competition of...to see who’s...” Natasha struggles to explain herself. “Anyway, we’ll just go around the gym and see who can lift the heaviest weight on each machine.”

You snort, flexing your arms, which you’re pretty sure have a few inches on Natasha’s. “What do I get when I win?”

“Who says you’re going to win?” Natasha responds, trying to knock you down a peg. While you were extremely proud of your own physique, you would be lying if you said Natasha didn’t have a comparable one. Her legs were much thicker than yours and her butt was perfectly round (and one body part she had caught you staring at more than once). 

Sometimes, you weren’t sure if you had a crush on Natasha, because as much as you wanted to be her, you also wanted to be with her. Or on her. Or under her. It didn’t really make a difference to you.

“Of course I’m going to win,” you say, pumping yourself up with confidence. “I’m in here six days a week, baby.”

“And I’m here seven,” she shoots back.

“Ever heard of a rest day?”

“It’s a full-time job, sweetie,” Natasha says, and you glare at her as she leads you first to the squat rack. You feel your confidence sway; you already know that Natasha works out her legs almost twice as much as you do, and she could probably complete a whole set using your one-rep max.

“I’ll go first,” you assert, reaching for the 45-pound plates and sliding several of them onto the left side of the bar. Natasha mirrors you on the other side.

“You know we’re doing squats, right?” she teases.

You glare at her but say nothing, going to stand under the center of the bar and pushing your shoulders into it. The weight is enormous, even balanced on the rack still, and you wait for Natasha to stand behind you, her chest practically brushing your back. She holds her arms out under yours and with a deep breath you push up on the barbell, taking the weight on your shoulders.

You bend your knees until they’ve made a 90-degree angle with the floor, Natasha lowering with you. Gravity helps you on the way down, and as you start to go back up, you’re grunting and panting and your entire body trembles. You feel complete relief when Natasha guides the barbell back to its rack and you step out from under it.

“Not bad,” Natasha says, clapping her hands mockingly slow. “But throw on a few more plates and I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

You roll your eyes, but Natasha insists you fill the end of the barbell until no more plates fit. The bar visibly sags when she goes to stand underneath it, and part of you doesn’t believe that she’ll be able to get it off the rack at all. 

But you stand behind her anyway, suddenly distracted with how her quads and butt flex when she lifts the weight like it’s made of cardboard. For a moment, you hope she needs help, not because it means you won, but because you’ll get to press yourself against her back, feel her muscles against yours, and--

You don’t even realize Natasha’s done with the rep until she’s turned around, staring at you with her arms crossed.

“I win,” she says.

“Huh? Oh. Fine. Whatever,” you grumble. “Pullups next,” you demand.

Both of you return the many plates to their rightful spots because you’re not heathens, then go to stand under the jungle gym-like bars of the pullup station.

“You can go first this time,” you offer, stepping back.

Natasha scoffs at you and jumps up to grab the bar. She’s wearing a sports bra, so her sculpted back muscles are on full display for you. You can’t take your eyes away as she raises and lowers herself with strict form, looking like the perfect human specimen.

“Twenty-eight,” she pants, dropping from the bar when her arms tremble so hard the entire structure shakes.

“Couldn’t even get to thirty?” you tease, swapping places with her and jumping up to catch the bar. You start pushing out repetitions with ease, too focused to notice Natasha’s eye lingering on your arms and butt. 

“Thirty-three,” you announce, your feet hitting the ground again. 

“Whatever.”

For the last exercise, you two head over to the bench press. You load up the barbell to your maximum weight and lie down. Natasha positions herself next to her head to spot you, but she’s standing closer than the average spotter would and the junction of her legs hovers literally inches over your face.

You try to ignore her proximity, until you can smell her arousal and then you gulp, staring straight up at the bar and ignoring Natasha smirk down at you. It feels like she’s the only thing you can see, in her sweaty, muscular glory, and it makes your stomach clench. You take the bar, pumping yourself up with a few deep breaths, before lifting it off the rack. 

Even though the weight tests you a little bit, it’s nothing compared to the distraction Natasha is. You see a single drop of sweat roll down the center line of her abs and your breath catches in your throat. 

You don’t even remember putting the bar back, or going into the locker room, but suddenly Natasha is ripping your clothes off and then hers, pushing her naked chest against your front and slamming your mouths together.

There is no exchange of words or feelings as you grope Natasha aggressively, desperate to feel every inch of her flexing muscles under your hands. She seems to feel the same, holding onto your bicep while her other hand presses flat against your rippling stomach to shove you into the lockers.

The two of you are almost the same size (you do have an inch of height on her though), but there is a clear fight for dominance now. Natasha shoves her knee between your legs to rub her thigh against your soaking center, and when she makes contact, all thoughts leave your mind and you feel like you can’t even breathe.

“Oh, fuck Nat,” you pant, trying to regain control by grabbing onto her arms and pushing her back. 

“What’s wrong?” Natasha smirks, fighting to keep her leg between yours.

“Wouldn’t you rather taste me?” you ask.

“I wouldn’t say no.” She drops to her knees, but you stop her again.

“While I get to taste you,” you say. Natasha tilts her head, not quite understanding. “Stand up,” you demand, and she does. You twist your torso to wrap your muscular arms around her waist, then lift her off the ground and untwist yourself so that you can spin her upside-down. Natasha understands the idea immediately and circles her own arms around your waist, bringing her face directly to your center. Her legs lock around your head, literally pulling you in to her own pussy and you’re basically smothered by her wetness.

You lean back into the lockers, your thighs trembling as Natasha’s mouth latches onto your core. The smell of her arousal overtakes your senses and you push your face into her wetness, trying your hardest to focus (and also not drop her). Your forearms are tight around her back and her nails carve half-moon shapes into your thighs. 

Her taste is warm and salty as it spills into your mouth. When you find and suck on her clit, she returns the favor and she slips in your arms as they nearly give out. You know all the blood is rushing to Natasha’s head, so she won’t want to be upside-down for much longer, so you push your tongue deeper into her, her walls milking you desperately. Your own center pulses and throbs harder as Natasha’s mouth works on you, and your legs tremble as you near your release.

By some miracle, you both cum nearly at the same time, Natasha’s taste flowing over your tongue and dripping down your chin, as you fill her mouth with yours. Your arms cramp as you unfold them and twist Natasha right-side up, setting her on the ground and panting from exertion.

Natasha grabs onto your shoulders, pulling you down the inch-difference and kissing you, so your tastes mingle in each other’s mouths. You’re light-headed when she finally lets you go, but she takes your hand and drags you over to the showers for a second round.

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

AN: PLEASE DO NOT RECREATE THIS. THANK YOU.

Click here for Part 2 (with GP!Reader).

Like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content.

[herofics]

Hiii! First off your writing is amazing!! I was wondering if I could request a Gojo x Fem reader body swap fic? If not that’s totally alright but you’re super talented!

A/N: Thank you very much! I decided to do HCs for this, since I can fit more stuff into it that way without it getting suuuuuper long. This is specifically fem!reader, because of the whole body swap thing is funnier when so much changes

•You and Gojo have both seen some weird cursed techniques but WTF is this?

•The two of you got ambushed while out on the town and when you woke up, you both felt very odd

•Gojo woke up first and when he looked around he saw himself laying on the ground

•You woke up like two seconds later and watched yourself getting up from the ground

•You were both pretty freaked out, but Gojo took charge of the situation, or at least he really tried to

•You’re both not thrilled about the situation, and you feel very vulnerable, because neither of you can use the other’s cursed technique properly

•You were both having trouble with your new body proportions, like holy hell you feel like you’re so high up, because of how much taller Gojo is than you

•Also damn, you now have incredibly long arms and legs, which feel very weird

•Your body has a lower center of gravity than Gojo’s so that’s also an adjustment

•Gojo calls for someone to come get you and take you back to Jujutsu High

•You hit your head while getting in the car, which made Gojo laugh

•It’s very odd to hear your own laugh, and see your own body laugh, while you’re stuck in the body of some giant man

•You of course have a Gojo’s cursed technique too, which you are not adapted to

•Gojo is of course worried, because his six eyes can be a real pain in the ass

•Like his eyes are super sensitive and he gets migraines because of that very easily

•So for you, who is not used to them, it’s basically hell a lot of the time

•While Gojo is worried for you, he is also enjoying his migraine free life in your body

•But oh boy, he doesn’t get to enjoy it for long

•Your period starts, and Gojo is not happy that he has to experience that

•You find it kind of humorous, because now you’re both suffering, and now he gets to experience periods

•You have some pretty horrible period cramps sometimes and Gojo is basically acting as if he’s dying

•He’s just laying in bed and complaining, asking how the hell you can even function when it hurts this bad

•You’re like “I don’t really have a choice, do I? Besides, it’s not even that bad”

•He promises to never complain to you again if you don’t want to do something like clean or cook, when you’re on your period

•And he promises to get you all the ice cream you want

•He’s very much a baby about it, and you’re both laying in bed, him with period cramps and you with a killer headache

•You and Gojo are both kind of on house arrest, because neither of you can use the other’s cursed technique, at least not properly, so you’re both pretty much useless

•Gojo’s height is a bit of an annoyance, since you’re definitely not used to it

•Gojo on the other hand is annoyed that he can’t reach the top shelf in your body

•You’re enjoying walking around in just sweatpants in Gojo’s body, it feels oddly freeing

•Gojo is also walking around topless, because that’s what he would do if he was in his own body

•It’s a bit weird to see yourself just walking around in shorts and nothing else

•Of course you might also do that when you’re alone at home, or when only Gojo is around, but it’s still odd to see

•You have to frantically remind him to put on a shirt before opening the door

•The whole thing lasts for about two weeks, and after that you wake up in your own bodies one morning

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You meet an old friend of your professor’s, you learn some things about yourself. Tomorrow is going to suck.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley was born in the South. Shitty little town on the cusp of North Carolina and Tennessee. He doesn’t remember much about it other than his neighbors shooting at tin cans in the morning and his cousin Lucas, four years older than him so maybe eight at this time, teaching him how to catch lightning bugs. After that, after his dad hadn’t returned from what was supposed to be just a six month deployment, they went back West.

He remembers California. His grandmother’s mid-century three bedroom with two orange trees and a lemon tree in the yard. His cousin Jessica, only two years his senior but twice his size back then, pinning him down on that almost artificially green grass and squeezing lemon juice on his grazed knee. He remembers learning to ride his bike alone at that house, out of pure spite after watching a kid on his baseball team learn the skill with his father on a sunny day at the park down the street.

He remembers being so angry in that house. He hated Jessica, he hated that his Mom let his grandmother parent him. He enjoyed the citrus, and the sun, and the freedom to ride his bike as far as his legs would let him. His mother hadn’t been super attentive back then. She was angry too. But never with him. When she could manage to look him in the eyes, she would stare for so long, and remind him how much she loved him. It didn’t happen too frequently in that house.

After his grandmother’s house, then there was Phoenix. His first big city. He spent a stretch there from middle school until the end of his freshman year. He did okay there, but he hated the desert. He loved the person that his mother was while she was there. Working again for the first time since she had been pregnant with him, it felt like she had been reborn. He had missed her so much until they had gotten to Phoenix. It was there that he had found out what had really happened to his father.

Engine failure. Freak accident. Nothing ever found to bury. It hadn’t felt like the closure he had wanted, but it was something. He was grateful for the answer nonetheless. He started to resent his father a little less, now knowing that it wasn’t his fault. At this age, Bradley had wanted to write draw for comics when he got older.

By eighteen, he didn’t recognise anything about that short kid that stuck to his mother’s shadow in Phoenix. By eighteen, he had grown a foot and a half, he’d lost his mother and he was back in that fucking mid-century with the lemon trees. Only for a month, and then he was at basic training. His early twenties belonged to the government, and after that — after he was out, it all belonged to Natasha.

“Natasha.”

“Bradley,” She beams, her arms extended as she walks confidently towards him and drapes them around his shoulders. He hugs her and turns his head. She smells so much more expensive now than she had that first summer. He misses when the backseat of his car smelled like her, solely her. “You look so great. I’m so happy to see you.”

It’s unclear whether this is true. He never really knows where he stands with her. They should hate each other after everything that’s happened, everything they did. But, nonetheless, his arms still fit just as securely around her waist as they had almost a decade ago. It still feels so right. But it would be wrong for him to tell her that he’s missed her.

He has — he misses her constantly. But not her, not this woman that’s in his arms now. The girl from the beach who kissed the scar on his shoulder and told him that he didn’t have to keep on making himself so miserable. God, he misses her.

“Your hair is shorter.” He says it without thinking as she lets him go. Shit, this was what they had argued about last time. He always does this. He reaches out, taking the dark locks between his fingertips and exhaling. “I like it. It looks grown up.”

It’s not untrue. He likes the style, and it does look grown up. It’s just not what he wants of her. Not that Natasha has ever cared about that, and he still adores that about her now.

Classier now than she had been then, she gives him a polite smile and a curt nod rather than calling him an asskisser and smacking his chest. Her lips aren’t glossed, they aren’t matte, they sit somewhere between in a perfect shade of burnt rose. They quirk softly at him as she studies the same face she knew so well.

“Where are your students?” She asks him.

For the most part, his students are already headed downstairs, dressed and beyond curious about this party that Bradley was talking about. It hadn’t been on the itinerary and they’re excited that Bradley wants to introduce them to his friends.

There’s just one of his students that, as usual, isn’t following the crowd. You’re sitting on your twin bed, tapping your foot anxiously against the carpet as Malcolm chats along on the other side.

This room is less dusty. A twin bed with blue striped sheets and your suitcase at the foot of it. The window wide open, Robin’s palms had spent the afternoon braced against the wooden framed window as she leaned her top half all the way out of it to look outside. It’s sunnier here than Turin. Cleaner too. It feels infinitely further from home, somehow.

Hearing his voice should be calming you down but if you have to listen to one more detail about how his golf season is going then you might just start gnawing on your nails again. A habit your mother had trained out of you early on. One of many.

“And then that idiot snapped the driver clean in half! — Titanium my ass, those things were costume jewellery in club form.” Malcolm rattles away.

You hate golf. The sport itself is tedious and you’ve grown to associate it with being lectured by your father. Sitting in the buggy with a good book or a friend with good gossip though — that’s a sport you’re willing to invest your time into.

“So, I tell him—“

There’s only so much of this story that you can bring yourself to listen to, truly. It’s rare that you interrupt him. Your mother wouldn’t dare interrupt her husband, but your husband-to-be is nicer than hers. Your life won’t be like hers.

“I’m really nervous about this party, Mac.”

You’ve had this conversation before. Back in December. You’re only reminded of it because he laughs, just like he had back than.

“Honey, you’re going to have a great time. I know it.”

God, you’d gotten so wasted that night. You don’t even remember getting home. It was someone’s birthday, maybe Miranda’s. With limited drinking experience, a new dress and surging confidence, you’d had high hopes for the night.

You had woken up alone and in your childhood bedroom, and Malcom hadn’t returned your calls for three days. Reassurance from him now doesn’t exactly make you feel much better.

“You there?” He prompts.

“Yes.”

“Honey,” His voice is so warm, fond and almost teasing. You can see his smile behind your eyelids, imagine him reaching out and stroking your jaw with the tip of his index finger. “You’re alone there, right?”

Brows knitting closer together for a moment, you glance around you. Robin left a while ago. You’re definitely alone.

“Yes…?”

“When we’re on our honeymoon, and we’re laying in bed together — I’m going to want to hear all about my new wife’s wild life before she was all mine, alright?” He tells you, and suddenly there it is. The comfort that you were looking for. You close your eyes and his voice envelops you like a hug. “Go out there and make some memories. I love you.”

Savouring his voice like the last bite of a rich cake, you take a few moments and exhale softly.

“I love you too.” You tell him. The longing in your voice translates, crossing the Atlantic without issue. You smooth your dress out across your knees. “Now stop thinking about our honeymoon, we’ve got to make it to the wedding first.”

“Well, if you’d like me to think about our wedding night then—“

“Malcolm, you animal.” You scoff, and he grins in response, offering a breathy chuckle. Both of you know he’s not half as bad as he could be. You’ve seen his friends. The kind of misinformed animals who grope at their girlfriends chests and drool over their backsides — you’d never marry anyone who thought like that. “I should go. I’ll call tomorrow.”

You’re not walking with any kind of urgency after the phone call. You know the time, you’ve just got no real desire to be there. Glossed wood under your fingertips, carefully crafted molding bracketing the ceiling, the floors hardwood and dressed with neat, cream coloured runners.

This place is somewhere you would actually consider staying. A long shot from the dingy hotel back in Turin, this place seems a little out of Bradley’s trip budget. The cream runner is plush enough to pillow the sound of your footsteps, allowing you to pass along the halls almost silently.

Silently enough that you’re able to round a corner and bump almost right into a woman exiting a double-doored suite. You adjust yourself quickly to stop yourself from actually hitting into her, taking a few steps back, blinking as you take in the stunning white of her dress.

It has a deep drape in the middle, revealing deep olive skin, and ends just above the knee, revealing toned long legs. She’s not that tall, just slender enough that she seems longer. Stunning in a way that renders you quiet for a moment.

“Sorry! Didn’t hear you coming, you’re like a little mouse.” She’s smiling at you, and she’s American. Your lips press together into a polite smile.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

Dark brown eyes feel heavy as they start at your heels, powder blue sandal things, then trail your calves, examine the skirt of your dress and take their time roaming upwards. You’ve been looked at like this before, but never by a woman. You squirm under her gaze and force yourself still.

She’s stoic, poised — so classy. You envy her immediately, wondering if her mother was as cruel as yours could be, if it all paid off and that’s why she’s like this now. She doesn’t move and so you don’t either. You mirror her unintentionally. Lips pursed into a soft, polite smile, shoulders squared and spine straight.

“You’re one of Bradley’s students.” She tells you. Not a question by any measure, just an acknowledgment. She doesn’t give you time to answer either. She just tells you your name, then watches the way your face changes to discontentment. “He told me about you.”

If this is supposed to please you, it doesn’t. You know that whatever he has said won’t have been kind. It wasn’t. And yet, Natasha’s smiling at you anyway.

“Walk with me.” It’s an instruction by anyone’s measure, and you comply easily. She’s impressed, but not surprised. She had known from her conversation with Bradley that he must have pissed you off pretty well for you to have lashed out and hit him this morning. Well-reared young ladies aren’t known for socking guys in the nuts.

You’re quiet, pliant — seemingly waiting for some kind of approval from her. She knows that she looks different from Bradley now, that they don’t look like they could have ever loved each other. She wonders if you wrote Bradley off the first time that you looked at him. She wouldn’t blame you if you had; she had too.

He hasn’t ever dressed his age. When she knew him he was primarily shirtless, rarely wearing shoes, usually covered in sand. Some kind of sun kissed, sea-salted teenager who was actually twenty-four. Now that he’s an adult, he still doesn’t dress like an Ivy League professor should.

Bradley hates being told that first impressions matter the most. He thinks it’s bullshit. Every woman who has ever fallen in love with him hadn’t liked him at first glance. Maybe that’s why he’s so laid-back, so aloof.

“He’ll grow on you,” Natasha decides, shoulders straight and her chin pointed in front of her, her hair glossy and falling behind her shoulders. You know immediately that she’s talking about Bradley, you’re just uncertain as to why. She glances across and looks you over once more. “You’ll get used to him, rather. He won’t always be so annoying.”

“How do you two know each other?”

Natasha smiles. Looks across at you, lips quirked like there’s some kind of inside joke on her lips that you aren’t privy to. “Just old friends.”

“Do you work in history too?”

“Don’t call Bradley’s class history,” She corrects you quickly, still smiling. “But, no, actually. My husband and I are in the hotel business. I hear you’re getting married too.”

This brings you to a complete stop. Natasha can see the confusion on your face, standing there and wondering why you could have possibly been the topic of conversation long enough for her to know this.

“Anyway, did he tell you about the trip out to the other side of the lake tomorrow?” And with that, she’s done sharing — and you just have to live with that. It’s a kind of conversational power that you strive to have. You want what she has. Or, in this moment, you believe you do.

She leads you in, but you quickly lose her at the party. It’s hers. You notice this first when you catch glimpses of her shaking hands, like everyone in this room’s just waiting to meet her. Then, you see her picture hung behind the bar. Her and a handsome man with dark hair, their arms around each other and beaming, pictured standing out front.

This place belongs to her and her husband. She must be pretty fond of Bradley to let him come back year after year. You think that now, but you’ll grow to know that that’s not true. She hates him in a way she hopes you’ll never know.

It’s tough, being at a party so similar to the ones you’re used to, and being stuck with people that you truly wouldn’t rescue from a burning building. You sit opposite for a while too long, listening to their boring chatter, sipping on a glass of wine — just the one — you don’t want Natasha to think you’re sloppy.

Then, you make the mistake of speaking up. Just a comment, you barely remember it was, but Robin decides that it was dull. And then, she turns her attention to you.

“Y’know, I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you and Ashworth are getting down and dirty,” She leans back against Luke’s chest and swings her legs across his. He leans in and mumbles something, maybe for her to ease up on you. “I just can’t imagine you…”

Robin trails, then cocks her head like a spaniel. You try to straighten out whatever hurt expression must have given you away, but it’s too late. This was a bad idea, you should be halfway across the room, stuck to Pasquale’s side like a scared child.

She sits up quickly, eyes blowing wide open in excitement, “Holy shit — you’ve never fucked him!”

Quickly, the group acts in unison — a sharp look in her direction, and then their heads whip in your direction. The silence lasts seconds, too long, strange amongst the bustle of the party.

Exactly as fast, you’re sitting there, cursing your father’s name. Surely no grade is worth this ridicule.

Robin leans forwards, lips quirking up into a dimpled grin, “Have you ever fucked anybody?”

“Oh, grow up.” You bite back. They watch as you throw yourself upwards and storm away from them. Their laughter comes in whoops from behind you, you walk as far and as fast as you can until it finally drowns under the music. Out of the events hall, down one of those long, carpted hallways and into double glass doors.

You push at their wood frames and let them clatter shut behind you, stepping out into the fresh, evening air. There’s a chill to it that’s even more sobering than being made fun of by your peers. You cross to the stone railing of the balcony, bracing your palms against it and letting out a deep breath.

Ridiculous, really. That if you’d just laid back and parted your legs for the man you love, or even some loser that may have come before, they think that you would be different somehow. Fucking ridiculous. That she thinks encountering the male form makes her any different from you. You know intimacy. You’ve seen the man that you love cry, you’ve seen him delighted and you know his fear.

All she knows is physicality. That’s the easy part. She knows nothing like the things you know.

Movement in your peripheral breaks you from your grumpy stream of consciousness, making you lift your head and making you privy to a secret that you have absolutely no business knowing.

Bradley and Natasha stand on the balcony opposite you. There are four, bracketing the courtyard below. It’s not well lit out here, but not dark either. You can see them well, illuminated through the glass panes by the hallway light inside.

His hand’s on the back of her thigh, nudging her dress up ever so slightly. It’s not doing anything too incriminating, but for some reason, your brain fills in the blanks for you. You can picture it so clearly. His hand disappearing under that dress, her slender frame fitted against his broader one. Them, together.

Her plump, reddened lips parted and breathing his name. His brows knitted together, cheeks flushed and his skin hot, blushing and stretched taut across his muscles.

Briefly, your brain reminds you of where you are, and who this is — and what you’re seeing, and you almost move. Like cement has dried around your ankles, you’re stuck there, half perched behind a stone pillar, eyes trained in on the view seriously.

You think of her husband. You think of yours. You could never betray Malcolm like this. The elegant, intelligent woman from the hallway earlier fades in your mind like red wine splattered on a white rug. She’s not who you thought she was. He’s exactly as awful as you’d hoped he would be.

Just wait until the Dean hears what Bradley gets up to on these trips.

His other hand abandons her hip, coming up to clasp firmly around the nape of her neck. There’s a sharp, strong tug and she’s closer, his tongue is in her mouth and she hums against his lips.

You’re so caught up in him for a moment that your eyes almost forget to follow the movement. You’ve thought about this before. How Malcolm would touch you. If he would be gentlemanly and slow, or brash and sudden. If his fingers would sprawl the length of your nape like Bradley’s do hers, extending up into her dark roots and curling deeply into a fist.

Finally, you blink and catch the movement. Her manicured, slim fingers trailing downwards along the blue striped shirt covering his stomach, onto the khaki of his shorts. Her fingers extend and curl too, and suddenly you’re much more of a voyeur than you had intended to be. She squeezes her hand around the length of his manhood and you instinctively take a step back.

And yet — you can’t look away. It’s shameful to realise that you’re more intrigued by what’s before you than you had thought you would be.

All of those deep kisses, crawling into Malcolm’s lap, letting his hands explore under your shirt — nothing has felt quite as scandalous as this. Your eyes are fixated on her hand, on the outline through his shorts and the groan that she draws from his throat.

It moves forwards like a routine, he presses her backwards into the wall and pushes his hips forwards into her palm. As this happens, as her back touches the stone, they’re interrupted. Abruptly, enough fo make them pull away like they’ve been shocked by static. Not by you.

Abigail twists the handle on their side and swings the door open, flushed and stumbling. You had been looking right that way and hadn’t even noticed her rushing down the hall. “Bradley!”

Bradley turns and looks at her quickly, putting some distance between himself and Natasha. The moment has passed and been forgotten, both of them appear to be watching Abigail at first, concern coating their warmed features.

“Zoey’s throwing up.” She hiccups at the end and wobbles. Bradley takes a moment to just stare. Each year he regrets not making this a seniors only opportunity, and winds up dealing with some nineteen year old who got fucked up on cheap wine.

The vein in his throat strains. Perhaps embarrassment, from almost being caught. Shame, from kissing the girl he has tried to stay away from for almost a decade now. Frustration, from how badly he had wanted to go further.

The chill has disappeared now. You’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. You’re glad that you don’t flush the way that he does, or you’d be given away. Eyes on you, it’s a distinct feeling — especially when that person is staring. If your skin flushed half as much as Bradley’s does, Natasha would know just how badly you had wanted to keep watching.

Curiosity, you tell yourself. It’s just something new, exciting. It’s not the way his hands flexed in her hair, the way his jaw ticks now as he tries not to look at her again.

Natasha stares across at you, standing still, almost as statuesque as the pillar beside you. She knows that you just saw that entire thing. She glances across at Bradley, and finds that your eyes have widened when she looks back at you again. Her reddened lips quirk as Bradley rushes away from her, amused by you and the scared little look on your face. You think she’s going to tell him that you were watching.

Then, you straighten out your features and lean your palms forwards, calm. You’re going to tell her husband. Her smile just grows. You’re so much like her.

Bradley spends his evening arguing with one of Natasha’s employees about the cleaning fee for the stained carpet, and routinely checking on Zoey to make sure she’s sobering up.

Natasha’s on his mind the entire time. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over it. He’s still so angry with her. He feels it in the way that she kisses that she’s still pissed off at him too.

By the time he’s headed to bed, it’s almost three, and his mood is plummeting. His hand curls around the handle and he pushes the door to his room open, freezing in the doorway.

“Luke! God fucking damnit!”

Luke scrambles, knees slipping against the sheets as he tries to cover both himself and Robin. He’s over her, they’re both clearly naked — Bradley has already turned his head away, trying not to scream.

“Shit, I — I waited til 2am, and you hadn’t come back to I figured—“

Bradley doesn’t give him a chance to finish, slamming the wooden door shut again. He stands there in the hall, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, trying not to lose his shit.

Natasha’s probably wrapped up in her husband’s arms, secure in the knowledge that she made the right decision — that Bradley wasn’t ever going to give her this.

He glances from one end of the hall to the other, his gaze landing on the room next door. Pulling the master key Natasha graced him with, on the condition that he wouldn’t abuse his power, from his pocket, he turns and lets himself into your room.

You bolt upright in bed. It’s dark, so really he can only see your silhouette. He waves you off and closes the door behind him. It’s not like you don’t know what’s going on next door, you’ve heard every squeak of the mattress for the past twenty minutes.

“Don’t say a damn word, Mrs. Ashworth. I’m going to sleep, and in the morning, every single one of you owes me an apology.”

“You can’t just—“

He stops walking and even through the dark, you can feel the seriousness in his stare. He unbuttons his shirt and kicks off his shoes, then slips into the other twin bed.

Silent, laying on your back, you allow yourself one glance over at him. His bare shoulders, chest, extended from the blankets. He’s still wearing his shorts. You swallow softly, thinking about Natasha’s hands on him earlier, the way he’d pushed so eagerly into his touch.

“Stop staring at me.” Bradley tells you sternly.

“I wasn’t!” You bite back, turning sharply away from him and pulling your covers up to your ears. The second that your eyes are closed, all you can see is his hand inching up under her dress once again. You sigh. “It’s not my fault that Luke’s getting laid and you’re not.”

Bradley doesn’t answer.

…

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