#please take the last part light heartedly

[dira333]

The Gremlin or how to get over yourself - Suna x Reader (Angst to fluff)

A/N: I moved my writing schedule to write only on weekends. Things will take a lot more time but my health will be better off. Please enjoy this Suna Fic, it's my first time writing for him.

Words: 7,1k - tagging @emmyrosee because she loves Suna

It’s seven p.m. on a Thursday night when Suna’s phone rings, Keeping up with the Kardashians is playing on low volume as he swallows the rest of his Chuupet, a necessary entree prepping his stomach lining for the slightly burnt Rice he’s having for Dinner.

Samu’s curt in his greeting, kitchen noise in the background as usual.

“The Gremlin’s having a week off.” He says. “I’m not supposed to ask, but do you still own that pull-out couch?”

The Gremlin. He hasn’t heard that name in months.

Suna’s the one who came up with it, a silly joke that slipped out at an unfortunate time.

-

“That’s our sister,” Tsumu comments on the high-pitched wailing coming from the kitchen. “Just ignore her.”

“She’s not that bad.” Samu tries. “Just don’t look at her too long.”

The wailing stops abruptly, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone snuffling loudly.

“Samu? Tsumu? Are you home?”

Red-rimmed eyes peer into the hallway, silver braces glinting in the dim light. Your hair’s a mess that might have been pigtails sometime before. 

“You look like a gremlin.” Suna points out. He half expects you to cry again. Instead, you kick him in the balls.

-

“Uh, sure.” He manages to pull himself out of the memory, the pain still fresh in his mind even if it’s been years. “She could just ask herself, she’s got my number.”

“Ah,” Osamu chuckles half-heartedly. “I didn’t like her last boyfriend. She’s still mad about that.”

“Boyfriend?” He hears himself ask, mind going a little frayed trying to picture you with a boyfriend. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know him, but he was Nekoma’s Captain when we went to Nationals? Black hair that made him look like a Rooster?”

A chill runs down his back. “You let your sister date Kuroo Tetsuro?”

“Hey now, it’s not like I got anything to say in that matter. You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I do-” He mumbles, mind already drifting back.

-

“Why would I do that?” Gremlin asks, nose pointed to the sky. The braces look almost cute on you when you smile like that, a little arrogant and so very pleased with yourself. The new set of pimples across your nose ruins the look a little bit, but there are more important things to think about.

“Come on.” Tsumu whines. “It would be so funny! You just have to ask him out on a date.”

“Nah.” You blow a bubble with your chewing gum, clearly feeling very important. It’s rare that your brothers ask you for help and you like to lord your power over them. 

“If you do it, I’ll ask Kita-san to let you train with us for one day.”

Your eyes light up at the prospect, even as both Samu and Tsumu groan in annoyance. The girl's Volleyball Club isn’t to be messed with, but you’re as competitive as your brothers. There’s a long-standing battle of who’s best and you’ve gotten better since you got into High School, yearning to show off.

He can’t quite understand why, but he respects it. You’re one of the youngest in your Class, born on the last possible day to make it into one school year below your brothers. Maybe it’s because you’re born prematurely. Tsumu calls it your obsessive need to be part of absolutely everything, Suna thinks you’re obsessed with proving yourself. 

“Fine.” You huff. “So I ask the Basketball Captain on a date and then I just stand him up?”

“Yeah!” Tsumu nods eagerly, Samu a little preoccupied with his Bento. “I’ll even toss to you during training if he accepts.”

Midorima-san does not accept your confession. But Suna gets to be there, phone ready, when you kick him in the balls. Midorima-san screams like a little girl.

-

“Anyways.” Samu pulls him out of his reverie again. “I’ll text Kita to let her know you’ll pick her up from the train station.”

“Hold up.” Suna puts his phone between his ear and shoulder, trying his darned best to save both his dinner and his last remaining brain cells. “Why do I have to pick her up and why can’t you just tell her yourself?”

“Dude, keep up. Mom would kill you if she knew the Gremlin had to take an Uber in a foreign city when you’re perfectly capable of picking her up. Who raised you?”

“True.” He huffs, wrinkles his nose at the perfectly burned rice on his plate. Oh well, Take-out it is. “And Kita?”

“I told you she’s still mad about that Kuroo thing. She could never say no to Kita.”

“True,” he repeats, an acid taste on his tongue. He used to hate that, how Mr. Perfect could make even you swoon, the Gremlin, the monster every boy at school secretly feared. 

“So, what did you do? That made her so mad?”

“Ask Tsumu about it, I have to work.” The call disconnects with a dissatisfying click and Suna grunts, orders Pizza, and calls Tsumu. He’s invested now.

-

Five days later he’s as well informed as he can be.

You’re arriving at exactly 5:24 p.m. and you broke up with Kuroo over both his workaholic tendencies and a job offer too good to decline.

Samu and Tsumu decided to throw a party at the news which didn’t go over well with you, even though you did decide to get drunk with them - Tsumu woke up with half his eyebrows shaved off and Samu still misses a box of his favorite cookies that he swears you took.

You like Tamagoyaki for breakfast and you’re here to decide between three different offers for three different teams, all Division 1 of Japan’s V.League. You’re a Libero now and a pretty good one too.

-

“Why are you crying?” He asks, offering you a Chuupet. You like the pineapple flavor best and that works out okay because it’s his least favorite flavor. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and stare down the roof. He can hear Tsumu somewhere below them, yelling some curse words into the wind. He’s probably fighting with Samu right now.

“Did you get asked out by someone ugly?” He asks, taking a seat opposite to you. “Do I have to beat someone up?” 

“Kita-san is leaving after this year.” You point out. It’s a fact and you don’t sound too upset about it, yet it feels like you’ve dropped red-hot coals into his stomach, the acid bubbling from the heat.

“Uhuh.” 

You pull your knees up and he averts his eyes, lest someone accuses him of looking up your skirt. It’s not his fault you never seem to remember that you’re not wearing shorts.

“Kita-san told me that Tsumu’s going to be Captain next year.” You mumble into your arms. “And he asked me what my plans are.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think?” Your voice is sharp now, the usual sting of your words a welcome sensation. This is the you he knows well, unbothered if your truth makes others uncomfortable.

He leans back as far as he can, lets his eyes rest on your shoulder, the smooth curve of your neck. You’ve grown a few inches since you came here and it suits you well. 

“You want to be better than Tsumu.”

You snort, hit his thigh with your fist. The touch lingers even when you take your hand back.

“Kita-san said I can never be better than Tsumu.”

Suna’s never moved this fast before. His head almost knocks into yours.

“He didn’t!” His voice is almost shrill, his chest tight with a weird sensation. You seem calm, brows arched.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” You tell him, too calm. You’re the most dangerous when you’re calm. “I’ll never be an Original. Tsumu will keep playing, Samu won’t. If I keep playing, I’ll be just like Tsumu. If I decide to do something else, no matter what, I’ll be just like Samu. It just sucks so much!”

“Be a Libero then.” It’s a slip of his tongue, nothing more. But your eyes are big and bright and he wants to forget the way you looked before, desperate and desolate, so he keeps talking.

“You’re tall for a Libero. You’re average for a Setter. You’ll always be at the back of the Court and always wear a different shirt. Tsumu’s receiving sucks anyway. You’ll never be Captain, so you’ll never have to argue with him who’s been better at that. You can keep playing Volleyball and do your own twist of it.” He shrugs. “Just… Just an idea. I mean, you can do what you want. It’ll always be original. You’re the Gremlin after all.”

He forgets how to breathe when you pull him into a sudden hug. You’ve never been one for cuddling, never been into touch that doesn’t lend itself to violence.

But it’s nice, how you fit right in his arms, like you’d grown just for that purpose.

-

“Suna!” It seems that he might have been able to forget quite some things, but not your voice.

“I’m here!” He lazily raises his arm, counting on his height. There are too many people on the platform right now, the bustle making it hard to spot you.

But then you step out from behind a gaggle of businessmen and his mouth runs dry.

It should be illegal to wear shorts this… well, short. Your legs are way too long to be real. You could probably break a watermelon between your thighs. Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Hey Stranger!” You greet him with a grin. Where you used to have braces is now a perfectly white set of teeth in a perfectly formed mouth. Oh, wait, no, there’s the dimple and the slight curve to the right. He feels a little faint and curses the fact he’s not had dinner yet.

“Hey.” Should he move to hug you? Offer his hand? Slap you on the back?

You take that decision from him, knock your left knee into his right like you used to do back in High School. “What’s up with you? Did you forget how to talk?”

“No, I’m fine. Just tired. How was the train ride?”

“Long. Boring. Are you hungry? Can we go eat before we drop off my stuff or do you have a ‘No girl stuff in my car’-rule like Tsumu?”

“Tsumu’s still single then?” He asks, directing you toward the exit. “Both’s fine with me. We can order take-out. What are you in the mood for?”

“You eat take-out? How shameful.” You wrinkle your nose at him in mock disgust. Would it be weird if he leaned in and bit into it, dug his teeth into your skin? Probably.

“You gonna rat me out to Samu?”

“Probably.”

“I’m letting you stay in my apartment.”

“I said probably. My Silence is expensive.”

“Hey, Suna!” A familiar voice yells over the crowd. He turns, surprised to see Komori.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nohr got a craving for that one Pork Belly Dish, so I drove over to get it for her. Is that your friend you mentioned? Hey, I’m Komori Motoya.” 

There’s that familiar tightness again, building up in his chest as he watches you chat with Komori. It’s Highschool all over again, how you swooned over Kita, had private discussions with Aran or the fact that you regularly went over to Ginjima’s place for some kind of secret meetings. 

It’s not that he dislikes you having friends. Or that he hates the fact that his friends like you too. But he’s him and that’s Komori, the nicest guy that ever decided to play Volleyball. Well, at least Komori’s not single.

“Oh, hi Suna.”

“What are you doing here?” 

Washio furrows his brows at his less than friendly tone.

“Wow, I know I messed up a little today, but are you really still mad about my Block?”

Your eyes are on him too now and he swallows the bile down yet again.

“Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“When are you not?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. It still stings, but less so when you knock your knee against his again. “You’re both on his team then?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Miserable is our Middle Blocker. I’m the other Middle Blocker and Komori is our Libero.”

“Oh, a fellow Libero.” You grin easily. “I’m here to check out a few teams in the area. We could get together some day, maybe? When the Grump’s not so obviously hangry?”

Washio laughs. “Sure. Sunday works well for me. What do you think Komori?”

“I’ll talk to Nohr and let you know, but I think I’d be fine with Sunday.”

“Don’t I get asked too?” Suna grumbles and you elbow him. “Pork Belly?” You ask him instead, nodding at the take-out containers both Washio and Komori carry.

“Sure.” He agrees, because at least that will get him out of this conversation.

-

It’s almost time to go home and he’s still in possession of his second button.

Suna refuses to give it up and both Samu and Tsumu seem to think it’s hilarious.

“Hey.” In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, you weedle yourself under Tsumu’s left arm, press yourself into him as you peer up at Suna. “What are you guys doing after School?”

“Mom’s making Hot Pot!” Samu decares from your other side, finishing off the rest of the Yakisoba bread you had brought in as a present. You got all of them graduation presents. A book for Ginjima, new shoes for Tsumu - though you declared that you wanted his old ones - a mixed bag of Chuupets for Suna. All of the pineapple flavors have been taken out and while he should find it annoying, it’s a little too endearing to him.

“You’re invited, by the way.” Samu points out. “But Mom said it’s okay if you can’t come. Your parents probably planned something for you too.”

“Not sure.” He mumbles, fiddling with his second button. 

“Oh, we’re going soon, right?” Samu flings the wrapping paper of his bread into the waste basket at the door and pulls at Tsumu’s arm. “Come on, you still need to confess to that girl from the Crafts Club.”

“What?” Tsumu looks at him like he just declared he’d start playing Basketball from now on. “Yeah, come on.” Samu tugs again. “We’ll get back to you later.”

 And just like that, it’s the two of you, the air around you growing dense with unsaid things. 

“You still have your second button?” You ask, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” With one last tug, the string gives away and he holds it in his hands. The button’s not even that big, he thinks as he rolls it between sweaty fingers. Just a tiny thing made from plastic that holds so much meaning.

“Were you planning to give it to someone?” Your voice sounds weird. He can hear his pulse in his ears, way too loud and way too fast. He’s going back to Aichi in a few weeks, doesn’t know much about his future but the fact that he’s got into College there, will have to get into their College Volleyball team if he wants to make it Pro. And even then, nothing’s sure. Not if he’ll make it Pro, not if his team will win the important matches. He could be doomed to be average for the rest of his life, living from the memories he made right here, in those last three years.

When he looks up, you look different than before. 

You’ve got the Miya Gene of Stubbornness, and are the worst of all three when it comes to not letting go of your dreams. You’ve managed to turn around and beat everyone’s expectations in the last year alone, making it from an average setter to an extraordinary Libero. You almost won the Nationals last year and there’s word of it being a sure win the next time around.

It’s not a conscious decision, but it feels right. To open his mouth and say “No. I’m not giving it to anybody.” To fling that damned button out the window. 

Still. He’ll probably never forget the way your mouth curved at the sight, like you were trying to hold something inside that was trying to burst out of you. 

He misses your graduation because of a stubborn cold. He watches most of your matches until he gets so busy with training and College and just, life, that he falls off, little by little. 

Soon enough you’re nothing but a memory and he’s probably less in your head.

After all, you’re dating Kuroo Tetsuro and making a name for yourself, aren’t you?

-

His heart is a traitorous thing, it seems, but at least it calms down over Pork Belly. You’re eating on the Couch you’re going to sleep on later, your legs familiarly thrown over his. Keeping Up with the Kardashians plays on TV, but it’s basically background noise now as you talk, laugh, and wave your chopsticks around.

It’s like old times, hanging out at your house after school. Any second now, Samu’s going to come in from the kitchen with his second helping. He can almost hear Tsumu’s nagging voice in the background, telling you “Shut up! I didn’t sound like that.”

“Hey, Gremlin.” Your head snaps around at the nickname and his mouth runs dry.

“What?”

“‘s nothing.” You mumble into your dish. “Just not used to getting called that way again.”

“Oh.” He’s suddenly not hungry anymore but stuffs his mouth nonetheless to think of a comment.

“You want me to stop? It was a stupid nickname, really.”

“Nah.” You shake your head and dig your heels into his thighs. “It’s okay. I am a Gremlin.”

“You totally are. Like, you didn’t even bring me a present. Didn’t your Mum teach you about housewarming gifts?”

“I totally brought you a gift!” You jump up and pull something from your suitcase. He recognizes it by sound alone, the crinkling plastic wrap a tell-tale sign.

“You bought me Chuupets?” He laughs, his heart tightening when he realizes that you pulled all the pineapple flavors out. 

“Samu said you’re still eating them.” You point out, handing them over in a way that tells you this is just as awkward for you as it is for him.

“Course. What do you think of me? I don’t change like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“Okay.” He claps his hands on his thighs and sits up, grabs his phone from his pocket, and connects it with his TV. “History lesson. I’ll catch you up on what happened in the years since I graduated.”

“Oh wow, are you going to let me write a test on that too?”

“Only if you keep asking stupid questions.”

-

His alarm goes off way too early for the late night he’s had. 

You just kept swapping stories, drunk on nostalgia. 

The girlfriend he had in College, the most awkward affair of his life to date. “She was obsessed with my hair.” He spilled what he hadn’t even told Samu, “Cut off a few strands of it and kept it in her purse for personal reasons.”

How you got to play for the Tokyo Tigers and your awful first date ever with a guy who thought he could get free Onigiri through you. 

“Kicked him in the balls for that.” You said, grinning smugly. He couldn’t help the “That’s my girl,” that slipped out of his mouth. But you smiled like you agreed.

“Morning Gremlin.” He calls out as he moves toward the bathroom. Your head pops up, dried spit sticking to the side of your face, hair sticking out in odd angles.

“Bathroom’s mine.” You declare with something like a war cry. He’s got a headstart, but you still beat him there, your body trained by years of living with the twins. 

“What the f-” You kick him in the shins and slam the door in his face when he goes down. Long-forgotten memories of sleepovers resurface. What does it say about him that he’s still grinning when you step back out?

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, your hair less messy, your face void of spit. He focuses on your eyes because your sleep shirt is a little too revealing for this early hour.

“Nah, it’s good. I like being heckled right after getting out of bed.”

You snort. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten way better! I bet I’m better at cooking than you.”

“I’ll let you try.” The Challenge lights a familiar fire in your eyes. He’s going to have to come up with excuses to eat out if he doesn’t want to turn into a sore loser.

-

“Morning loverboy,” Komori greets him at training.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suna’s probably never been this diligent with his stretches before, but it’s a welcome distraction now.

“Nohr said she could do Sunday, by the way.” Komori’s not letting the topic go, however, and Suna can’t even blame his stubbornness. He’s grown up with Sakusa, after all. 

“Great.” If negative excitement is a thing, he’s projecting it right now.

Training goes smoothly, however, which he’s thankful for. 

It’s hard enough to deal with Komori’s excitement - he’s been trying to set up Suna since before he met Nohr, his enthusiasm only intensified by his own personal happiness - and Washio’s weird sense of humor on any day, but he doesn’t dare imagine what it would be like if he sucked. They’d probably tell him that he’s lovesick or something equally stupid.

“So, your girlfriend-” Washio starts when they gather for a quick break.

Suna barely avoids choking on the sip of water he’d just taken, can’t even be happy about narrowly avoiding death when a smug smile appears on Komori’s face.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” He points out hastily. “Remember the Miya-Twins? She’s their little sister.”

“Ouch.” Komori pulls a face. “That must have been a rough childhood.”

“So you’re not with her because they’d kill you if you’d try?” Washio asks and Suna’s glad his mouth is empty this time. 

“No, I’m not with her because I’m not with her. We’re just friends. She’s the Gremlin, okay?”

“The Gremlin?” Washio’s brows furrow in the same way they do when he thinks about Bokuto. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suna points at his shin, the darkening spot on his skin.

“She kicked me in the shins today because she wanted to use the bathroom first.”

“She’s a guest. Of course she should get to use the bathroom first.” Washio points out. Suna grunts in annoyance and turns to Komori.

“Don’t ask me for help there, I always let Nohr take the bathroom in the morning.”

“Yeah, because you’re whipped.”

“And you’re not?” Washio’s eyebrows are now doing the “Coach is saying something but I sense he means something else”-Dance.

“Weren’t you listening? She’s the Gremlin. There’s nothing there between us!”

“Good.” Washio puts his watter bottle down with a nod. There’s something there, maybe in the sound of plastic hitting the floor, or maybe it’s in his voice, but the knot in Suna’s stomach pulls taught to the point he’s afraid he might vomit any second. “That means I can ask her out.”

-

Suna’s good at what he does, because he’s not only observant but has a Poker Face to match it. He’s a strategist, plays the long game, all of those things.

So the fact that he did not see that coming from a mile away should scare him way more than the prospect of you dating Washio. 

Oh god, what if you date Washio and it works out? And you move here? And he has to see you every time they do teambuilding stuff like movie nights or Karaoke sessions? 

His mind races with a speed formerly unknown. His face is completely blank, at least he’s still got that going for him, but his mind is tormenting him with a terrible picture of you and Washio at the altar.

“I mean, you can ask her out, but I can’t tell you if you’ll have a shot with her or not. Remember Kuroo? They broke up recently.”

Washio nods slowly. He doesn’t know that “recently” is a very vague description. He’s not so sure about the timeframe himself, but it sounded like a few months have passed since that incident. Not that Washio has to know that.

“Can you give me her number?”

“Only if I want to get neutered in my sleep. But I’ll tell her you asked for it and offer her yours.”

Washio nods even slower and Komori’s face looks like he’s doing his best to hold back diarrhea. 

“Well, do that, and if she’s not into it, I can still ask her properly on Sunday. She’s staying till Wednesday, right?”

“Right.”

“All right Boys, get back into position.” Coach yells from behind them. Suna’s never been more glad to get back to training.

-

Suna spends Friday and Saturday evening sightseeing with you, which is in itself an exaggeration. He’s never been one for sightseeing like the typical tourist.

“Okay, stop. And don’t smile, this background is serious.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t look around - you’ve learned from your previous mistakes. When he flips his phone around, you can see yourself leaning against the railing of a footbridge, behind you the central landfill.

“The Gremlin in its natural habitat.” He teases. You punch his shoulder as hard as you can.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oh, come on,” He slings his arm around your shoulder. “You get to take one of me next. How about the mural with the poop emoji? Will that suffice?”

You lean your head back to look up at him and your face is so close now that your breath washes over his face. Your lips open and close as you speak, but there’s an odd noise in his ears. 

Pain erupts from his cheeks as you pinch and twist them.

“Ouch, what the f-”

“You were zoning out completely. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Oh, good call.” Suna turns away to regain his composure. “Take-out or do you want to actually sit and dine.”

“Or we could cook?”

He pulls a face. “Do we have to?”

You laugh. “I could teach you a few things. Mom wouldn’t let me leave for college without knowing how to feed myself. And Samu asks me to help him every chance he gets. Cheap labor, you know.”

“So you’re saying that your cooking is better than Takoyaki from a street vendor?” He points at the sign he’d noticed a few seconds ago. Your confidence falters. So it is still your favorite food…

“What if, and hear me out, we get Takoyaki, enjoy your weird little poop emoji mural, and drop into a Konbini on the way back. By the time we’re home, you’re going to be hungry again anyway.”

“I’m not Samu, I don’t eat that much.”

“No? Well, I do. And I’m your guest, so what I say goes.”

Suna laughs along, ignores the tingling that erupts whenever you knock your shoulder into his as you walk. It’s nice, to be like this with you. Relaxed, at ease, no dangerous thoughts rolling around in his brain.

-

It’s only when you’re pushing the shopping cart down the aisle that things change.

Your phone rings and you pull it out, frown at the display.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Can you pick up some more rice and vegetables? I only need five minutes.”

“Sure.” Suna keeps his face neutral as ever, but he’s seen the caller ID. It’s Kuroo.

“Hey Tetsurou, what’s up?” He can hear your voice as you walk away from him. You sound too friendly for a chat with your ex-boyfriend. He desperately wants to hear more, but he’s not a creep, so he pushes the shopping cart away from you, down another aisle. 

By the time his mind clears a little, he’s far far away from the produce aisle and staring at an assortment of Shochu. He picks up two bottles at random and drops them in the cart before making his way back to where he was supposed to be going.

-

Suna’s not sure what wakes him. 

He knows it’s a Sunday because his body, conditioned by years of training, tells him to stay in bed. His head feels a little fuzzy, telling him he drank too much last night, but it’s Sunday, so that doesn’t really matter anyway.

His blanket must have slid off during the night, so he pats around, eyes closed. What he finds instead is a face and his eyes snap open to dawny morning light and your annoyed grumbling.

His heart, usually a rather chill fellow, thrums in his throat. He’s frozen in place, his hand still somewhat cradling your cheek. His mind unhelpfully supplies him with the information that your cheeks are warm and soft, fit perfectly into the palm of his hand.

He tries his best to block out this information in favor of checking if he’s still wearing clothes.

He couldn’t… he wouldn’t… You blink and he goes completely still.

“Suna?” You ask. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

“I…” He manages before his voice gives out. 

This is both his biggest nightmare and his sweetest dream. If only he could convince himself that it’s not real, he could slip back into his dreams and consider it private. 

Something on his face must have tipped you off. This is worrying, because since when can others read his face?

You pull his hand from your face and slip out from under the covers. You’re wearing boxer shorts and a tank top, reasonably dressed for what he feared might have happened.

“You have not changed at all.” You say, your voice way too calm to be harmless. He’s not sure what he’s done, but he’s going to regret it.

“What do you mean?”

You stop at the door and level him with a look he’s only ever seen directed at people you never want to come across, ever again. This isn’t going well for him.

“You’re the king of mixed signals, Suna. And I’m sick of it. Make up your mind.”

“Where are you going?” He follows you, a little less balanced than you.

“Out.” You pull clothes over your sleepwear, drag your hair into something resembling a messy bun. “I need some fresh air.”

“Look, whatever happened-”

“I know.” Your voice is as hard as steel now. “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.” 

The door clicks shut behind you with a sound of finality.

-

You're still not back when Suna drags himself out of bed hours later.

His head hurts and his mouth is dry in a way that even three glasses of water cannot seem to fix. He calls you over the first cup of coffee, but you don’t pick up. 

Five unanswered calls and plenty of messages later he’s ready to call the police. Sure, you’re one to hold a grudge, but accidents happen.

The thought of you hurt on the side of the road, will not leave his mind. His hands shake as he moves through his contacts, his first instinct as always to call Kita. 

He doesn’t get that far, however. 

“Why are you calling?” He asks, his voice doing some weird thing he’s not exactly proud of.

“Your friend.” Washio’s voice is serious in a way he hasn’t heard before. “She’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a door closing. Suna can’t help but picture it. You’re probably on Washio’s Couch right now, the massive green beast he helped carry up the stairs a year ago. He’s probably made you a decent Lunch or a cup of coffee that does not burn away your stomach lining. You’ve probably told him everything already. Whatever. It’s not like he can fall any deeper in Washio’s eyes.

“Suna?” That’s Komori’s voice. It sounds like he’s on speaker phone now.

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather do this in person, but you’re both stubborn as hell. Everyone can tell that you like her.”

“I don’t-”

“Lying about has got you into this mess, you could be honest for once.” Komori’s voice stays the same, friendly and light as ever, even as his words pack a punch.

“It doesn’t matter.” Suna presses out. “I’m not good enough.”

He didn’t mean to say those last few words. It seems as if the truth is like a Chuupet, slippery in his hold - but a lot less sweet.

“I think she’d disagree.” Washio grumbles along with his deep voice. “Apparently you’re totally her type. Snarky assholes who don’t know when to stop teasing and stuff like that. Trust me, she’s not stopped talking about it since we picked her up.”

“How- How did that work out anyway?”

“Sakusa’s on Atsumu’s team, remember?” Komori explains. “I think she just needed someone to vent who’s not her brothers. Someone who knows the current you. Nohr is currently with her and they’re talking to someone called Kita on the phone.”

Suna flinches. It would have been less painful for him if you’d called the twins.

“I’m not sure if you know.” Komori starts again after a few seconds of silence. “But she doesn’t have an offer here. I’m not… I’m not telling you more about that, but I think you guys should talk. And be honest for once. You’re both grown ups, for goodness sake.”

“Sure.” He huffs. “Like she’s going to listen to me now.”

“Get over here.” Washio declares. “I’ll send her down as soon as you’re here. It’s on you to get her to listen, though.”

-

“Never have I ever served a ball into someone’s head.” Suna declares confidently. 

“It was on purpose.” You point out as you down your Shochu. 

“Tsumu?” He asks. You grin smugly. 

“A Lady doesn’t tell.”

“You’ve never been a Lady.”

“I totally am!”

“You totally are not! You’re the Gremlin.”

“Well, at least I’m one of a kind.”

“That you are.” The words weren’t meant to come out this soft. But your eyes seem to mirror his sound, now pools of warm liquid that seem to pull him in.

…

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in my school.” You drink right after you say it, but he’s too far gone to complain about you breaking the rules as he downs his own shot.

“Who?” You ask, giggling. You’re swaying in your seat, barely able to hold yourself up. 

“You should get to bed.”

“Not without knowing who you’ve had a crush on.”

“You should get to bed first.” He gets up, utterly convinced that the Shochu won’t have any effect on him until he can barely keep upright without the Couch cushions stabilizing him. He pulls you up all the same, dragging you across the room. “Come on.”

“I sleep on the Couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Who did you have a crush on?”

“Who did you have a crush on?” He asks back. “Kita, right?”

“Everyone had a crush on Kita.” You brush it off. “Whataboutyou?”

He pushes you onto the bed, giggles when you bounce off the mattress. It looks so soft and he lets himself fall too, lands a bit too close to you to be comfortable, his head knocking against your shoulder as he tries to wriggle away. He can’t look at you properly in this position.

“The teacher.” He declares with all sincerity he can muster while going cross eyed looking at you. You’re so close now, he can count your lashes. One, two, three…

-

Your eyes narrow the moment you spot him.

You turn back towards the still open door but Suna’s faster, grabs your arm to pull you back.

With everyone else, he’d feel bad about this, but you’ve kicked his ass enough times. You respond in kind, gift him a few more bruises on his shin and pull him down into a headlock. He’s not fighting it. At least you’re not pushing him away, right?

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your knuckles are no longer rubbing over his head, but rather brushing through his hair. Are you aware of that?

“I want to talk.”

You huff, let go of him. He grabs your hand before you can step away, drags you down the sidewalk by your hand. Your fingers intertwine as you fall into step with him.

“I’ve had a crush on you.” Suna points out when the park comes into view. “I don’t know when it happened, but I had a crush on you. In high school.”

“I know.” You point out, your grip on his hand neither tightening nor loosening. “Everyone knew.”

“Excuse me? I have the best poker face in the prefecture.”

“Oh please, you suck.”

“You suck!”

“Suna!”

“Rintarou.”

You stop, suddenly breathless as you gaze at him.

“What?” You ask, your voice raspy.

“You should call me Rintarou.”

“No.” You glare at him. “No, we’re not doing this. You can’t push me away and pull me in right after just to push me away again.”

“I know.” He looks down, surprised to see that you’ve still not pulled your hands apart.

“Tell me one thing.” He purses his lips, tries his best to make his words sound less pathetic than they are. “You could have had Kita. Or Ginjima. Even Midorima-san was kinda impressed with you. Washio has the hots for you too. Why would you even care about little old me?”

Softness washes over your face. You’ve never looked this good.

“I’m the Gremlin.” You tell him. You obviously are, in your layered slept-in clothes and your messy bun, your tendency to kick his ass even when he’s not asking for it. “You like me for what I am. I like you for what you are.”

And there’s a truth to that he hadn’t considered before.

You’ve been at his side for long enough, know how he acts after a loss or a win. You know he can’t cook for shit, have seen him block, have heard him snore.

A strange lightness takes hold of him. He feels like giggling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You nod. 

He leans in, heart beating in his throat again, but for different reasons this time. 

His lips brush yours, the softest of touches he’s never thought possible. 

When you respond it feels like coming home.

-

They’re almost too heavy for the swings, you’re on his lap on the tiny set.

“So, Kuroo?” He asks when everything else has been talked about, over and over and over again.

Your head’s a comforting weight on his shoulder. He could get used to this, being so close he only needs to lean down a little to kiss you.

“We’re still friends if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, but good to know.”

“Since when are you jealous?” You furrow your brows at him. He looks away.

“Rin.”

“Yes, love?”

“Since when are you jealous?”

“Since you fancied Kita, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you said you loved me, so jokes on you.”

You straighten up and glare at him.

“I told Kuroo that I wanted to try, one last time, to get with you. He was the one who got me interviews in this prefecture. So if you have a problem with him helping me-”

“I don’t have a problem with that, I just-”

“You think he’s better than you and wants me back eventually?”

“It sounds awful when you say it like that.”

You laugh. “You’ll have to work on that. It’s cute now, but your jealousy won’t be cute forever.”

You kiss the comeback from his lips. His stomach grumbles loudly.

“Lets get back to the others.” You pull him up from the swings. “It’s time for dinner anyway.”

“Do we have to? We could just go home and have fun instead.”

“Suna Rintarou. Your friends just helped you get over yourself and you want to repay them like that?”

“You’re only here until Wednesday and you want to spend time with my friends instead of with just me? Shame on you.”

“We can call in sick tomorrow? How does that sound?”

“Oh, you are a dangerous influence.”

-

Rintarou hollers loudly as the ball connects with your outstretched arms and soars through the air. Nohr claps exitedly next to him.

“That was a good one.” He calls out. “The Fans are going to love this.”

“How many followers do you have now?”

“About 500.000 and counting. Tsumu is still salty about it.”

“How many does he-” Nohr interrupts herself when Komori drops on the chair next to her and passes her a cup of soda. “Thanks, Baby.”

“Get a room.” Rintarou teases, already zooming in on you as you prepare for another receive. 

“I bet they’re going to win. Who dares to go against me?”

“I will. We have a strong Offense on the other side and the Game just started. Loser has to pay Dinner?”

“Deal.”

…

Your expression is thunderous when you exit the changing rooms.

“Hey Gremlin,” Rintarou calls out to you, watches as you part ways with your teammates and march over.

“You played good.” He points out and leans forward, softly bites your nose as a way of greeting.

“Not good enough.” You knock your head against his shoulder. “And it was the last game of the Season. This sucks so much.”

“I know, I know.” He rubs your back, pulls you closer even. “But it wasn’t your fault. Number seven messed up a lot of the blocks. You couldn’t do anything about that.”

“I know.” 

“You wanna go out with the Guys? Or go straight home and pack for tomorrow?”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you stew on the decision. There’s no formula on how to feel better after a loss, no other way to go over this than to listen to what your body and your mind tell you.

“Can we get drunk?” You ask finally. “At that bar that serves fried chicken? We don’t have to leave that early for Osaka, right?”

“No, we can get drunk. Do you wanna take some stupid selfies and send them to Tsumu?”

“Yeah.” You nod, press a kiss to his chin. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great. Also, we have to pay for Washio’s dinner.”

“No!” You whine. “You need to stop betting on me. Rin!”

He laughs. “You say that now like you’re not going to bet on me during my next game.”

“That’s different.” You point out and take his hand. “I only take bets that I’ll win.”

“Ah, what’s losing one bet or two if I’ve got you?”

“Sap.”

“Gremlin.”

“Yours.” You grin, smug about it.

“Mine.” He agrees.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[grandisknight]

rafayel: an artist's nails

summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.

tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish

wc: 1.0k | (ao3)

a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.

“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.

“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.

“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.

“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”

Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”

“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”

The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”

An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“

“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”

The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?

You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.

“Okay—Raf—Mm!”

He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.

“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.

Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.

“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”

…

No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”

You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.

“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”

Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.

“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”

Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.

Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.

He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”

You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.

You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”

Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.

[daddyfordaeddy]

noun - décolletage; a low neckline on a woman's dress or top.

Pairing: servant! Wooyoung x lady! f! Reader

Genre: Smut, implied established relationship, E for explicit, MDNI

Warnings: infidelity (woo and yn fuck, yn is married to someone else), ⚠️somnophilia (it is implied that both of them do this on a regular basis, and it is just a roleplay. it is extremely hinted at so still, please be warned!)⚠️, smut warnings under cut

Word count: 1720

Smut warnings: Peeking tom (wooyoung is a perv and watches yn sleep and touches himself over her), somnophilia (implied consensual, discussed beforehand but not shown), fingering (f receiving), begging, dirty talk, unprotected (⚠️dont do!⚠️), creampie, multiple orgasms

-

This is part of a pervert! ATEEZ collab with @sanjoongie, @mingsolo, @flurrys-creativity (Limerence), @potatomountain, @desirehorizon, @bunnliix, and @skteezcursed :) As their stories drop, their links will be added. Enjoy!

A big thank you to potatomountain for helping me figure out the plot too 🩷 probably would've suffered without you lololol

⚠️Please note, this fic, although implied consensual, is very vague on the consent part. YN and Wooyoung have talked about it and agreed to it beforehand, but it's only very lightly implied. Please approach with caution.⚠️

-

Wooyoung can’t help but to keep his eyes pinned on your sleeping form as he half-heartedly dusts the dresser for the fifth time. He knows it’s wrong, he can get fired in the blink of an eye, but the chance of getting caught just makes him grow even harder in his pants. All the other servants are with the new master on a business trip, only the cooks, stable boys, and Wooyoung are left in the mansion with the mistress. Just what Wooyoung prefers.

It’s no well-kept secret that Wooyoung is known to play around with his fellow servants, or even some esteemed guests. And it’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy it, but his sights have always been set on you. On Lady YN, his sweet mistress who can do no wrong in his eyes. You’ve always been so kind, so sweet to him, all Wooyoung wants to do is hear your precious moans as he makes you fall apart on his fingers.

Your new husband couldn’t, that much Wooyoung knows. When he creeps under your windowsill at night, hearing the new master’s grunts and groans, and your light moans that he knows deep down are fake, he knows he could do so much better. Just the thought of it boils his blood.

Carefully, quietly, he puts down the duster and approaches your bed. You’re a deep sleeper, he’s sure you wouldn’t wake up if he just takes a peek. Nothing wrong with that. With gentle hands, he lifts the linen sheet covering you and moves it to the side, breathing in deeply at the sight of your lithe form. He didn’t think you would sleep almost bare, the only thing covering you is a sheer nightgown that hides nothing, but he’s not going to complain.

Your lips are pressed into a pout as you sleep, unaware of Wooyoung staring at you like a starved man looking at his last meal. Unwilling to let this chance slip through his fingers, Wooyoung quickly moves his hand down, palming at himself through his pants, biting his lip to keep his moans to a minimum.

With every moment, he grows more desperate, his hips bucking into his hand and he groans under his breath, loosening his pants and shoving them down his thighs. With a stifled moan, he wraps his hand around his length, slowly stroking it up and down and thumbing at the tip. It doesn’t take long for precum to start beading at his tip and sticking to his fingers.

Wooyoung’s eyes drink in your form as you groan and shift around in your sleep, moving to your back and exposing your breasts and cunt, visible through the thin fabric of your gown. Wooyoung’s eyes can’t seem to stay in one place…that is, until he reaches your crotch. He can’t hold back the gasp at seeing how wet your folds are. You must be dreaming about something dirty. Slick is sticking to your thighs, strings of it connecting them together.

Wooyoung’s free hand reaches out without him even realising, pressing his thumb against your pulsing hole. A moan breaks out of your throat and Wooyoung immediately stiffens, eyes flicking up to your face, but you remain asleep. “Woo…” falls out of your throat, and Wooyoung’s eyes widen. There’s no way…did you… “Wooyoung…”

There’s no denying it now. Your quiet moans only serve to make Wooyoung more bold, crawling onto the bed and sitting on his knees, bringing his hand up to cup your chest, thumb now playing with a nipple. Each touch brings a whimper out of your mouth, and you slowly blink awake, eyes glazed over and hazy.

“Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung freezes, hand still gripping your chest and his hard cock pressed against your thigh. “Yes, my lady?” he whispers, eyes trained in on your face as you look up at him with such pretty, pretty eyes. “How may I be of assistance?”

You shift to sit up, leg dragging against his sensitive length and Wooyoung bites his lip to keep the moans at bay. “Aren’t you going to continue?” Your voice is small, delicate, and Wooyoung so badly wants to just eat you up. “It’s so hard to feel good with…him. I saw you outside at my window, you know, and I wanted nothing more than for you to come and show me how it’s done. Please, Wooyoung.”

That’s all Wooyoung needs to hear, his arm wrapping around your waist and hoisting your body up until you’re flush with his torso, face so close to his. “Gladly, my lady,” he hums before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Unabashedly, you moan into his mouth, your hands moving up to grasp at his shirt as his tongue presses into your mouth. He can practically taste how much you want him, your hips canting up against his leg as you try and get as much friction as you can.

“Wooyoung, please,” you whine into his mouth, and your voice only serves to make Wooyoung somehow harder.

With a grunt, he moves his hands to grip at your thighs, yanking the hem of your dress up and lifting your hips until his dick, throbbing painfully, presses against your bare cunt. He lets out a hiss at the feeling of your soft, wet folds practically enveloping his length, your slick dripping down to his balls and spreading on his thighs. “You’re so wet for me, my lady. So eager, huh? Tell me, how does the master try to please you?” You groan, head dropping against Wooyoung’s shoulder and he pinches the flesh of your breast, making you squeal. “Go on, speak. How else am I going to show you how much better I am?”

“Ah, well, he would kiss my neck softly, and touch my– ah– my breasts,” you whimper out, every few words punctuated by your soft moans as Wooyoung sinks his teeth into your clavicle, soothing the sting with wet kisses on your sensitive skin. His hands grip the collar of your dress, ripping open the already-low neckline. You gasp as his grip slides over to cup your breasts, his thumbs playing with your nipples and you keen, hips grinding down on his crotch. “Oh God, Wooyoung, just put it in, please–”

Wooyoung laughs into your neck, his hands pinching your nipple just a little too harsh, shutting you up with a moan. “God, so impatient. You really can’t stand the master, huh. Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll treat you right.” As he speaks, one of his hands grasp the base of his cock, guiding it to slide between your folds, his precum making the slide so much smoother until the head finally catches on your hole. It feels like it’s sucking him in, Wooyoung biting his lip to keep himself from coming too fast.

“Youngah–” you moan, cunt pulsing as your walls stretch to accommodate his thick cock.

The nickname, although not perverted by a long shot, sparks something in Wooyoung’s brain and he bites into your shoulder, hard, as his thighs shake and he spills ropes of hot come inside of you. And yet, he remains hard.

“Shit–” Wooyoug groans, his grip tightening, sure to leave nail marks in your soft flesh. “God, squeezing me so tight…Do you feel me in you? You make me so insane, I just want to fuck you full of my come until my cunt is forever filled with my load. You hear that? Your cunt is mine, and I can fill it whenever I want, okay? Whose cunt is this?”

Your mouth is hanging open, nothing but incoherent babbles falling out, but Wooyoung is having none of that. He lands a harsh slap to your clit and you half moan, half scream out, “Wooyoung! It’s you, fuck. Please!”

A low chuckle sounds in your ear, Wooyoung smiling sweetly, a harsh contrast to the sharp look in his eyes. “That’s right, my lady. You’re fucking mine,” he all but growls into your ear, landing another harsh slap to your cunt before bringing his fingers to your clit and playing with the bundle of nerves.

“Yours! Fuck, I’m yours, Wooyoung,” you repeat yourself, head empty of all other vocabulary. “Please, fuck.”

Your cunt is clenching around him so well, tears springing to your eyes as you reach the edge of your orgasm. With one last ‘please’, Wooyoung’s other hand grips your chin, causing your mouth to open, and he spits in your mouth before crashing his lips on top of yours and coming once again.

With every throb of his cock and his come filling you up bit by bit again, you also reach your orgasm with a loud, drawn-out whine. Your body goes limp in Wooyoung’s hold, head resting on your chest as your thighs still quiver and your bones feel like jelly.

Wooyoung’s breath puffs over your hair, his touch back to being gentle as he rubs your back, calming you down. “My lady, how are you feeling?” he murmurs, hands stilling their movement.

“Good,” you hum, moving your head to smile up at your beloved servant. “I’m good. Thank you, Wooyoung. You certainly have helped.”

Unable to help himself, Wooyoung tilts his head to steal yet another breathtaking kiss from you. “Good. I don’t want to hurt my precious lady, you know.” He smiles, pecking your lips again. “And we’ll have the rest of the week to ourselves still, you know. Your husband doesn’t return for another two weeks.”

You shrug, shifting in his lap as you frown at your ripped nightgown. “Yes, well, maybe in those two weeks, I can find a reason to divorce him. For now, we can stick to our games and play-pretend. But my question is…did you really have to rip this? I had it imported, you know.”

You glare up at him, a pout forming on your lips, and Wooyoung can feel his aching dick start to twitch back to life. “Well…I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you,” he hums, nosing his way down your neck, all the while pressing kisses to it. “Lay back, and I’ll treat you right.”

“You better,” you threaten without real bite. “As your lady, I command you.” Your voice grows breathy as his breath ghosts over your sensitive cunt.

“I live to serve.”

[writeyouin]

Lost light megatron trying to have fun with his s/o, but kinda failing cuz he thinks of all the ways it could go wrong? (Maybe they’re on a planet in a theme park?) and reader has to convince him to let loose?

Megatron X Reader – Let Loose

A/N – Slowly, whittling my list of requests down.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Megatron snatched the cotton candy from you, earning a startled look from the vendor and the surrounding people alike. You, on the other hand, merely smiled, knowing what he was like.

“Babe, it’s not poisonous,” You told him patiently, waiting for him to agree.

Megatron tore off a piece of the fluffy treat, scanning it with a device he had procured from Red Alert; that bot was equally paranoid about all the things that could poison you, or that could contaminate the ship’s supply of energon, or that could… Actually, the list of things that Red Alert was paranoid about was endless.

He hummed and passed it back to you begrudgingly. While it was true that the food wouldn’t kill you, it wasn’t very good for you either, which is exactly what he told you after you tore a piece off, popping it in your mouth gleefully.

“Would you lighten up?” You laughed, elbowing him playfully. “Today is supposed to be fun.”

Megatron followed you through the Carnival that Rodimus had insisted on making the Lost Light stop at. Frankly, he thought that he had been doing well by not complaining that it was a waste of time and energy to visit such a trashy attraction, especially when the crew had to make use of their holo-forms which increased their energon consumption by 3.7%. That might not have been a lot for one bot, but when used by the full crew, it would ensure they practically ate through their energy reserves.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but how exactly would you have me ‘lighten up’?” Megatron used air quotes upon repeating you.

“Just cut loose. Have fun for the day, okay?”

Megatron scowled. His idea of fun was composing poetry to sum up his deepest thoughts and clear his processor, or to spend an evening with you, consuming some of the universe’s best literature, while you spent time on one of your hobbies.

Frankly, this was when another bot might comment on how odd your relationship was. You and Megatron were not alike. You were loud, carefree, and energetic. He was sombre and contemplative, and he preferred not to waste energy on frivolous activities.

Yet, Megatron found himself wanting to please you. Part of this stemmed from the idea that he didn’t believe that he deserved you, and partially because you asked very little of him, taking the relationship one day at a time while he learned how to navigate it with you.

“Very well,” Megatron sighed. “I shall…” He tripped over the words cut loose, finding the slang un-endearing, opting to finish by saying, “Try to relax somewhat.”

“That’s all I ask,” You chuckled, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the first game of the day.

It was a simple ring toss over some bottles, with various prizes hanging overhead. You spotted a plushie armadillo which was arguably the most hideous of the prizes, yet it held your attention, your pupils dilating at the sight of it.

“Oh yeah, that’s coming home with me.”

And so the game began. You tried again and again to win the creature, putting more and more credits on it, much to the vendor's satisfaction.

Megatron watched, bemused, until finally, he grabbed your shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“What’s wrong, babe? You want a go?”

You held out a ring to him. Megatron glowered first at the bottles, then at the vendor. “You should leave this game.” He told you matter-of-factly. Then in a whisper, he added, “My sensors show that it has been rigged. Winning is a statistical impossibility.”

“Oh,” You deflated. You had already guessed that the game was rigged, but it had been fun to try all the same. Half-heartedly, you threw the last ring before walking away. “Okay… something else then.”

Megatron silently cursed himself for upsetting you, but it was better you knew now rather than trying to win the impossible.

Your eyes lit up again when you saw what had to be the world’s most unstable rollercoaster.

“How about that?!” You pointed to it excitedly.

Megatron scanned the structure, messaging Ultra Magnus to see how many laws it broke. According to him, the ride had 36 structural weaknesses, broke 17 laws, and would only be legal on 3 planets.

You shook your head as Megatron’s face set into its default scowl.

“Oh, come on, please,” You begged, clasping your hands together.

“I won’t stop you, but I shan’t join you,” Megatron said drily, thinking about how he would be prepared to shed his holo-form and rescue you when the ride inevitably flew off the tracks or something equally terrible.

“Really? I can’t convince you?” You pouted.

“I should think not.”

You opened your mouth to argue until Rodimus ran into you, “Hey (Y/N). You here for the coaster?”

“Yeah, I was about to get in line. I’m just asking Meg-”

Rodimus rolled his eyes, “Megatron isn’t going to join you. It would mean having fun, something he’s completely allergic to, you know, alongside joy, laughter, puppies, flowers-”

“Shut up,” You punched Rodimus playfully in the arm.

Megatron watched as you and Rodimus played, eventually getting his approval to go on the ride together. It sometimes amazed him that you hadn’t chosen to enter a relationship with someone like Rodimus. The two of you were quite similar and had a good rapport.

Megatron sighed as he watched the two of you on the ride. He was somewhat you were relieved that you were with his co-captain. At least that way you would be safe with him should something happen. One person with you, and another on the ground in case something went wrong.

Yet, remarkably, nothing bad happened, except for Megatron putting yet another damper on the day, making him practically miserable.

Once you had come off the ride, Megatron made his excuses to go back to the ship, leaving you alone with Rodimus. He had much to think about when it came to the two of you, and frankly, he felt like he needed to find some reasons that the two of you were together, especially after such a disastrous excuse of a date, wherein he had only helped to sour your vibrant mood.

Megatron startled at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

He answered the door to find you, holding tightly onto the plushie armadillo that he had claimed was impossible to win.

“So, you somehow won the ring toss,” He stated, gesturing to the toy.

“Nah. Rodimus distracted the guy there and I took this,” You held out your prize, grinning victoriously.

“Stealing?” Megatron said doubtfully, thinking about what a terrible influence Rodimus could be.

“I’d like to think of it as liberating a plushie who needs a lot of love. Besides, you said it yourself. That guy was cheating, so it’s only fair he loses a prize or two every now and then.”

Megatron nodded stiffly, his optics following you as you entered the hab-suite.

“I’m sorry-” He started, surprised when you said “Thank you,” at the same time.

“What’re you-” “Why are you-”

You laughed as you both spoke simultaneously again, gesturing for him to start first.

“I- I’m sorry for leaving you at the fair,” Megatron sighed in his usual melancholy tone. “And you don’t have anything to thank me for. Believe me, I should know.”

You grinned, holding back a bout of laughter since you didn’t want Megatron to be offended.

“I’ll admit, I was sad that you left early, but… I wanted to thank you, for a really good night.”

Megatron didn’t respond. Frankly, he couldn’t see how you had a good time with him at all.

“I know the carnival isn’t your scene, but you went with me anyway, and… I love having someone who looks out for me all the time. I think it’s really sweet that you don’t want me to get conned out of my credits, or get hurt on the big rides, or, y’know, die from poison. I love you, Megatron.”

That wasn’t the first time that you had told Megatron you loved him, nor would it be the last, and yet, you always said it at the most unexpected times.

“I… Love you too,” Megatron said haltingly, scared as usual that his vulnerability would lead to a terrible end for the two of you. “Would you like to spend the night here?” He offered.

“Sounds good to me,” You beamed.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

You'll Know Me Better (Than I Know Myself) Steve Harrington x Reader (18+)

I need more fics where reader can’t take Steve’s cock that well, so he has to be patient. Awkwardness, but lighthearted, very intimate and tender 😢

Based on this text post from @wroteclassicaly because I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here's the fic. Idk if it's quite what you wanted but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Also bonus points if anyone know's the song which this fic's title references

Word Count:2,088

Warnings: Smut, Self-Doubt, Comfort, Oral Sex (F Rec), Mentions of Painful sexual experiences, alternatives to penetrative sex.

Steve Harrington Masterlist // Masterlist

Steve's soft pink lips pressed against yours, his tongue slipping past your parted lips. He kissed you with an unhurried ease, his strong arms circling your body, keeping you safe as he pulled you closer into his lap. You weren’t naive, you knew the insistent press of Steve’s growing erection bulging underneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants meant he was more than pleased to have you sitting on top of him like this. It was that fact that had your stomach tying itself in knots. 

You hadn't been with many guys before Steve, but the one you had been with had rushed you, everytime being all too quick to have their way with you. Far too concerned with their own pleasure before yours.

But Steve wasn’t like that. You knew that. Steve had been nothing but kind, sweet, gentle and so unbelievably patient with you.

He watches as you shy away into his chest, hiding away from his kisses to nuzzle your cheek against the soft thatch of hair.

“Hey, I don’t have bad breath or something, do I?” he jokes light-heartedly when he sees you shrink into yourself. “Because I swear I brushed my teeth.” he assures you, pulling you closer.  

“No, Steve, you’re fine, I like kissing you, really I do.”

“Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming”

The words get caught in your throat. What was the right thing to say here? That you’re worried that kissing him leads to things getting heated, to getting more intense and you’re not sure if you can handle it? That you’re worried that there’s something wrong with you? That you don’t want to be a disappointment?

“Hey, hey..” he murmurs softly, hooking his finger and thumb under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I can see your brain working overtime, what’s going on up there, hm” his hand moving across your face to brush the stray strands of hair from your eyes.

“It’s just…” you huff quietly, trying to find the words. “I’ve been here before Steve, and when I’ve slept with someone, I’ve just never enjoyed it, it’s never felt… right.” you say, talking through the mess of thoughts in your head.  “..And the last thing I want to do is disappoint you.”

“Oh honey, you could never disappoint me, not like that, not like anything.” he tells you honestly and earnestly, cupping your face in his hands. “We don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with or ready for. I could kiss you for the rest of my life and I would die a happy man.” a boyish smile tugs at his pink lips.

“But I do want to, Steve. I do want to be with you like that.” you breathe. “I just don’t want it to hurt.”

“Well let me just focus on you for a little bit and we’ll see where that takes us? And if something doesn’t feel good or you want me to stop, then just tell me. You call the shots, baby.”

The nervous, yet excited heat that blooms in your stomach bubbles into anticipation as your fingertips count the freckles on Steve’s tan skin.

“Yeah, does that sound okay, Honey?”

You give him an assured nod, and the smile he gives you in return makes you wonder why you were ever nervous in the first place.

“Okay, let’s get you comfortable.” he says, moving you until you're settled back against the soft pillows.

Holding himself above you he begins to kiss his way down your body. His tender kisses butterflying on every curve and every inch of your soft skin, hooking his fingers into the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear.

“I’m kind of regretting not putting on something a little bit more racy if I’d have known that this was the way the evening was going to go.” you laugh softly.

“It’s not like it was going to matter.” Steve grins cheekily. “Cotton or lace, doesn’t bother me, it was only going to get in the way anyway.” he says as he drags the offending material down your legs and flings them behind him to some dark corner of the room.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Honey?” he asks, as he trails his kisses over the soft skin of your inner thigh, 

His honeyed hazel brown eyes glint with a sparkle as you offer him a shy nod of your head.

“Yeah?” He places another kiss inside your thigh. “Just lay back darling, let me do all the hard work.”

He warms you up with flat broad sweeps of his tongue over your pussy, letting you just revel in the warm wet drag of his tongue over your most sensitive parts. His nose nudges against your clit as his tongue begins to delve between your folds, drinking in every glistening drop of your arousal. His tongue sweeps upwards, circling around your clit before pulling it between his plump lips to gently suckle on it. 

He pulls away from you for a brief moment, to check in with you.

“Doing so well for me, Honey. Want me to keep going? Think you can take one of my fingers?”

You give him a breathy whine of ‘please’ and it's all the affirmation that Steve needs before he's diving back in, eager to taste that little piece of heaven at the apex of your thighs. 

His tongue tracing patterns over your soft cunt, before sweeping upwards to flick over your clit. He smirks against you when he feels the gentle pulse of your clit under his tongue. He gently inches one of his thick fingers into you, slowly letting you grow accustomed to the feeling. 

He flicks his eyes up your body to see the way your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths of pleasure. 

He crooks his finger inside you,the pads of his finger rubbing against that sweet spot, and when your shallow breaths turn into eager whines he knows he's got you exactly where he wants you. Right on the edge of pleasure, ready to fall off and give everything to him.

The sounds of your pleasure was like music to Steve’s ears, his hips driving themselves into the rumpled mess of the sheets on the bed, searching for any little bit of friction to relieve the straining pressure on his cock.

“You gonna come for me honey? Can feel you clenching around my finger.” 

You nod your head, and with a few more passes of his tongue flicking over your clit, and his finger working inside you, you were coming for him, clinging to his strong arm as you ride out your high, shuddering through your orgasm.

When you come back down to earth, you can’t help but look at the sweet, dopey smile on your boyfriend’s face. The glistening evidence of your pleasure gleaming on his plump pink lips.

“So, how was that?” he smirks as though he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life.

“Yeah..yeah..it was good..it was really fucking good.” You nod your head quickly. You reach for him to pull him up to meet you, “but I want more.”

“More? I like the sound of that.” he grins, pushing his mussed up hair back with a hand. “Let me just get these off first.” he says, getting up to take off his sweatpants.

He makes a show of it, digging his thumbs into the elastic waistband but keeping his eyes locked with yours as he does it. Teasing you as he shimmies his hips as slowly works them down his thighs and kicks them off around his ankles, like he’s your very own personal exotic dancer. 

“Nice moves, Harrington.” you snort, unable to keep your laughter in.

“If you like that, then I’ve got plenty more moves I can show you, Honey.” he says with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

You can’t help but let your eyes wander down his body, from the cosy thatch of hair on his chest that you had spent countless nights snuggled into, to the constellation of freckles that litter his skin like artwork, following down to the slight soft pudge of his stomach where the hair continues to trail down.

Steve Harrington was fucking huge.

Hard and curved against his stomach, his flushed pink tip peeks out from his closed fist as he works steady strokes up and down the length of his cock.  

There's no way he's going to be able to fit all of that inside me.

“We can take our time, we've got all night, sweetheart.” he kisses away your worries with a sweet kiss.

You ease at his sweet words. Here in his arms you feel safer than you ever have before.

“I'm going to go inside now, you tell me if anything, anything at all, feels weird or you want to stop. I just want you to feel good, baby.”

He guides his tip to your entrance, pressing in inch by inch, stilling his hips to let you become acquainted with the feeling.

You try to ignore the painful burning stretch, to breathe through it, but it hurts. You feel so angry, sad, disappointed, frustrated. You so badly wanted this to work, not only for yourself, but for Steve too. Why did it always have to be such a damn struggle. 

And when Steve sees the look of wincing hesitation that crosses your face, he draws his hips back immediately.

The frustration bubbles over into tears gathering in your eyes.

“Hey, come on now, it's okay.” Steve shushes, brushing your tears away with his thumb. 

“No, it's not, Steve!” You cry. “Any other girl could take you without so much as a second thought, but not me. With me it's always a fucking uphill battle.” finishing with a tired huff.

He holds you close, the warmth of his touch putting you at ease, like holding you close is all he wants to do.

“I don't want any other girl, I want you, and if that means changing things up, then so be it! Besides I think I've got an idea, if you'd be willing to try it, Honey?”

You look at him with wide curious eyes, waiting for him to continue. 

He lines his cock against your wet slit, not pushing inside, but sliding between your lips, his tip bumping against your clit ever so slightly. 

“Just gotta look at things from a different angle, sweets” he smiles down at you from underneath his hair.

“But what about you, don't you want it to be good for you too Stevie?”

“Trust me..this feels..fuck..pretty fucking good to me sweetheart.” he says as he stutters out a breath.

He sheaths himself between your folds, the gentle drag of his cock aided your gathering slickness. Every veiny inch of him rubs along your most sensitive parts, and yet with the way his hips rock into yours you can't deny the flaring heat it spikes in your stomach.

His tip is nudging against your clit on every updrag of his cock, leaving a smearing mess of pre-cum in It's wake. Your own thighs are sticky with your combined evidence of arousal.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, when you start to feel that all-too familiar tingle. The impending high of your orgasm approaching, just within a finger-tips grasp of pleasure. 

“It’s okay honey, I’ll be there to catch you when you fall.” he mutters sweetly in your ears. “I just want you to feel good.”

He ruts his himself between the warmth of your cunt, revelling in the way your walls perfectly hug his sensitive cock, his eyes clenching shut with as his hips slowly rock back and forth.

With a few more smooth thrusts, and his tip repeatedly nudging against your clit you were coming for him with an almost silent cry, clinging to him as you shuddered through the shocks of your high.

Steve soon follows behind you as he falls over the edge with you, spilling his release on your stomach, painting your skin in ropes of pearlescent white, his lips are upon yours as your shared moans are swallowed into tender kisses.

You stay like that for a while just holding each other close, neither one of you quite ready to leave the other’s embrace yet.

“It’s just another point of view, that’s all, Honey.” he smiles sweetly.

Maybe you could come around to looking at things from another point of view.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson

@aphrogeneias @onegirlmanytales @eddiesxangel @keerysfolklore

[grogusmum]

IRL

Part 3 @han_shot_first

JAVI X F!PLUS SIZE!READER

SUMMARY: Set before the events of The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent. Javi and Reader are friends online, and after a year of DMing they decide to meet. (The only change is Javi and Gabriela are just friends)

WORD COUNT: 1800ish

WARNINGS: Reader has insecurities about her size and appearance. Javi is adorable, be warned. Things get spicy.

Part 2

“Girasol,” he whispers; voice husky. Your knees go a little watery not only from the want in Javi’s voice for you but for the sweet nickname, sunflower.

His warm, plush lips taste your mouth, chin, and neck. Tickling behind your ear, you had never kissed anyone with a mustache or much facial hair. It tickles and rasps over your soft skin deliciously, especially your neck, causing your shoulder to jump with a smiling gasp. 

Being pressed against the wall was also new to you like this gorgeous man can't get enough of you and needs to be as close as he can possibly get. One hand is cradling your jaw; the other travels from your hip under your sweater, where he has found that the dress is sleeveless. He hums, pleased by his discovery. You try not to feel emotional and keep the thought - thank you. Thank you for being attracted to me, even though… inside your head. But it brings up some tears that you blink away. 

The moment you open your eyes, the lights flicker, signaling you to return to the theater.

“Javi?”

“Hmmm?” He murmurs, distracted by devouring your neck.

“The next film-”

He pulls away as the lights flicker again. 

“We will pick this up back at the hotel,” he rumbles. 

Javi takes your hand and leads the way to the theater. Since you are among the last to sit, Javi looks and tugs you toward the back of the theater. He noticed your glassy eyes when he pulled away. He wonders if he overstepped.

After you settle into your seat-

“I'm sorry,” Javi looks at you with his puppiest eyes.

“For?”

“Well, I- for,” Javi struggles. “ Maybe I was too forward, and now we don't have good se-”

You smile; Javi really is the sweetest.

“Javi, I have never been so turned on in my life,” you murmur in his ear, and his face breaks into a broad smile, his eyes dancing. 

While the rest of the day flies and is more fun than you've had in a long time, every once and a while, you get a little in your head when hobnobbing with “the beautiful people.” But somehow, Javi seems to feel it every time, and he brings you closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, murmuring a sweet check-in.

Online, late at night, you would talk and talk, and you thought you felt a tension in the last month before planning to meet, but you always half-heartedly dismissed it. And when you saw his picture, you wholeheartedly dismissed it. How can someone like him…but here you both are. He doesn't even see the other women. Javi has at least one hand on you at all times. Holding your hand or on your thigh with his thumb chasing little circles during the films and Q&As, his arm wrapped around your waist during intermission. This new layer to your relationship is exciting, if a little scary. 

All you have been thinking about since the alcove is getting back to the hotel, but as Javi checks you both in, your traitorous brain starts to race; you know Javi is a good guy, he would never just presume, and if you put on the brakes he would respect that…but now that it's here. It's not that you don't want to; you want to, by the gods, do you. But what if he doesn't like what he sees when you are, quite literally, laid bare?

Javi returns with the key cards, his stomach knots in new and exciting ways. 

“It's a two-bedroom penthouse suite,”he murmurs, primarily to his feet. He can feel the tips of his ears going hot, “I got them before - but you know, if you don't - I mean, if we-”

Javi doesn't know what you are thinking. But he can easily see the anxiety scrawled across you. But he doesn't know what has you in this state—

Watching him, you can see his effort. To keep you comfortable, respecting your boundaries, and he keeps showing you he is attracted to you, all of you.

So you tell your liar of a brain to shut up for once, and your first finger goes gently under his chin, tipping his head to look at you. 

“Javi? Please take me upstairs.” 

This is when Javi’s brain short circuits.

The penthouse is, of course, gorgeous, just as Javi hoped. There’s a fireplaced living room, with the spread of chocolate-covered strawberries, soft cheeses, warm crusty bread, and the champagne he asked for on a coffee table. 

“Javi! This is, does this just come with penthouse suites or…”

“There are always, well, ‘amenities,’ but um, I asked for your favorites.”

“When?”

“As soon as you said you’d come to visit.”

“But-”

“I know it was a little bold of me, but I - sort of had this big plan to try to win your heart this weekend. But like I said, I got two rooms, I wasn’t, you know, ‘expecting something’,” All of this comes out in a rush, but Javi takes a breath and slows down, his eyes taking in your lovely face.

“‘Han Shot First’, I’ve been having feelings for you for a long, long time.”

It's your face’s turn to warm, as romantic as his nickname Girasol is, as beautiful as it makes you feel... There's something about him using your url handle at this moment - the name he knew before he had seen your picture… You fling your arms around him, and without hesitation, his mouth seals to yours. His hand goes to your cardigan, peeling it off. Before you can have another wave of anxiety, the groan Javi lets loose as his hands run up and down your upper arms and around your back settles your qualms. He presses you as close to him as he can without occupying the same space, thus defying the laws of physics.

“Girasol”, Javi murmurs. “I can't believe how lucky I am.”

His hands rove your back, hips, and backside. You keep beating back your traitorous brain, so you can just enjoy how this feels. He likes everything he's touching. 

One of his hands comes to the side of your face, holding you tight in his kiss. 

“May I undress you?”

Javi begins unbuttoning your dress, his hands so sure at every button. He pulls back the top of the dress off your shoulders, and his needy kisses travel from one to the other, stopping to enjoy your collarbones and the hollow of your throat. Then he lets the dress fall, a circle at your feet. You slip his blue blazer off his shoulders and start unbuttoning his shirt. You peek back at his face to see adoration.

You nod, and the look he gave you in the alcove returns causes a pleasant zing in your lower belly.

Javi becomes impatient and brings his arms hurriedly out of his sleeves, and pulls you against him once more, his arms wrapped around your waist. With urgent kisses, he walks you backward until your calves hit the bed. 

Giving a yip as you drop onto it, a nervous giggle bubbles up, and you take a breath, eyes closed. Mirroring your action in the lobby, Javi's curled forefinger gently lifts your face to him.

“I am enamored with every inch of you, Girasol. Every last inch.”

Against your will, your eyes swim, so that is where Javi decides to start in his worship. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brush the tears away. Pressing kisses to your cheeks. 

Your hands rest on his narrow hips as you look up at this beautiful man, this silly, passionate, delightful man.

He wants me, you think, all of me.

Your hands travel up his sun-kissed torso, the sweet curve of his belly, but just as your hands settle on his chest, he has your shoulders, pressing them to the bed. And this was that moment you feared, laid out on the bed. Suddenly Javi’s got you behind your knees with those enormous paws of his, and with a quick and decisive pull, he's got your ass at the edge of the bed and thighs over his broad shoulders, and you can feel his breath at your core. 

“Javi!” Breath quickening, you are pretty sure you almost came from being moved like that; you don’t get “thrown around”

Javi's hands run up your thighs, his thumbs massage the crease where your hip meets them  -

“Did you like that, Girasol?”

💚 THANKS FOR READING 💚

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read for Javi or any of my works, click the link to my masterlist. If you would like to get tagged for any of my fics, click the link to my taglist form.

[soulcatdoodles]

Just wanted to say that I stumbled across your art today and I LOVE IFOR AND I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM PLEASE

( your art is absolutely amazing )

THANK YOUUUU I’m so happy that you’re interested in ifor 😭💖 Allow me to dump their lore here:

Once upon a time an ancient, nameless skykid made friends with a moth. That moth asked them, “what’s your name?” They pondered a moment, then replied, “I forgot”. The moth, somewhat dense, inquired in a confused voice: “Iforgot? What an odd name. I’ll just call you Ifor”.

Seasons passed. Long after said moth had grown up, sacrificed countless lifetimes, and eventually faded into nothingness, another moth lit that weary skykid’s candle and asked, “what’s your name?” That skykid answered after a brief moment: “You can call me Ifor.”

Ifor is a gratitude kid, and has been around for countless seasons. While most skykids of their age have long since faded into nothingness, they somehow never managed to. And so, they pass their time by seeking thrill wherever they can - anything to impede the boredom, be it dodging krills, purposefully getting krilled, exploring out of bounds, worshipping AURORA, or half-heartedly following along the seasons.

They own a vast collection of cosmetics, and often are seen passing their time by switching up their look. Most often though, they wear their signature tattered dark robe with black boots (halloween pants), and sometimes season of duet’s sleeveless grey pants. Their cape is that of a manta they hunted themselves, and it serves to attract krill’s attention. The krill horn they carry on their back is also used to summon krills. Quite often though, they carry a musical instrument (such as the e-guitar, violin, or piano) in its stead. They’ve had ample time to practice various instruments to perfection.

Due to the constant negative energy surrounding them, and the countless amount of times they’ve lost their light, darkness has started growing on their body. It recedes and progresses like the tide, but most often it can be found on their head and face. Everytime they get reborn, their darkness is cleansed, but their darkness can also wither and die when they experience positive emotions. Positive emotions always come from forming bonds with moths, but it’s only a matter of time before the moth fades and their darkness grows back stronger.

Morally they are ambivalent, their mood changing unpredictably. They will often help redirect krills from other skykids by taking it head on, but sometimes will also lead a krill over to target another skykid just for the sake of it.

Currently, ifor is quite happy as they’ve made some new friends. Only time will tell if these will stay, but ifor has a feeling that at least one of them might. Said skykid is my irl partner’s character, and I very much enjoy drawing ifor with some of the ice melting from their demeanor (soft blushing ifor is my new obsession)

I hope this satisfies your curiosity! Ifor is probably the oc with the most lore I’ve made so far, besides my last skykid oc from like 2020, but i feel much more personally connected to Ifor because I based them off of my own playstyle of the game.

I’ve been playing sky since its release in July 2019, and I’ve had phases where I’ve gotten so tired of it, but just couldn’t quit for real cause of all the time and money I’d spent on it and all the fond memories I’d made (plus the game is just so pretty). I wanted to imagine how those feelings would translate to the character I’m playing as - I imagine they’d be amplified by a lot, so me wanting to quit the game became my skykid wanting to quit life, essentially. Fun stuff, fun stuff. And I do love to be the krill bait when doing wasteland quests with other ppl, so that part is pretty accurate too. And I’m also absolutely in love with the aurora concert and her music in general.

The only inaccurate part may be the “practicing to perfection” - I definitely know my way around the in game instrument mechanics but I’m no where near as good as some of those sky musicians out there hahaha, I do enjoy playing it though.

If anyone read this far then wow, amazing, I love you, hand in marriage please?? Hope you enjoyed my ramblings, @ the like 2 ppl who got this far

First image by me

Second by mfxdraws https://www.instagram.com/mfxdraws/

Third by kxrmaou https://www.instagram.com/kxrmaou/

Fourth directly from sky

[karuvapatta]

Next part of the Untitled Jonelias Magic AU. Thank you @ceaseless-bitcher for your feedback, worldbuilding ideas, and line suggestions!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

***

“Do you have an appointment?” the secretary – Rose? Rosie? – asked politely, opening her calendar.

“I do not,” Jon said.

“I see,” she said. “Well, forgive me, Mr Sims, but Master Bouchard is currently in a meeting. If you have a message for him, I would be happy to pass it along.”

“Look,” Jon began, then shut his mouth immediately thereafter. The secretary – Rosie; he was pretty sure her name was Rosie – regarded him with a bland, polite smile, her hands folded neatly on the desk. Behind her were the doors to Master Bouchard’s office, presently out of Jon’s reach.

“Is there anything I can do for you, then?” she asked.

He should have written a letter. He should have refrained from coming here in the first place.

“Is it possible to arrange a meeting?” he asked. “I—I really need to speak with Master Bouchard.”

He didn’t want to accost the man after one of his lectures, or seek entry to the research floor without invitation. That seemed to be a step too far. But maybe he would have no other choice, if Rosie continued being this difficult.

“I will have to confirm it with him. I will let you know once I have any details,” Rosie said.

“Thank you,” Jon said curtly. He wrote down his contact information, and could not help one last heated glare in the direction of Bouchard’s locked office door.

It was foolish. It wasn’t important. The sense of urgency gnawing at his stomach was entirely unwarranted. He needed to put that feeling to rest and move on. If Bouchard refused to see him, he would do just that. He would stop showing up to his lectures, stop reading his papers, stop hovering near the research department…

Half-heartedly, he wished that this would be the end of it. And yet the reply arrived two days later, with the meeting set for next week. Jon didn’t know how to feel about that. He spent altogether too much time trying to come up with something intelligent to say, some compelling argument as to why he wanted to see Bouchard in the first place. Yet when the time came, his mind was blank and his throat was dry.

“Mr Sims,” Bouchard greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jon swallowed. The office was just as he had remembered it, with Bouchard silhouetted against the large window behind him. Jon felt uncomfortably exposed where he stood; he could not see the man’s face clearly, with the afternoon light nearly blinding him.

“Take a seat, please,” Bouchard said, pointing to the familiar chair in front of his desk.

Jon moved slowly. He placed his hand on the back of the chair, fingers twitching against dark wood and embroidered fabric. Bouchard’s pale eyes were on him; he could feel them as acutely as he felt the sunlight on his skin. He had questions, so many questions echoing in his head, and yet he struggled to voice any of them.

Bouchard was a patient man. He sat back, fingers steepled together, and said nothing at all as Jon hovered awkwardly in front of him, at war with his own thoughts.

“Have you chosen an apprentice yet, Master?” Jon asked.

He hadn’t meant for these to be the first words out of his mouth, but now he couldn’t take them back.

“Oh my,” Bouchard chuckled. “Gossip really spreads like wildfire, doesn’t it?”

This wasn’t an answer. Jon frowned at him.

“Why do you want to know?” Bouchard asked.

Still the same frustrating non-answer. Jon’s frown deepened; his fingers clenched tight around the back of the chair. The bracelet shifted against his skin, responding to the movement, or perhaps the sudden flash of anger.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “You will not tell me anyway.”

Bouchard’s mouth twitched into a smile. This—he found it amusing. Jon was a source of entertainment for him, for whatever reason. The reasonable thing to do would be to turn back and leave; Jon, of course, stayed right where he stood.

“What is it that you want from me?” Jon asked.

“Why do you assume I want anything from you?” Bouchard asked calmly.

“You—” Jon bit his lip. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He was making an ass of himself. But—well. “Why did you reject my application?” he asked. This was a reasonable question, was it not? “Is it because of the—” he pressed his fingers to his wrist and the bracelet bound tight around it, feeling it thrum gently, matching the rhythm of his pulse. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he added quietly.

“It does matter,” Bouchard said. “To you, most of all. Why pretend otherwise?”

It was driving him insane, the way Bouchard insisted on answering Jon’s questions with even more questions. What would it take to get a normal reply out of the man? Why was he toying with Jon?

“I have been practicing,” Jon said. “You know I have. I—I want to learn.” He dropped his gaze, throat seizing with embarrassment. But he needed to say the words out loud, he needed to have them out in the open. “Master, I know I’m capable of this with your guidance. I want to be your apprentice. Please.”

He braced himself for whatever might come next. Maybe he ought to apologize for his outlandish request, offer an explanation, play it off as a joke… except he couldn’t bring himself to lie right now. Bouchard would probably know if he did. So he glanced up, chancing a look at Bouchard’s face, to better judge his reaction.

Their eyes met; Bouchard smiled.

“To answer your earlier question, Mr Sims,” he began. “Yes, I already made my choice. But I had to wait for you to make yours.”

Oh.

Jon still didn’t know why. But now he had the chance to find out.

[visceravalentines]

A Place for You

Bo Sinclair x GN!Hinge!Reader x Vincent Sinclair

This fic is a safe space, babes. This fic is an escape. This fic is where I know we all like to go as we're falling asleep. I hope you bask in it and return to it whenever you've had a long day.

1.2k words. No CWs. Brief mention of past smut. Just poly cuddles with the twins coated in that grimy layer of their-whole-lives-have-been-angst we all know and love.

It’s been a hard day, and you retire to bed early. 

The tension in the house is nobody’s fault, not really, or instead maybe it’s everyone’s to claim. All you know is that the big bed is empty, sheets smooth and cold, and you curl around your pillow like a small thing settling in for hibernation. A deep breath. A sigh. The stress in your body seeping into the mattress like sweat. 

You’re on the verge of the verge of sleep when Bo comes in. He flings the door open with abandon – always too much, too big for the space around him, realizing at the last second that you might be asleep and clumsily catching the edge of the door with his hand. 

You stir, just a little, to let him know you’re not quite unconscious. He eases the door most of the way shut so some of the light from the hallway seeps in, dull and golden. You watch him undress through your lashes. He sets his hat on the dresser and runs a hand half-heartedly across his scalp. His belt follows with a jingle, and then he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, cussing softly under his breath when one gets caught on a thread and he can’t get it undone.

Bleary, you sit up and dig the heel of your hand into your eyes. “C’mere,” you whisper.

It is a mark of his exhaustion that he offers no resistance, just shuffles to you and lets you take over. Bo shrugs the shirt off and lets it drop to the floor as you set upon his fly. You are both so drained he doesn’t even offer commentary, letting it slide with a faint smirk and a quick flick of his eyebrow.

You scoot out of the way and lay back down as he kicks off his jeans and crumbles into bed. He’d picked a fight about something earlier – something trivial, so inconsequential only Bo would select that particular molehill to scale – and it had escalated so quickly you’d gone the better part of the day without speaking to each other. He lays stiffly on his back beside you, hands clasped on his stomach.  His body is all edges, begging to be smoothed. You aren’t sure if he’s trying to punish himself or you and you’re too wiped to try to puzzle it out so you reach for him, take him by the crook of his elbow, tug him gently towards you.

“Please?” you mumble. You feel the heat of his gaze in the dark. He always wakes up angry, but he hates to go to bed angry.

The song and dance is short tonight. He relents almost immediately and rolls towards you, nestling his head beneath your chin, letting you comb your fingers through his hair to break up the sweaty curls. The musty smell of the day’s last cigarette left half-snuffed by the porch clings to his skin. He pushes his knee between your thighs and tangles his legs with yours. Bo has a habit of making himself inextricable. It’s how he survives.

A vocal, groaning sigh leaves his lips and wafts against your throat. The gradual relaxing of his body with every breath sends a wave of secondhand relief washing through you, cool and clean. You are at ease when he is at ease, and he is so rarely at ease. You are already drifting towards sleep again and so you almost miss it when he presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, another, and one more. They are shockingly chaste. He’ll communicate if you let him, if you allow him to teach you how to understand.

He left the hall light on, and so when the door opens again and the bedroom is first flooded bright and then snuffed back into darkness by a shape in the doorway, you both cast a sidelong glance to the latecomer.

Vincent, emerged uncharacteristically early from his particular depths, reaches back around the doorframe and hits off the light in the hall, plunging the only souls in Ambrose tonight into the black. In truth, you’ve seen his nightly routine only once or twice in all the time you’ve been part of this family, but you can envision it playing out against your eyelids with an ethereal, dreamlike quality.

He peels off his sweater and slides his pants to the ground quietly, almost silently. With a single deft twist of his fingers, he frees his hair from its twist on the top of his head, rolls his neck, scrubs at the roots for a minute to release that particular tension. He stretches, arching his back, and you imagine you can hear the pop-pop-pop of his long, beleaguered spine as he forces it back into a proper shape. In your dreamscape vision he rubs his thumb along the line of his fingernails, loosening the slip of wax wedged beneath them. In reality, you know he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

Lastly, most importantly, most painfully, he takes his face off. You’ve seen him, his true self, many times. But sex is different. Sex is liminal space where Vincent isn’t really Vincent, and Bo is nothing but Bo, and you are everything. You’ve only seen Vincent’s scars outside of the bedroom once and it was an accident.

Those limber fingers tease at the seam of the wax, coaxing it with just enough added heat, until it begins to separate from his skin. Once that bond is broken it comes off all at once, quick, not easy. He pads across the floor, supernaturally silent, a ghost familiar with every squeaky floorboard since he learned how to walk, and sets his face on the nightstand. He climbs into bed and his gravity shifts you and Bo towards him, the way it always does, the way all of Ambrose always has and always will revolve around him.

And he catches you, the way he always does, shoring you up against his chest. His hands fill the empty places on your body between Bo’s. You are held.

You feel his sharp nose press against your scalp like a blind puppy searching for its mother. You wonder, not for the first time, if he and Bo experience phantom pain in the shape of one another’s scars. You take a hand off of Bo and stroke Vincent’s hand, slowly, just once, the landscape of veins and tendons rising beneath the skin familiar. Your dream-fogged mind fancies it’s a map of this place, of the hills and hollers and streams in the woods, the roads and remorse of the town.

Bo stirs and you give him what he wants, fitting your arm back into the shadow of its warmth. You always give them what they want. Somebody has to.

Vincent sighs and the heat of his breath sends a gentle buzz of electricity crawling down your spine. He won’t truly relax until you and his twin are asleep, but he settles. His thumb rolls back and forth over your ribs. The sound of his breathing is deep and even and you are pushed and pulled between the rise and fall of their chests like the rocking of an inevitable tide.

How strange, is your final thought. How strange for there to be a place for you, so perfectly shaped for you, so far away from home.

Bo is asleep. Soon you are asleep. And Vincent follows close behind.

[juniormint1125]

Stress Relief - Choi Jongho x Reader

THIS POST CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. PLEASE READ WITH THAT IN MIND.

Stress Relief

Choi Jongho (Ateez) x Reader Summary: You’re working on the final draft of your master’s thesis, and when Jongho sees how much stress it’s causing you, he insists that you take a break. Word Count: 1,588 Genre: smut Warnings/Contains: light breast worship, oral sex (female receiving)

You’ve been sitting at your desk for the past few hours, pouring over research for your master’s thesis. It’s the culmination of the past two years of your life and you have six weeks left to edit and rewrite before your final draft is due. That’s plenty of time, but you’re already overly stressed. You need your work to be perfect.

You bury your head in your hands and groan. You’re overwhelmed and beyond frustrated. You hear Jongho’s heavy footsteps in the hallway. When he hears you groan, he stops and walks back toward your office. He gets riled when you’re too hard on yourself or when you push yourself beyond what's reasonable, so you know you’re in for a lecture. He enters the room and stands behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N.”

“Yes babe?” you reply sheepishly.

His fingers knead away the tension that’s been building up over the last few hours in front of the screen. “Maybe you should take a break, huh?”

“I will later. I just need to –”

“You need to take a break,” he interrupts, his tone firm. He slides his hands over your breasts, your eyes reflexively fluttering shut.

You half-heartedly protest. “Jongho, I really have to finish this.”

“Mmhmm.” He hums softly and begins to unbutton your shirt.

“Jongho.” Your voice is whiny, less out of annoyance and more out of arousal.

“Yes, jagi?” He pulls your shirt open, uncovering the skimpy lingerie beneath. “Ohhh. This is pretty jagi, is it new?”

He traces the pattern of purple lace barely covering your breasts. He wrenches the fabric away from your skin letting your breasts fall free. With his thumbs, he draws circles around your nipples, as he whispers in your ear.

“You’re too stressed out. I’m going to help you relax.”

He nips at your ear, squeezing your nipples between his fingers. Your back arches, a resounding moan pouring from your lips.

“Hmmm. Is that nice, jagi?” His lips move down your neck, pecking gently against your skin. You answer him with another moan.

He spins your chair around, planting his hands firmly on the armrests. His gaze bores into you, full of devilry and lust. Unconsciously, you tug at the fabric of your shirt, trying to cover yourself back up.

He runs one of his fingers under the waist band of your matching lace panties. “You can’t tell me that you put this on, planning to spend all day by yourself, sitting in front of this computer.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, a gentle smirk forming. It wasn’t your plan to seduce him. You had dressed absentmindedly after your shower, already thinking about your thesis. But you see his point. You’re exceedingly familiar with what purple and lace in the right combination can do to him.

You don’t have a leg to stand on, so you sigh in exasperation. “I really should be working.”

“Mmhmm,” he replies.

He kneels in front of you, smiling wickedly. His sturdy hands glide over your thighs, firmly gripping your waist as he moves his lips toward yours. His kiss is soft and sweet. He slides your shirt from your shoulders, then reaches behind you to unclasp your bra.

He wedges himself between your thighs, moving tenderly to cradle your face in his hands. Your body yields to his calm, authoritative manner. He kisses you with one hand still on your cheek, the other fondling your breast. His tongue parts your lips and he caresses your face lovingly. Then, he abruptly pulls away, grinning.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Before you can reply, I love you too, he’s lowered his head to your breast, teasingly sweeping his tongue past the hardening bud. He sucks you into his mouth and you bite back your moan. His mouth caresses your nipples, enticing and exciting you. Wetness drips from inside you.

“Isn’t this better than research?”

You chuckle. “Much better.”

His lips caress yours, and he winds his way down your neck, nipping across your collar bone. His focus is on your breasts, considerable attention given to each one. While his mouth is occupied there, his hands wander. He loves to caress your skin whenever he gets the chance, cooing over how soft your body feels in his powerful grip.

One of the things that makes Jongho so unbelievable is the way he spoils you. He makes sure that your needs come first; he wants you to be satisfied before he thinks about himself. He’s a giving and selfless lover.

And there’s no such thing as a quickie with him. He’d spend hours between your thighs if he could. Foreplay is never hurried; he takes his time and worships your body, without a hint of impatience. Before he even considers sex, he kisses every inch of you, slowly and sweetly, but with the perfect amount of depravity lurking beneath the surface.

His enthrallment with your body has left your panties soaked. He slides his hands over your thighs again, allowing them to stray to your core. His hum of pleasure at what he finds vibrates over your nipple, making you shiver.

He looks up at you, innocently. “Ready to finish your paper?”

You stare at him, shooting daggers from your eyes.

“What?” he quips. You playfully punch him in the arm, and he pretends to be hurt. “You said you had work to do!”

You grab him by the collar and pull him closer. He’s smiling broadly. “Choi Jongho. You started this. And you have a responsibility to finish it.”

His fingers close around your wrists, tugging them away effortlessly. You can feel the strength of his hands in even his lightest touch. The way he moves exudes masculinity, further kindling your desire. Your face flushes with exhilaration as he pins your wrists to the armrests. He raises up on his knees and moves closer. His lips brush against your ear, his whisper sending a jolt of electricity through your spine.

“Don’t worry, jagi. I always finish what I start. And when I’m done, I promise, you’ll be completely satisfied.”

He sinks back on his heels, hooking his fingers in your panties and pulling them off your hips. He slides them down your legs then throws them over his shoulder. In one quick motion, he pries apart your thighs.

He rubs the palm of his hand over your core, slowly, with just a small amount of pressure. As he moves in circles, the heel of his hand grinds against your clit. His fingers spread your lips apart, a lusty growl vibrating from deep within his chest. He toys with your most sensitive areas, kissing the insides of your thighs, teasing his fingers just outside of your entrance.

His kisses come closer to your core until he suddenly dives in, his tongue thrilling you when it flicks over your clit. Your thighs automatically constrict at the overwhelming sensation, but he holds them taut, and you whimper as he continues his assault. His tongue darts in and out of your hole, lapping at the wetness that’s already drenching his cheeks. But his eyes are soft as he watches your reaction, his hands caressing your thighs while he devours you.

His tongue stiffens, dancing back and forth over your clit. He knows how to get the quickest response, and he’s merciless as he works to bring you closer to the edge. Your core heats up, the warmth radiating from your clit and spreading over your lips. You whine with each stroke of his tongue.

His fingers again play at your hole. He traces the outline of your entrance before dipping the tip inside. He flicks it in and out, igniting the sensitive nerve endings. Then, he adds the tip of another finger, plunging both inside. He curls them inside you, caressing your walls with a firm touch. The repetitive motion sends you barreling toward the cliff of your orgasm. When he adds a third finger, your core contracts around him and you cry his name.

He chuckles against your heat. He revels in the sound of his name on your lips, especially when it’s accompanied by your moans. The pressure of his tongue increases and a fourth finger wedges into your tight hole. He sucks your clit into his mouth, making you cry out again.

He withdraws long enough to push your thighs into the air. Your feet rest against his shoulders. This time, when his fingers enter your pussy, the angle is much deeper. He pumps in and out, setting a ridiculously fast pace for his tongue on your clit. A series of pitiful whimpers emanates from your mouth. No other sounds or words will come.

You lean into him, relaxing your body so the sensations he’s inducing can take over. The heat created by his tongue is pouring over you, drawing you closer to the fire. A few minutes more and you’re ready to tumble over the edge. His tongue darts back and forth against your clit and you finally let go, tumbling headfirst into ecstasy. Your body jerks and spasms and you moan his name one last time.

His ministrations stop and he massages your thighs as you come back down. “God, Jongho. How are you so amazing?”

He grins proudly, pleased that he can satisfy you with only his tongue and fingers. He kisses your lips sweetly. “Let me to show you just how amazing I am.”

You giggle as he sweeps you up in his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom.

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

requested by anonymous

A/N: Rhett my sweet stupid cowboy I love him sm! and it’s my penultimate post until my final big fic for halloween tomorrow!! I really hope you guys like this!

“Sorry, I didn’t wanna wake you,” Rhett mumbles tiredly when you groan slightly.

He’d just got back from a tournament a few towns over, meaning it was incredibly late that he was getting home; you had already been fast asleep. You hum happily, telling him it was okay, as he crawls into the bed beside you. You bite your bottom lip as it pulls into a sleepy smirk when you realise he’s just as naked as you are under the covers. His warm body presses into your back as his arms wrap around your body, pulling you into his chest.

“How was the tournament?” You whisper sleepily.

You feel him shake his head behind you as he starts to kiss your bare shoulder.

“Was alright,” he murmurs against your skin. “Came second,” he sighs with a small shrug.

“You okay?” You mumble softly, shuffling yourself even closer to him.

“Mhmm,” he nods once, bumping his nose against your shoulder.

“Just wanna be close to you is all,” he drawls against your skin, bucking his hips against you, pressing his apparent hard-on against your ass.

“Wanna to be inside you. Please,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, placing gentle kisses between each word.

You groan sleepily, half-heartedly. You’re too tired to even really answer him so you just push your hips back, grinding your ass against him, and part your legs slightly, silently giving him permission.

“Yes, fuck, thank you baby,” he groans a broken whisper against your neck as he almost immediately shifts his hips behind you.

The tip of his cock brushes through your folds a few times before he slowly, slowly, pushes his way inside you. Content sighs roll from the both of you as he sinks as deep as possible into your pussy.

“Shit yes,” he whines, “so fucking warm. Feel s’fuckin’ good.”

You hum your agreement, reaching an arm behind you to cradle his head, bringing him down until his lips meet yours. He kisses you slowly, deeply, intensely. His hand cups your jaw, fingers resting on your cheek as his mouth moves languidly with yours. The two of you moaned softly into the kiss. Neither one of you moved to take this any further; this wasn’t about that, about release. You knew he’d fuck you thoroughly in the morning. But for now, this was just about closeness. About comfort. About simply being connected in this way.

Rhett breaks the kiss after a while to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, his lips peppering lazy and light kisses on your skin.

“Never wanna leave here,” he grumbles. “Feels so nice to just be here with you. To be in you,” he nips your ear playfully at that last line and you can’t help sigh a short laugh. “Just wanna stay here, like this, forever,” he finishes with a kiss to your temple.

You twist your head until your nose bumps his. You yawn lightly, a sleepy smile curving over your lips as you agree with his sentiment; “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be complaining.”

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

[sleepingdeath-sapphic]

Hey Hi i saw that your requests are open so if isn't a problem, can you do some relationship headcanons for Crystal Winter from Ever After High with a Gender Neutral Reader? Thanks

dating hcs ; ever after high

thank you for requesting anon <3

this includes crystal winter <3

reader is assumed as gender neutral <3

my account is 16+, please interact accordingly <3

though crystal isn’t the biggest fan of over the top gushy (or, as she would say, ‘slushy’) stuff in relationships, she still does what she can to make sure you know just how much she loves you and just how much she genuinely appreciates your company — this is mainly done through her making sure that each and every date you two go on is as fun and exciting as it possibly can be

naturally her preference leans strongly towards winter themed activities (e.g. ice skating, hockey, snowball fights, and so on), but she’s not completely opposed to switching things up and going out of her comfort zone to do the things that you enjoy — so if you’re more of a ‘beach ball’ person than a ‘snow ball’ person then she’s happy to improvise and accommodate you (though she’s still not gonna go easy on you during play — lover or not, she’s still got a bit of a competitive streak)

if you’re looking for a calmer sort of date, however, then she’s also happy to take you out at night to look up at the endless starry sky and the gorgeous northern lights — combine that stunning view with crystal’s passionate chatter about meteorology and the specific phenomena you’re witnessing and you’re pretty much set for a quiet night out with your darling girlfriend

assuming you’re not a native of the top of the world where she’s from, crystal makes sure that each visit you take up the mountain is better than the last — that means better and more personal housing as she gets to know you better, planned activities that are even more fun and educational than those you participated in during your last visit, a larger array of meals that consist of an equal mixture of local dishes and the meals you grew up eating, and (of course), a new wardrobe that’s both perfectly suited to your style preferences and as optimised for the local weather as possible

she doesn’t really use any pet names for you and just calls you your first name for the most part, and if you insist on calling her something other than her name then she’d definitely prefer something that sounds a bit more modern or something related to her and her future role (e.g. ‘babe’ works perfectly fine for her, but ‘my queen’ or ‘my winter queen’ when used sparingly and jokingly enough is also going to get a positive reaction from her)

crystal isn’t really someone who is super big on physical affection in her relationship with you, and especially not if it comes in the form of over the top pda — a peck on the lips/cheek is fine in any setting, hand holding when you’re walking about is chill, but cuddling is only for when you’re in private and anything more than that will have her wincing and half-heartedly complaining about you being too ‘slushy’ with her

during sleepovers with her it’s pretty much inevitable that the conversation will inevitably shift to the topic of her future and where she hopes you’ll settle within it — from her perspective, as a royal, her destiny as the snow queen is pretty much set in stone and she dearly hopes that, come what may, you’ll be ruling right by her side through it all… if you’re someone without a set path or who has rejected what fate supposedly had in store for you then it’s much easier for you both to dream of this fantastical future of endless winters and a love that never melts, but if you happen to be a royal like her with a destiny that dictates that you’ll both part ways some day then this particular topic is going to be one she ends up dancing around for the most part (it’s easier to dream of the impossible when you only think of the present and not the future)

[sayafics]

Soul-bonds & Heartaches - Chapter II

A.N:// Please enjoy chapter 2 of a fic/concept I hold near to my heart! If you would like to check out the original fic idea (also written by me) that inspired this series, please check out my wattpad @theangelradio, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Masterlist

Andromeda had spent the night crying into her arms, sleep gnawed at her but the scenes which had only just unfolded replayed in her mind until it was all she could think of and sleep became unimportant.

She began to rethink all her actions and all her words, her mind running through 'what ifs' and 'maybes' because despite it all she did not get her happiness and she did not get her Geralt.

Before she knew it the sun had risen to symbolise a new day but she couldn't forget the events of the passed one, her heart raced at the notion of having to face the man she had run from and the woman he had probably run to.

If she could, she would've ran farther away, far away enough so their bond was insignificant to her, far away enough so she could pretend everytime he touched another woman she didn't feel her blood sting and her heart burn.

She wished she could. But Cirilla. Cirilla was what kept her here, and Cirilla felt herself tied to Geralt, seeking the father figure she had lost at such a young age and Andromeda knew she could not take that away from her. Not after Cirilla had found solace after so many years, even if it was in the comfort of the man who hurt her in so many ways and continues to do so.

Andromeda did not move for a long moment, taking in the room she sat in - the room was still neat and untouched since they had only just paid for lodgings the night before, both beds laid neat and the air smelt damp. Her face fell slightly as she realised that she had locked Cirilla out of her own room all night, but then her heart swelled momentarily as she realised that Cirilla must've understood her need for space and left her to her own bearings. Hopefully she would not be too mad, and although she did not want it to her lips began to stretch into an unconcious smile as she began to think of the numerous ways Cirilla would complain about having to sleep alone in a strange inn in the middle of nowhere. Of course, all her statements would be made light-heartedly, after all it was not Cirilla that needed Andromeda but Andromeda that needed Cirilla, because despite all the monsters and beasts she faced at Geralt's side, the darkness held unfathomable beings that she could never face alone.

Only it seemed her embarassment and heartache from her fight with Geralt was enough to overpower her fears of the dark last night, and she felt her stomach flip at the realisation that even when she was hurt by him the thought of him made her feel safe enough to sit alone in a dark room. As the realisation became stronger and harder to ignore she huffed as she pushed herself to her feet, perhaps if she was to pretend yesterday's events did not happen he would do the same?

***

It seemed that was not the case at all. Andromeda stood to the side awkwardly as Geralt saddled Roach. No one else was in sight, the day being too early for them to have gotten up so soon, so Andromeda had no one to distract her from the burning glances Geralt sent her way.

"So-"

"I think I should wake up Ciri, we should get going soon. Don't you think?"

Geralt's expression faltered for a moment, but he managed to paste on a blank expression as she looked towards him for an answer, and instead nodded in agreement. It would be best to head off North now, in search of another monster-hunt and run far from the memories which were now imbedded in the walls of the inn that stood to his back.

Geralt found his body, his soul, begging him to follow her steps as she took hurried steps towards their lodgings to awaken their companions, but her ignorance to the confessions made last night made him hesitate for a moment too long and just like that his only opportunity was stripped off him.

***

They had been walking for a while now, the air between them all charged with awkwardness and tension and it seemed no one could face eachother knowing they all had some grasp of what had unfolded the previous night. It seemed even Cirilla was all too aware of the events as she had not murmured a word after her usual 'good mornings' were passed around, and not one comment was made about the fact she had to find another room so late in the day by herself.

Jaskier had tried to break the ice by strumming his lute and humming out his newest ballad, but his attempts fell short when Geralt had threatened to break it over his head. The threat had managed to get a squawk of indignation from Jaskier, a snort out of Cirilla, an eye-roll out of Yennefer and caused a small smile to twitch across Andromedas's face - a smile that did not go unnoticed by Geralt. And for once, he was glad he was not with his brothers because he was sure they would mock his racing heart and the way his breath caught in his throat.

Although it seemed that his awestruck expression was caught by Yennefer, and from the sour look which spread across her face he knew she was not happy. But, as he glanced back towards Andromeda's now sullen face, he knew he would risk the wrath of a thousand witches if he could smile her even one more time.

Geralt's mind had not changed, of course. He knew what he was, and he knew he did not deserve a woman like Andromeda. But that wouldn't stop the way his skin heated when she was close by, the way his heart trembled in her presence, the way his blood sung at the thought of her and the way his soul yearned for her acknowledgement with every breath he took. He could not burden her with his existence, but he would force himself to watch her from a distance and accept every fraction of attention she was willing to give him.

Unbeknownst to Geralt, Andromeda had felt much the same. When Geralt had unknowingly claimed Andromeda as his second prize on the night of Pavetta's engagement banquet she felt hopeful of an escape from a group of people who she knew would never accept her true self. After all, she was an elf - whether she still had her ears intact or not. To the humans she was a monster, and Geralt had to know what that felt like so she thought she had found an equal in him. But everytime he turned away from her, everytime he touched another woman in a way she hoped he would touch her, everytime he hurt her... she tried to keep her hope. Tried to hope he would see how similar they were, how Fate had worked in their favour. But sometimes she thought Fate had cursed them instead, and Geralt's ignorance to the bond he claimed was only proof of that.

In Andromeda's mind, Geralt could not feel the bond they had, did not suffer the consequences of stepping out on the bond like she did when he bedded other women. To Andromeda, Geralt held no feelings towards her other than that of an acquaintance, she was nothing special and that was enough for her to try and move on, only for him to stop her and confuse her all over again, and sticking her back into a cycle of hope and heartache again. Andromeda did not know how much longer she could do this, and she knew her resolve of staying with the group was breaking, bit by bit. And, glancing over towards Geralt and seeing how Yennefer leaned into his side before whispering sweet promises into his ears, she knew she was now closer to leaving than ever.

What she had failed to notice, however, was the way Geralt had instinctively recoiled from Yennefer's presence, as though his proclaimation in front of Andromeda's potential bed-mate, calling her his, had flipped on a switch he was unaware was inside him this whole time. His prize. That was what she had said, she was his Law of Treasure, she was the woman Fate had tied him to in a way that was incomparable to any other magic he had come across. As he met Yennefer's defeated glare head-on he could feel realisation sinking into his gut, knowing that after pushing Andromeda away for so long he had hurt her in ways worse than those he was trying to avoid, and all it had managed to do is make him ache for her in unimaginable ways. His soul found solace in her presence, joy at the thoughts of her and he had denied himself these feelings for so long that he could feel his self-control slipping.

Geralt took one last glance at her, a long and pained glance as he ran his eyes over her figure - admiring how despite the events of last night, despite the harsh words exchanged and the failed ventures, she walked with her head held high and despite the solemn look printed on her face and the defeated look in her eyes she managed to emanate an aura of strength. She was strong, in ways Geralt had never been able to be, and with that thought he turned away and focused on the path ahead as he tried to ignore his swelling heart and buzzing stomach. This was the princess he had met that night in the banquet, the woman he had felt so enamoured by - the woman he felt guilt at the sight of as he made, not one but two claims onto the Royal Family of Cintra. If he had known the claim would give him Andromeda? He never would have left that day.

***

Their journey was going to be a long one, and with the direction they were headed the lands were barren of villages, people and shelter. It seemed the weather was in their favour today, as the only unpleasant part of the night would be the cold breeze which brushed softly against their cheeks. Geralt had deemed the weather suitable enough for them to spend the night under the stars, and Andromeda found herself happy with the prospect - to be free under the night sky, to have the choice of being able to run, or speak, or move without tens of hundreds of eyes on you had placed her in a sense of ease.

Andromeda shuffled to the spot closest to the fire Geralt had set and claimed it as her own. The heat rolling off the flames bringing comfort to her panicked mind as the sky continued to darken despite sunset only being a short while ago.

Geralt could hear her panic, smell it, feel it. But he knew he had no comfort to give and if he did she would not accept it, instead he hoped the reminder that he was here and he would not let anything happen to her would be a comfort enough to soothe her, "I'll take first watch, get some sleep."

Geralt made his way towards a stray log to one side of the campfire, moving it upright and using it as a makeshift stool. He shook his head before Yennefer or Cirilla could protest, he knew they each had their own reasons and he hoped the stubborn look on his face would be enough to placate them both. And taking in the reluctant looks on both their faces as they turned away from the fire to rest, he hoped that would be the end of it.

He glanced over the rippling flames of the fire towards Andromeda who laid too close to the fire for comfort, her eyes flickering in tune with Jaskier's quiet strumming as she looked up at the sky. The flames glowed against her skin, her cheeks flushing at the heat and her face set in a serene look as she gave into the urge to relax. Her eyes glittered with starlight, full of dreams and desires - a sight Geralt has already seen so many times before during their travels, but even now he finds the breath in his lungs snatched away at the sight - breathless and frozen in a state of admiration. She was beautiful.

Geralt did not know how long he had been staring at her, he did not know when he snapped out of his stupor either but in the span of a few heartbeats he was looking into those eyes, those beautiful eyes - eyes that gleamed with wisdom, eyes that held a world of misery, eyes that made him feel alive - and he found it too hard to look away.

When Andromeda had turned in his direction she had been expecting him to glare into the treelines, always on alert for a threat. Instead, to see those amber eyes staring directly into her own? Her heart stuttered to a stop before slowly beginning to pick up speed. Sure he had looked at her before, she was sure he had even looked at her too but never like this. This look, it made her soul burn in a way she had ached for, for several years. This look made her want to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of eternity, but it also made her want to leap from her seat and finally, finally, show Geralt that he was hers's as much as Fate had made her his. This look made her feel seen in a way she had craved for far too long, and she didn't think she could let it go now. Instead, she quirked at eyebrow in his direction, and despite her nerves she found herself quietly questioning him, "is something on my face?"

It took Geralt a few moments to process her question, and he found himself slowly shaking his head in response. The action became more vigorous as he pushed himself to speak instead, his voice was deep but hesitant all the same, "no."

"Are you mad at me?"

Now that question had Geralt's eyebrows furrowing, "no." Why would she think that? Had he made her think he was angry with her? He would not be surprised if he was being honest, he had been messing up quite alot lately, especially with her.

"It's just... after yesterday."

They both waited a beat longer, hoping the silence was a prompt enough for Andromeda to continue, "I ran."

"And you had every right to do so. You had every right to be angry too."

"I'm not," Geralt's head twisted at that in curiosity, "don't get me wrong Geralt," - Fate, the way she spoke his name, the way it rolled off her toungue, so familiar and so addictive, it made his heart clench in desire - "I was angry, very angry. But that was in the moment, now I'm just confused. And disappointed."

Geralt sighed at that, his head dropping down as he looked towards the scuffed leather of his shoes, "you have every right to be."

"I know," the tone of voice she used showed Geralt that was not the answer she was looking for so he pushed himself forward.

"I'm a monster."

"I know."

Geralt's head snapped up in surprise, never had someone actually agreed with him and her acknowledgement of the validity of that statement had him feeling undescribable emotions, but before he could voice his bubbling emotions Andromeda had continued, "I am too."

He stopped short at that, her? A monster?

"Come on, you don't think I got these scars for some mundane reason, do you Witcher?" Her tone was teasing as she gestured towards the round and jagged edges of the top of her ears, "I used to be an elf not too long ago," her eyes darkened in hurt as she continued, "I no longer know who I am, but I know that I was sent away to be safe. But the humans would not accept me as their own and my own people would not recognise me as one of their's. To some I am a monster simply for not being human, being mortal. For others, I am a monster for having the one thing that symbolised my people torn off, in an act of cowardice as a trade for safety. How well that worked out, right?" Her laugh was harsh and pained, Geralt could relate to her feelings very well - Geralt was not labelled a monster because he killed them, but because he simply did not look like everyone else, did not think like them, feel like them, move or talk or be like them. He was different, and so he was a monster and so was she.

Geralt found himself looking at her in a whole new light once more, a light that made his desires burn brighter as the campfire flames grew languid in comparison.

"You should get some sleep, Rory."

It was a slip of the tongue. That was what he told himself, and it was this fact that Andromeda forced herself to believe as she nodded in agreement before rolling to face the dying flames and nod off into a fitful sleep. But, as hard as she tried, she could not stop the smile that stretched across her face at the nickname, a smile Geralt had - once again - noticed and taken pride in.

Andromeda found herself slowly drifting off to the faint sounds of Geralts breathing and the slowing strums of Jaskier's lute, her mind racing at the prospect that maybe, after this, maybe Fate was finally going to give her the destiny she was promised.

Taglist: @welliguessiwritethingsnow @kneelforloki @faefairi3 @xicesam @lovesickollie @supersoilderswhxre @henryownsme @makemydaysworthit

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[dalarans]

home is where the heartache is

rating: teen and up pairing: astarion x f!durge tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, short & sweet

the second fic in my mini series that includes missing scenes from my fic: shall we renounce

Astarion hasn't had a proper home in centuries. Now he has the chance to imagine what home could really mean to him.

read on ao3 or below ↓↓↓

1492 Nightal 11th

“Here put this on.”

Gurona holds the blindfold out to him, two parts eager and impatient. Astarion takes it gently into his hands, holding it there with suspicion.

“Brought me all the way down here for a bit of fun, love? You only had to ask.”

She smiles reflexively. Blindfolds weren’t a typical part of their repertoire, but if it was something Astarion was up for, she was always one for trying. But his idea of fun is the very last thing on her mind. She won’t ever give a moment to the passing thought. Nothing was going to undo all her hard work.

“I am asking, rather nicely. I’ll even say please.” She nudges him lightly. “Now, put it on.”

He stares down at the blindfold in contemplation, and she assumes he’ll give her lip about it. There’s likely a hundred or so things he could say about it; all salacious jokes meant to amuse her— and they would. She knows very well that when he got started, she would be stuck in fits of laughter, drawn into him, and neither of them would make any progress at all. He was far more dangerous for that alone rather than the violence of his vampiric nature.

“You know, it’s already dark down here. This,” he holds up the blindfold, as if it is a point of contention, “is hardly necessary.”

“Astarion.” Gurona is feeling rather impatient now. “Blindfold, please."

He opens his mouth before promptly closing it, thinking better of himself. With a drawn out sigh, he pulls the cloth to his eyes and ties it as best as he can manage at the back of his head. “This better be good,” he says.

She feels the bubbling of excitement rising through her chest and to her cheeks. He hadn’t put up as much of a fight as she expected. There had been other ploys in the works just in case he would only refuse her. But it had been made easy. Perhaps then everything would go far better than she had played it out in her head.

“Here, take my hand.” He reaches out aimlessly and she gives a light laugh as she takes his hand in her own. “Trust me?”

“I do.” He squeezes her hand gently in reply. “So don’t make me regret it.”

She leads him with cautionary steps deeper into the Underdark, the path already traveled time and time again in secrecy. She minded the raised mushrooms, shimmering with vibrant blues and dreamy purples. There was always enough life from the unearthly fauna to navigate the dark beauties all around her. It would always be her home, even if she hadn’t lived here in several decades.

“Watch your step here,” she warns when the ground slopes upward, old rock embedded into the dirt.

“If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

“You’re not going to fall.”

He squeezes her hand a bit tighter. “Oh, is that a promise, darling?”

“It is. If you fall, I’ll be the first to catch you,” she smiles, watching his wobbling steps up the rocks that fared as tentative stairs. “Promise.”

That seems to be enough of a comfort for him. His trust in her is not wasted. She guides him with ease, and no limbs suffer dirt nor damage. She even sees in the set of his shoulders and the shift of his gait, there’s no hesitation, no tension. He moves whole heartedly with her.

The destination itself is not much farther. She can already see the unpainted wooden building slanted to the right, the roofing depressed with several small holes. The dirt beneath their feet softens, the pathway smoothed out with spots of mushrooms and blooming sunless flowers. She’s more careful not to crush the plants beneath her feet. Astarion not so much.

“How much longer?” He asks, the lilt of impatience on his tongue. “As lovely as it is to wander in complete darkness with you, I’d much rather see your lovely face.”

“Miss my face that much already?”

His toothy smile is enough to send bursts of affection to every limb. “It’s my favorite sight of all.”

“Well, you’re just in luck then, as we’ve just arrived.” She tugs him a bit further, the building in question completely in sight now. “Are you ready?”

“To take this damned blindfold off? A thousand percent.”

She stops him at the perfect distance from the front door, so that he might take in the view all at once. She moves behind him, gently undoing the knot he so quickly managed before, and taking the blindfold into her hands. She rests her chin on his shoulder. “Surprise!”

He stands there, arms resting limply at his side before waving a hand in the general direction of the house. “It’s an abandoned shack… You’ve surprised me with an abandoned shack.”

“It’s a house!” She wraps her arms around his midsection and holds him tightly, his unimpressed demeanor unaffected.

“Is it?” He squints mockingly. “What is it then, a home for cravens and scavengers?”

“Maybe at one point or another but— you’re missing the point, Astarion!”

“Is there a point here?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Gurona—”

“Come on. Close your eyes.” She tilts her head to be certain he listens. He makes out that he’ll stubbornly refuse but with a deep exhale, his eyes flutter shut. She says quietly, “Now imagine with me. A home, sitting at the peak of a hill, overlooking the cavernous beauty of the Underdark. There’s a little garden out front with bluecaps, barrenworts, foam flowers, and more. A painted door of deep violet, inviting in friends and keeping out enemies.”

“Sounds like a fantasy, darling,” Astarion interrupts, though his eyes remain closed. She holds onto him a little tighter, needling her chin further into his shoulder.

“Shh, I’m not finished.” He relaxes into her and she continues, “When we enter, we’re met with the sweet smell of burning incense and a well-kept hearth. Princess Lollihops greets us at the door. Along the walls are portraits of us, and our friends, and all our adventures. On the shelves and mantle are pieces of us and our hauls, to remind us where we’ve gone and where we’ve yet to go. Books upon books so we never grow bored. A touch of you, and a touch of me, throughout every corner of the home..”

She pauses to let the imagery sink into his mind. She sees it so clearly, and she wishes he might see the same. The home looks like not much of anything at all, but the potential is grand. It could be everything they’ve ever hoped for. Everything they’ve all but lost.

“Do you see it now, Astarion?” She whispers into his ear, and she feels him shiver against her.

“Maybe.” He opens his eyes, resting his hands atop her own. “But that doesn’t make any of it real, love. This place, it’s-it’s…”

“I know it needs a lot of work.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Oh, it needs far more than that— far more than either of us can give.”

“You’re wrong, and I’ll prove that to you.” She doesn’t wish him to see her pout, so she frees herself from the coolness of his body and takes a step towards the home. She waves for him to follow. “You just need to see the vision.”

“I see more than clearly, darling. It’s you who may have hit her head one too many times. We ought to get that checked one of these days.”

Gurona rolls her eyes, pausing at the closed front door. She turns to him, pulling on one of her more sweeter smiles. With enough heart and encouragement, he would see things a shade different than usual. Time. That was what he would need, and they had nothing but time.

“Astarion.” She rests her hand on the doorknob. “Welcome home.”

She pushes the door open behind her, the lock broken from her first foray into the amusements of the abandoned home. She would fix that later (along with the most pressing of issues like the roof full of holes). Gurona steps in slowly, her back to the home, inviting Astarion in with a glance.

“And if I can’t enter, what then?” He’s stopped right at the entrance, the tips of his shoes pressed against an invisible barrier that none can see. She’s quite happy to dissuade all his fears.

“You can enter, Astarion. This is our home now.” She takes his hand and pulls him through with no resistance. “No one can keep you from it.”

They take a tentative walk throughout the home. There’s much to be desired in the decay. The furniture that remains is all but ruined and destroyed, and the smell that lingers is of rot and dust. To her, the small pieces of the home come together to create the possibility of sanctuary. To Astarion, the home is nothing more than worthless pieces of wood barely holding together.

Astarion presses her into one of the weakened walls; it groans from the weight of her. His hands rest on her hips, his mouth just inches from her own. He slips into the smooth tone that always sends goosebumps up and down her spine. “Dream bigger, darling. A mansion, with a room for every vice and depravity. Now that sounds up our alley.”

She moves her hands to his shoulders before threading one hand to the soft flesh of his neck, and the other gently dragging through his curls. “Astarion, I want us to have something. Something for us and us alone. I don’t need a mansion to love you in. I love you here, and now.”

“We might not need a mansion, but we’re more than deserving of one. I mean, for all we’ve done for Faerûn, you would think some god would send us a hoard of riches and barrels of fresh blood.”

“Astarion.” She says his name softly, to draw his attention back to the present. “Do you really hate it so much?”

“It’s…” He sighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into her hips. “I don’t hate it but— it’s been abandoned for a reason, darling. It’s not worth our time.”

She smiles sadly, staring up into those heartened, crimson eyes. He’s the only one who sees her so clearly: her dreams, hopes, and fears. She says, “Even things long forgotten deserve love, Astarion.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile. “And a little love will save a place like this?”

She nods ardently. “Love can save anything.”

To stop a silly argument from unfolding, or any other way he might readily disagree with her, she leans forward to press her lips against his. It feels important, to seal her love for him in this very spot, to add this moment to their precious small vat of memories. She wants him to feel the power of them both combined, settling into the walls and floorboards. She needs him to feel it.

She clings on tighter, chest flush against chest, both pressed hard against one another, the home singing from the shifting of their weight. She smiles against his mouth, the heat of her own body melding so comfortably with the coolness of his own. His hands are eager at her waist, knotting in her dress.

“If this place was ours, we could do this in any room at any time,” she barely manages with sparing breaths against his lips. He eyes her hungrily.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She kisses along the edges of his lips with a faint giggle. “No one to interrupt us. No curious animals, no sunlight, no sudden dangers.”

His body weight moves against her and she gasps lightly when he shifts his hips into her own. “I do love the sound of that.”

“Make a home with me then, Astarion.” She kisses him again and again. She can taste the hopeful future on his tongue. It stirs her heart with unabashed excitement.

She waits, their hands moving with vigor from clothed skin to exposed. They’ve always allowed their wants and desires to carry them fully from one moment to the next, always hand in hand. It feels as if he hears the hammering of her heart and answers the call with all the adoration and love she so desperately craves. He kisses her like they’re the last two people in all of the Underdark.

“Alright,” he says when he gives her a moment to catch her breath, her hands trembling against his chest. “I want this, love. I want all of this. You, this home, this life. And all that comes with it.”

The tears are instantaneous in her eyes. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

When their mouths meet again, it is made in promise that they’ll finally give each other what they so readily deserve. Something that’s theirs. Something that no god or master could take from them.

A home just for them.

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 3

Minors DNI pretty please.

A slight trigger warning for unstable/abusive parents. Nothing graphic but for those of us who had or have verbally abusive parents you might choose to skip over the parts in bold italics.

For the past two days Ghost had been holed up in his room following his little moment on the rooftop and couldn't be cajoled into leaving.

Gaz tried.

Price tried.

Soap tried.   Twice.   And very narrowly avoided having a short-tempered lieutenant rip his head off the second time.

The others around base seemed to take their cue from Soap's experience and avoided the area around Ghost's door.

Mostly.

"Really not a good idea!" a familiar Scottish accent hollered from down the corridor, earning a cocked eyebrow from the masked lieutenant. He focused his hearing... must be about 10 meters or so down the hall from the sound of it. Footsteps were rapidly approaching; light ones at first followed by heavier ones running to catch up.

Soap's evidently, judging by the continuous shouted warnings. Fucking hell. Ghost felt his irritation rising at the notion of yet another intrusion into his space. Whoever was about to interrupt his alone time had better be on fire or something. That was about the only circumstance in which he could see himself being understanding.

Someone opened his door without knocking and caused the lieutenant to squint as light flooded his darkened room. But once he focused on the small figure in his room, clad in a dark hoodie and leggings, all annoyance faded into nervousness.

His heart began to race in his chest at her approach. Ohhh shit. Simon was not ready to face her yet after his rooftop fantasy... and here she was in his fucking room. Ghost tensed, braced for an intense ass-chewing as her little steps quickly brought her closer to him.

Without making eye contact or saying a single word, Sereza marched over to where the skull sat on his bed, plopped down next to him, kicked off her shoes, and leaned back against the wall just as he was.

Simon's eyebrows furrowed in a mix of amused bewilderment.

"...come in." he quipped.

Sereza didn't say a word or look his way. Her hand wriggled inside her pocket for a moment before a bottle of water was practically shoved in his face. Two days in this drab, sunless den of his without coming out even to eat was enough, and she had come to pry him out of his brooding spot no matter the cost. Gently, of course. If her theories about the lieutenant and what went on in that masked head were correct, then this called for a delicate approach.

"Hm," the skull grumbled, taking the water from her lest she shove it through his eye socket next. 

Only once she produced her own bottle and cracked it open did he reluctantly do the same. Thanks Love. Ghost bit the inside of his cheek in exasperation at his inability to say such a simple little phrase aloud. But the ever-present voice of his father screaming at him and mocking him wouldn't let Simon utter a sound. Something about him being pitiful and a sorry excuse for a kid or whatever it was.

Ghost tramped it back down, refusing to let the memories of his father ruin a moment with Sereza.

The next few minutes ticked by, and Ghost found his mood gradually improving. He stole another sideways glance over at the black hoodie at his side. "You're in my room," he grumbled half-heartedly. A small attempt to start a conversation.

"Smartass," she retorted without turning her face.

Simon chuckled at her response. Even cracked a small half-smile. She could be such fun to bicker with. "Why are you in my room?"

"A few reasons: First of all, you've been alone in this gloomy hidey-hole -"

"Hidey-hole??"

"- of yours for two days now. And secondly, because I wanted to." Scolding words but her tone told him there was no irritation behind them, only concern. The last one actually made him crack a tiny smile. She was here with him - in his room, on his bed - because she wanted to be where he was. Just as Price had said.

The two sat in comfortable (if somewhat awkward on his part) silence a while longer. Both lost in the thoughts and worlds that existed only in their heads.

"Were you mad at me?" Sereza finally asked in a quiet voice.

"What?" Ghost nearly croaked, surprised at her question.

"Well, you kinda took off all of a sudden, in a hurry, and..." her head turned in his direction a bit, though not enough to reveal her face, "And then you shut yourself in your room for two days. So... I started to think maybe I said or did something that made you mad."

That was unexpected, to say the least. If anyone was going to be mad, she should be mad at him. And probably would be if she ever found out about his fantasy... or had seen what it did to the front of his pants.

Simon felt guilty. He'd been in his... hidey-hole... over his mortification and shame over a fucking daydream (even if it was really hot) but in doing so he'd accidentally hurt the woman he loved by making her think he was angry with her. He silently cursed the way his mind worked for the umpteenth time before gathering his courage.

He brushed his knuckles delicately along the back of Sereza's hand. "No Sereza, I wasn't ever mad at you," his low baritone soothed, "My mind is... complicated... sometimes. I'm sorry I made you think I was angry with you."

"Why did you scurry off so quickly?"

Scurry?? Ghost had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the implication that he, of all people, scurried.

"I don't, uh, I don't always have a good explanation for what I do." Simon hoped that was enough of an answer. It was about as close to honest as he could get without telling her the entire truth. Something he was very much not ready to do. His hand kept rubbing hers as he tried to convey through his touch how much he regretted making her feel that way.

Finally Sereza acknowledged his attempt at an apology by returning the gesture. Simon's breath caught in his throat for a moment as her fingertips began lazily tracing the lines of his tattooed forearm. He found her touch both electrifying and relaxing. "Why have you been hiding in here all of this time?"

"Still don't have a good explanation... just had a lot on my mind," his gravelly voice mumbled as he kept his eyes focused on her fingers. Her hand looked so little compared to his large one. The touch of her fingers light and comforting against his skin. A sensation both precious and unfamiliar.

Ghost wished the rest of the night could be just like this moment.

Sereza seemed to accept that would be all he was willing to share for now and her attention turned to rummaging in her hoodie once more, producing a pencil and sketchbook. "Bloody hell Little one, how much shit do you have in there?"

 "Only the most important shit," she replied with a snarky tone, tossing her hood back and running a hand through her caramel waves. 

She flipped through the filled pages of her book. The drawings caught Simon's attention like they always did. A moose with giant antlers, bears, the river not far away, and faces of people from around the base - most of whom he didn't recognize - with random doodles and scribbles scattered throughout. All of them in astounding detail. The night's quiet filled his room again while he contentedly watched her pencil glide over the page in practiced strokes to create the outline of a face. Tiny scratching noises of graphite on paper were the only sound between them. The lieutenant was actually having a peaceful evening for once. Certainly a rare but not unwelcome change.

“You sketch a lot," he whispered, dark eyes fixed on her page.

“Can’t sleep a lot. What about you?”

“Barely fucking sleep,” Ghost grumbled.

There it is. An admission to what she had suspected. Sereza knew better than most others what dark thoughts could creep into a person's mind at night. They could torment you to the brink of insanity and drive you into the darkest holes the human mind could create. The kind that are only open to those who have experienced the worst that life can inflict on someone.

Her battles had made her able to recognize the signs of someone who was suffering through their own. Someone whose nightmares visited them both day and night without mercy.

Like the masked lieutenant beside her.

What exactly those nightmares were, she was unsure of. But it was clear they were ruthless in their assault. “It sucks that our minds can be so much more active at night, doesn’t it? Mine won’t shut the hell up most of the time," Sereza replied with clear annoyance and a subtle, calculating side-eye that Ghost didn't catch.

Simon hummed in both understanding and agreement before his expression took on a far-off look. A look recognizable to those who also fought against their own mind daily.

Sereza observed him discreetly. Wherever his mind was taking him was not going to be a good place. Sighing loudly, she repositioned herself, causing the mattress to move and allowing her knee to accidentally-on-purpose brush against Ghost's leg in a subtle attempt to get him grounded without drawing any attention.

The skull blinked as he snapped back to their reality. With a knowing grin, she resumed tracing his tattoo in order to keep him in the moment.

Hoping to keep his mind from wandering off again, Sereza started talking aloud. “When I can’t sleep I like going on a walk. I like how quiet it is at night and seeing the stars and aurora overhead. The sky is really pretty this far north where there aren't any city lights to ruin it..."

The Brit listened as she went on about the things she did on her sleepless nights and what she loved about life in the Arctic. Her voice was indescribably soothing. Simon had never been one for chit-chat but all of this, for some reason, felt like incredibly important information. Plus it was relaxing to listen as she chattered away. Hell, he could - and wanted to - listen to her all night long. And the next night and the one after that. All of the rest of his nights and days he could spend exactly like this.

"... but if it’s one of those nights where I don't sleep at all then I might sketch. Or read. What do you usually do?” Sereza asked as her little monologue wound down.

"Hm. Gym. Clean my guns..." he trailed off. That was what he used to do to try and keep his worst memories locked away at night, but it wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. He wanted, craved - desperately - more of this. The peaceful quiet, the tranquility, and connection that his evening had turned into the moment Sereza walked through his door. At no other time was Ghost able to experience any of these in his life. 

Only with her.

Simon took a deep breath to calm his nerves at what he was about to say next.

Gathering every ounce of his courage and bravery as he entwined his fingers with her slender ones -

"I... think about you."

"Me?!" Sereza almost squeaked, dropping her pencil. Wide eyes glued to him.

"Yeah," the skull admitted almost sheepishly, nerves making his accent thicker. Fucking hell... no going back now.

Hazel eyes tried to discern what was going on in that masked head. He was clearly on the cusp of saying something important, but he was also very obviously hesitant. "...I keep you awake?" She gave him her best fake-sad tone.

Simon nodded in response. "Yeah. You do. Quite a lot." He paused and held her hand tighter. He was right before about how little her hand was within his. "I sit for hours and think about you. Nonstop. Day and night. I think about you all the bloody time." His throat stung with the emotions he was forcing himself to admit to her. "At first I didn't understand what was going on and was fucking scared as hell by how intense my... feelings... for you were, but... before I knew it..." Ghost paused before finishing hurriedly, "You're on my mind all of the damn time. All I care about, all that I want."

"Ghost... are-are you-"

"I love you…," he confessed in a dejected whisper.  ("WHAT THE FUCK?! NO KID OF MINE IS GONNA BE SUCH A FUCKING PATHETIC LITTLE SHIT!! QUIT CRYING BEFORE I FUCKING MAKE YOU!!")

Once again, his father's voice filled his mind with hateful words. His eyes stung and his throat locked up.

("YOU THINK I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU? YOU THINK ANYONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOU?! ALL YOU'VE BEEN GOOD FOR IS RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE  JUST LIKE YOU RUIN EVERYTHING ELSE! NO ONE WILL EVER FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOU AND IF THEY DO, YOU'LL RUIN THEIR FUCKING LIVES TOO!")

Horrible memories of yelling, screaming, violence, his mother pleading with his father to stop... all came crashing down and threatened to bury him.

He had to stop himself.

This was not the life he wanted to subject Sereza to. His past... the anxieties and trauma and nightmares... none of it should be something she should have to deal with. He would ruin her life. God he was fucked up and falling in love with someone was horrendously fucking selfish of him.

"But I can't. You have a future ahead of you... and I will ruin it." His gravelly voice heavy with the crushing weight of emotion. "You are so, so beautiful to me. So perfect. And deserve everything good in life. I will ruin you..."

The skull stood and turned his back to her, unable to stand the hurt it caused him to face her any longer.

"Ghost-"

The Brit cut her off, shaking his head, "Forget I said anything," he mumbled, refusing to turn around and roughly pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back down over his arm. 

"What if I said that I don't care that you're complicated?" Sereza asked, sliding her hand into his once more as she moved to stand in front of him.

He silently contemplated her words. Her proximity was making it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. 

"I've killed people..." came a barely audible whisper.

"Who would have killed you. Or worse,” Sereza replied firmly.

"I've done horrible things."

"To survive,” she corrected. “I'm not afraid of who you've had to become in order to complete a mission and make it out alive."

"I'm... I'm not a good man... I will hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

Those dark eyes held more pain within them than she had seen in ages and it was breaking her heart. What has happened to you? How long have you suffered alone like this?  "I know exactly what soldiers like you are capable of, but I'm still here, aren't I? You won’t hurt me or scare me away, Ghost. I'm here now, I have been here, and I will still be here in the future... because I love you too."

Simon’s entire body tensed and he drew in a shaky breath at the sound of those words. You... you don't want me Love...

"Sereza..." Ghost shook his head. He'd wanted so fucking much to hear her say those words to him one day... but it only caused him more internal misery.

He believed, with his entire soul, that he was beyond loving. His father had made sure he was well aware of it when Simon was little and then there was his captivity in Mexico, the scars of which were carved into him. A permanent testament to his unworthiness.

He had to prove to her that he was not what she wanted.

Reaching up with a shaking hand, Ghost grabbed the top of his balaclava and pulled.

He could physically feel her gaze cutting into him as she took in his appearance. The numerous scars, the mop of sandy blond hair his father always said was hideous and messy, his nose had a bump in it and was a bit crooked from being broken multiple times. A face that so resembled his father's. How could the Brit not be convinced she was as repulsed by what she saw as he was? Surely she found fault in everything there was about him just like everyone else in his life always had. He took up too much space, was too sensitive, not man enough, loved his mother too much...  

His father had quite a lengthy list of everything wrong or bad about him and Simon had learned it well. 

Dark eyes locked onto the floor between them, unable to look at her disgusted expression. Cheeks and nose reddened as he fought to maintain control over his emotions.

Small hands reached up and tenderly cradled his scarred cheeks. "I love you... Simon Riley," Sereza murmured, tiptoeing to lightly kiss one of his scars near his chin.

The gesture and hearing her call him by his name made him crumble a bit on the inside and a single tear slid down his cheek where she wiped it away with her thumb.

Ghost risked a small glance at her. None of the revulsion or pity he feared seeing was anywhere on her face. Instead there was love. Acceptance. Comfort. Safety. All being offered to him freely and unconditionally. And Simon nearly shattered at the sight of it.

She leaned forward again and left another small peck on a scar at his jaw. Barely pulling away from him after and glancing up into the dark pools of his unblinking eyes before pulling his head down for a final kiss to the scar near his lower lip, causing him to release a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Simon tilted his face further down and lightly brushed his lips across hers briefly. "...I love you," he whispered, his mouth hovering just above hers.

Sereza grinned as she tiptoed again to reach him and kissed his lips. Quick, but not lacking in loving affection whatsoever.

Dipping his head closer, he wrapped his arm around her back and threaded his fingers into the soft waves of her hair. "I love you Sereza." Their lips came together as Simon, at last, allowed himself to take his fill of her lush lips and embrace the woman he loved. Sereza's lips were every bit as soft as he'd imagined they were. And so sweet.

She hummed in delight, pressing closer to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. One hand sliding into his hair. 

“Stay tonight?” Simon asked after their long kiss finally wound down. “Not to- Just to sleep,” he quickly clarified.

A bright smile beamed up at him. “I’d like that.” Sereza left little kisses just under his jawline - about as high as she could reach if the Brit wasn't bending down for her.

Unable to resist, Simon pulled her up to him for a proper kiss. He then guided her to the bed where once under the covers he pulled her close against his chest, his cheek resting against her forehead. Little strands of her hair tickled his chin. Sereza squirmed beside him a bit as she got comfortable before she reacquired his tattooed arm.

“That feels nice,” Ghost softly admitted while he watched her fingers glide across his skin.

"Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s gentle and your skin is soft. It’s... calming…” A yawn cut him off. His eyes heavy with sleep and the sensation of her fingertips only relaxed him further.

“Good. I’m glad,” Sereza quietly replied as she continued her tracing and snuggling closer to his large frame. “I love you Simon,” she whispered.

Ghost shut his eyes at the feeling her words stirred inside him. He lightly kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

[megumiswife4]

ENTWINED SHADOWS 2

Pairings ~ Megumi x Fem Reader

Warnings ~ slow burn, (possible smut in later chapters), aged-up Fushiguro (as well as other characters), cussing, 18+ only PLEASE.

WC ~ 2.6

This is my first fic here. Please take it easy on me, but I would love to receive constructive criticism to improve my writing; you guys can always leave messages in my inbox or comment below once again thank you for reading, and enjoy.

*I will be posting every Sunday night for a new chapter*

**Also I apologize for not updating on the set date that it was supposed to drop, I had some family visit from out of state. Having to deal with exams and loads of homework from school but I promise to make sure I stay consistent with y’all and to keep these chapters coming out on the day intended. **

Part 1:

Theme song: Die For You by The Weeknd

Shibuya, Tokyo

What a place to start your night off, with plans of good drinks, great friends, and a little bit of karaoke.

First, the itinerary suggests grabbing food before downing a bit of alcohol, no one wants to end the night too early on when it’s still young. Sightseeing big city lights, and skyscrapers; walking the strip of Shibuya alluring many people from locals to tourists. Day and night, it was equivalent to fitting the phrase of “The city that never sleeps.” Drunk people sleeping on the sidewalks, others enjoying the street foods from local vendors– nothing else can compare to the streets of Shibuya.

“Megumi, how do you feel about heading to Ichiran Shibuya? I've heard they’ve got some mean ramen there.” you calmly asked smiling

“I don't mind, quite more appetizing than whatever Itadori suggested.” Rolling his eyes, he chuckles.

You amusingly stated “Oh I’m sure, did he pick chicken tenders and fries as usual?”

The raven-haired boy light heartedly laughed along with you, resting your hand onto his shoulder as you raised the other covering your mouth trying not to be too loud for Itadori to hear you both laughing for his choice of food before a night of drinking.

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Megumi's POV

For a moment my heart must’ve jumped, I can't quite understand why? Y/n is just a friend of mine, surely this isn’t what friendship should feel like right? For god's sake, I sure as hell don't feel this way for Itadori or Kugisaki– why am I feeling this way fo-

“Hey come on daydreamer let's get going.” y/n smiled, grabbing ahold of your wrist. Her touch was not like the others, it was always gentle and soft, peoples touches were a bit bothersome for me but with hers I tolerated them.

“Yeah Fushiguro put some pep in your step please?” Kugisaki shouted

Pretending to act annoyed I followed her and the others lead. We came to a stop once entering the Ramen shop, awaiting to be seated by the hostess.

“Welcome in!” The staff greeted us loudly, and lastly the hostess sat us down. I was the last to get my menu, observantly seeing the hostess purposely grazing her hand across my forearm once the menus were placed down. Quickly moving my arm out of view feeling entirely uncomfortable, she gestured a quick eye wink and left; Noting all three of my friends had seen the small flirtatious gesture I had received by the woman.

“Wow Fushiguro you seem to be great with the ladies! Wishing something like that happened to me” Itadori imagined, flushing at the thought of an encounter like Fushiguro’s.

“Shut up Itadori, what she pulled was really unnecessary.” I Snarled.

Kugisaki couldn’t help but laugh, that someone might have been interested in someone like Fushiguro.

“That thought alone of someone crushing on you is god awful, who would like you? I mean, hey preference right?”

Y/n quietly lowered her head, staring at her lap, proceeding to navigate her head upward quickly glancing in my direction— then rendering her eyes back to the menu.

“So…guys have you decided what you all would want to eat?” She exclaimed.

“Y/n so you don’t agree with Itadori and I?” Kugisaki asked shockingly.

“What about it? Megumi isn’t unpleasant or hideous, if anything he’s quite the opposite. Not to mention he’s a great person overall being that he's kind, smart, and really generous…” her eyes widened quickly, gasping, “Oh my god! I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, Megumi?” She laughed shyly.

“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, but thanks that was gracious of you.” Saying delicately

Thinking to myself it was not what I was expecting at all, I was quite caught off guard by her compliment. She always had a way with her words, it was alluring.

~

Itadori & Kugisaki both looked at one another with a side eye, astounded by that particular response from y/n.

The waitress ultimately approached the table to grab everyone’s drinks and entree orders. Before the main course could arrive, Itadori’s curiosity got the best of him wanting to better understand y/n’s response.

“So what? do you like Meg—“ Before he could finish his sentence Nobara smacked the back of his head, immediately cutting off Itadori’s question before any awkwardness would invade the table.

“You dumbass, why would you ask that?!” Kugisaki whispered quietly to Itadori.

“Ouch! My head! That wasn’t fucking nice of you to do sheesh!” Itadori winced, rubbing his head.

Y/n couldn’t help but cackle at Nobara and Yuji, it was pure comedy seeing those two argue about the dumbest shit anyone could ever contend over.

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After a filling dinner, it was finally time to head out to a bar nearby that included Karaoke and great drinks, Thankfully the sections in the bar weren’t completely filled.

All four stepped into the bar, the atmosphere was astounding. Multiple groups of conversations happening all at once. It was undetermined what conversations were which, hearing glasses clink with each cheer, people would insist to do right before downing some alcohol.

Y/n pulling both Itadori’s and Kugisakis hands, Megumi followed their lead. They ran into a section that was empty for the group of four to stay in, a small glass coffee table with a small menu that included a QR code labeled onto it. To order the drinks you must scan the code, Once the bartender receives the order from the section they are to make the drink; sending out the order to a waiter who delivers the cocktail.

The first round of drinks consisted of sake shots for all four, this first tab was on Yuji. “Cheers! To all the shit missions we just arrived back from, also to a hopeful night of endless drinks and fun!” he rejoiced.

All four combined their shot glasses together creating that chiming noise effect, every single one of them single-handedly downed the shot; urgently feeling that burn in their stomach when ingesting the first alcoholic beverage of the night.

Y/n turned directly toward Megumi, “ Well these drinks might end up tasting like water by the end of this night.” she laughed.

“You’re not wrong, let's just hope we can hit a few other places before the night is over.” Megumi let out a minuscule laugh.

It was finally time to start ordering bigger and fancier drinks for our first stop here in Shibuya. Nobaras specialty drink of course was a Bellini, very sophisticated and “lady-like” cocktail of choice. It consisted of the finest bottle of prosecco and a generous amount of peach puree. Itadori’s choice of drink was very self-explanatory, a Long Island Iced Tea– sweet and enjoyable just like him. Whereas Megumi’s was the plain ‘ole dark rum and coke on the rocks, nothing crazy but it fit him– subtle, dark, but strong personality. Lastly, y/n’s drink, a Malibu rum and pineapple juice over ice– it was a fun yet sunny color. Nothing beats her shy yet bubbly personality and that drink was just one that fit perfectly.

Enjoying the vocals of the regulars at the karaoke stand, singing their drunken hearts out. Nobara and y/n enthusiastically applauded each and every person showing out on stage. At last, no other person or group was willing to take the place of the next person to have the spotlight. Nobara quickly glanced over to y/n, nudging at her shoulder.

“Are you ready to take the stage and crowd?” she exclaimed excitedly. Before y/n could say a word she was pulled towards the stage alongside Nobara, “I requested the next song, I figured no one had great taste in music but me.”

Glamorous by Fergie began to play on the loudspeakers, y/n’s eyes widening; she felt a bit nervous with a building full of crowds and people she wasn’t familiar with. Of course, Kugisaki selected this song in particular, she loved expensive and luxurious items not to mention she adored the lavish life the wealthy lived in. After all the spotlight was never a problem for Kugisaki, she has a very straightforward personality, she can almost instantaneously fit right in.

Y/n on the other hand was definitely a bit more closed off, she would have needed a couple more shots to get her a bit more comfortable.

A man who had a section near theirs ordered a few sake shots, juggling about four shot glasses in his hands in hopes of not dropping them. He very slowly made his way to y/n, handing over the shots to her in hopes of relieving her anxiousness.

“Here take these, it's on me.” he kindly clamored.

“Uh… Oh is that for me? Thank you!” Y/n cautioned, emitting a dainty smile.

He clamored “Sure thing, I noticed you might have needed some of these to shake off the nervousness. If you need anything else just holler over at my section I'll take care of you.”

“That's super sweet of you, thanks.” she shyly smiled.

“By the way, that dress hugs you in all the right places.” giving a quick wink as the gentleman walked back towards his section of the bar.

Stunned by the young man's choice of words she felt a bit nervous, noting that he took appreciation of her body and the way he was swooning over her curves in the dress.

She instantly downed the shots, feeling warm and fuzzy throughout her body. The confidence was immediately kicking in– give it no more than a few seconds and she would be ready to take on the stage.

“Who the hell is that?” Megumi annoyingly questioned Itadori. Staring the young gentleman down as he sat in his section.

“I don't know but it seems to me he’s got a liking for y/n. Let’s hope he isn’t a creep or we’re going to have a huge problem, on the bright side she might be able to get us free drinks though.” Itadori stammered.

Megumi silently scoffed, sitting alongside Itadori in their booth– crossed arms, his legs mildly spread apart leaning against the cushioned couch. Waiting for the show that the girls would end up embarrassingly speaking about the next morning.

As the chorus began, Kugisaki took the limelight swaying her hips left to right engaging her hand forward to a group of young men who had been charmed by her presence; her other hand slightly gripping the mic. Wanting to leave the men in a daze she decided it was a smart idea to lift the side of her dress up exposing her thigh, she teased the men insinuating that “they could look but don't touch.”

The colored disco lights flashed on every part of her and Y/n, the attention was all on them. Resulting in the crowd being mesmerized by their presence.

Y/n looked over to Nobara, seeing that the alcohol had heightened her confidence. Her thigh was exposed to the men across the room that drooled over her. Concluding that it was finally y/n’s time to take her chance to sing the next chorus.

“Jesus Christ that's disgusting, I feel like I’m watching my sister act seductive in front of horny men.” Itadori shrieked.

Both men hovered their hands over their eyes in shame, seeing that Nobara felt a bit frisky about gaining the attention of the drunken young men.

Nobara slightly moved aside to make way for y/n, She nearly tripped over a cord instantly catching herself before causing more of an embarrassment for herself. Laughing a bit, she glanced over towards Fushiguro and Itadori hoping they hadn’t noticed; she struck out of luck as they had most definitely been aware of her clumsiness.

Ultimately y/n softly grasped ahold of the mic, the time was now or never— if it wasn't for the alcohol she would not have been as forthcoming as she was now. Singing the chorus, Y/n began to move herself to the beat of the music. One hand on the mic the other grazing down from the base of the hip down to her thigh as her body was adjusting to every single part of the song. People cheering, and men whistling to the provocative movements. The young man that had brought the sake shots gained his friend's attention, directing his finger towards y/k.

“She’s coming home with me tonight.” the young man snickered, raising a small capsule containing a white substance.

His friend's eyes darted around nervously, “Bro you gotta be careful, Remember what happened to the other girl last time? Can’t keep doing this shit every time we’re out– that isn’t how you get the girl.”

“I’m not trying to get serious with her, I just need a bitch in my bed for the night.” He sneered.

His friend stood up angrily, “I’m not putting up with this kind of shit, you want to keep pulling this stunt you’re all on your own– I'm out of here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megumi’s POV

Watching y/n showing her true identity, the radiance in her beauty that was luminated from the colorful lights, her looking at Kugisaki immediately laughing. They both know they’re very much out of character once the drinks kicked into their system, her laugh was contagious. I enjoyed knowing she was having a blast on that stage. Her happiness is all that mattered being that Jujutsu Tech wasn’t as all cracked out to be. Understanding this is what she needed… what we all needed. I sulked in every moment, grinning to myself whenever she tried her hardest to not display her buzzed self.

It feels unnatural to feel this way, I can’t decipher whether these are my sober feelings or my drunken ones. No, she’s my friend… I’m just a bit buzzed out of my mind, there is no way in hell that anything would transpire from this… from us. My mind is rendering back and forth about these emotions, always brushing them aside thinking this could have easily been forgettable, and yet each time I prove myself wrong— because in the end, it’ll only result in my feelings growing stronger.

“Hey look Fushiguro.” Itadori nudged at my shoulder. “Isn’t that the guy y/n got those sake shots from?”

“Yeah… that is.” I stammered, observing the commotion between the two. It was hard to understand, but their physicality is what told it all.

The man providing those sake shots seemed to be in a heated feud with who I would assume was his friend. Shortly after, the conversation cut quickly to his friend leaving the bar enraged. Hmm strange… witnessing the other man trying to pack something into his right pocket, but unfortunately, he missed. There it was, lying on the floor a miniature ziplock bag containing some sort of white substance. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen, if I’m correct, it’s used to spike people's drinks knocking them unconscious and unfortunately in those moments, they are taken advantage of in the most vile way imaginable and only an immoral, crazy, piece of shit would use something like that. My anger raging, blood boiling, in hopes that y/n hadn’t been exposed to it. I had to keep my cool, realizing he had dropped it fully exposed to the environment around him, he quickly propped his arm down to pick it up and in a hurried manner stuffed it back into the pocket, a concerned look appeared on his face wondering if anyone else took notice of it— until his eyes met mine.

His eyes glared directly at me, two can play this game. I have no problem being invested in this punk. Raising his hand, his index finger fixated hovering over his lips. Gesturing to keep my mouth shut, I came to realize he might not have a clue that we were here accompanying Kugisaki and y/n.

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TAGLIST: @afatalheat , @mariapierce789