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ilylovelyz · 11 months ago

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⍣ ೋ Rom-Com Gone Wrong

˚ · . bakugou katsuki x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ takes place during their third year, mentions of injuries and blood, forced intake of aphrodisiac, unestablished relationship, mutual pining, love confession, both characters are 18, protected sex, implied unprotected sex, virgnity loss, misunderstandings, a bit angsty, bakugou is lowky ooc and gentle, this is really long

following a rough battle with a rather inconvenient villian and his quirk, y/n finds herself induced with aphrodisiac against her will. she wins the encounter, only to be told if she doesn't relieve her sexual desires within 24 hours with another individual she will die.

"i'll be the one to do it," mineta says, trying to sound nonchalant about the situation, flipping his non-existent hair off to the side if his shoulder. the girls, in unison, disagree verbally, knowing of his creepy tendencies.

"can't she just do it with a girl?" tsuyuri thinks aloud, attempting to find an easy way for you to feel more comfortable with the situation. "if that's the case, then i'll do it!" ashido declares, raising her hand in the air.

this has been the subject of conversation for the past hour or so. yes, your classmates and even teachers are conversing on what to do about your current state, on who will be the one to sleep with you. it's almost heartwarming, to know that your classmates care so much about you that they'd be willing to sleep with you if it means you'll live.

which is exactly what it means. exactly nine hours ago, you had a confrontation with a well-wanted villian. you knew of the risks, you knew of his horrendous and taboo quirk. you knew that he used his quirk to take advantage of women who were defenseless and practically leaving them for dead within 24 hours of interaction.

quirks like these were rare, none of your classmates nor teachers had any experience with this type of thing. originally, the teachers were going to discuss of this situation privately, but after almost three hours had gone by with no real possible solutions, they had decided to involve your dearest classmates to come up with something, anything to help save your life.

"no, according to the villian and the tiny information we were able to get out of him, it has to be done with a male." midnight had said, rubbing at her temple to ease her stress. your female classmates groaned with frustration, side-eyeing mineta with disgust.

"t-then i'll do it!" a new contender had volunteered. "y-you? y/n needs a real man, denki—," jirou had said, trying to play of her nervousness with a chuckle. "i agree." momo said sternly.

"no offense but.. how about the boys leave this discussion to the boys." she added on, having distrust in the intentions of her male classmates. "i know you boys just want to do what you can to help her, but we also have to think about how this will affect her mentally."

the topic carried on with the girls, occasionally one of the boys attempted to give a idea, but were almost immediately shot down due to it's risk.

admist to all the tension and debate, there was one who was uncharacteristically quiet. bakugou katsuki.

all of the boys were huddled into a circle, behind the girls, listening into their plan. however, it was bakugou who stuck out like a sore thumb. he kept his hands in his pockets, a rather stoic expression written onto his face as he stared up to the ceiling.

"i'll do it! you guys just gotta trust me!" mineta yelled once more, his body jolting with fear when he was met with clear resistance from the girls.

everyone was too wrapped up in figuring out a game-plan to even notice that bakugou had taken his leave, muttering a scoff at his classmates's immaturity and perversion.

he made his way to the dorms, his hand rubbing at the tense skin of his nape. bakugou stopped in his tracks, seemingly he wasn't the only one who had the same idea. his hands returned to their place in his pockets, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of his classmate, todoroki shouto, standing a few feet away from your dorm room.

"what are you doing here?" bakugou asked, resting his body weight on his right leg. todoroki looked back at bakugou calmly, observing the blonde's stiff movements. "i want to help y/n-san." todoroki stated, glancing back at the door of your room.

bakugou scoffed at his answer, rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "yeah right—you?" he hissed, coming up to todoroki and shoving him away from your door. "don't make me laugh. i'll be the one to do it."

todoroki stayed in place for a moment, blinking at bakugou's aggression and determination. he glanced once more at your door, and then back to bakugou before sighing with defeat and turning around to head god knows where.

bakugou scoffed once more, not taking his eyes off todoroki until he was well out of his sight. bakugou turned around, his red eyes staring intently at your door. he chewed on the walls of his mouth, wondering how to go about the situation.

as brash as he may be—he's not an idiot. he knows that if you don't end up getting any help within a few mere hours, you'll die. and thats not what he wants. to stand and watch while his dumb classmates argue over who will be the one to have the honor of having sex with you is something he won't abide with.

ೄྀ࿐

a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of your fingers caressing against your sensitive folds. a drop of sweat ran down your flushed face, running down to your collarbone and dampening the sheer tank you were wearing.

there was a knot in your abdomen, a very tight knot, that has been yet to be undone. normally, when you had this kind of urge, you'd be able to satisfy it yourself. but it's been nearly eight hours since you'be been drugged, and the effects only get more and more intense with every passing minute.

you're tired. your body is coated in a thick layer of sweat, the room smells grossly of your own scent, and it's been eight hours—yet no release. tears sting at your waterline, your hand coming up to cover your pathetic whines and cries as your fingers scissor their way into your cunt, trying to find relief to your frustration.

you gasp with pleasure when your finger nails press ever so slightly against that one spot, hazy eyes going wide when you finally find it. your back arches off the bed, toes curling when you can barely press your fingerpads against that sweet spot, but nonetheless it's something.

your body jolts when you hear a light knock at your door, hands flying to grab onto your blanket to hide your half-naked body. you sat frozen on your bed, eyes watching the door.

a couple of moments later, once again the visitor knocked, snapping you out of your haze. you rushed to find any pajamas or clothes to wear, eventually settling on a pair of grey pajama shorts. the visitor knocks again once more, earning a groan from you. "g-give me a second!" you hiss loudly, dusting off your body and finally walking up to your door.

with a deep inhale, you open up your door a few inches, hiding your sweat-ridden body behind the large frame and peeking out your head to see the visitor.

your heart drops into your stomach at the sight of the familar blonde, his red eyes lidded low at you. "b-bakugou?" you stutter out, your cheeks blushing intensely when you feel your core throb at just the sight of him. "what... are you doing here?" you say, swallowing down the fat lump in your throat.

bakugou stares at you, his facial expressions uncharacteristically calm and unreadable. "..isn't it obvious?" he says nonchalantly, taking a step towards the door. his low tone heats up your body, making you impossibly warmer with embarrassment to top it off with your seemingly insatiable desire.

still, you don't move from the door, and if anything, push it forward so only a few centimeters remain between the frame and the door itself. your forehead rests against the wood, contemplating your options.

bakugou katsuki has come to your door to do the obvious with you. for many others, this would be a dream come true—and it almost is, for you, almost. tears cloud your vision once more at the thoughts that run throughout your head, he's only here because you'll die.

"let me in y/n,—", "no, i don't want you here." you interrupt, still hiding behind the door. bakugou's eyes widen slightly at your refrusal, not expecting you to shut him down given the situation.

to you, it's almost insulting—bakugou katsuki is here to have sex with you, to save you. your crush of many years, is here to have sex with you, but only because he feels the need to save you, not because he wants to.

bakugou sighs silently, he knows its a sensitive matter, that you're practically forced to have sex with someome that you possibly don't like just to live. his fists tighten up into a ball, his eyebrows furrowing at your stubbornness. but he won't have you die, he won't knowing he could help you.

"y/n. open the door or i'm going to break it down myself." he says sternly, his voice raising slightly. it sends shivers down your spine, but still you hold your ground. alas, you find it within yourself to close the door, only for it to be held open by bakugou who most definitely overpowers you when it comes to strength. with a grunt, your already weak arms give in, quickly dropping back to the floor as the door slams against the wall now that bakugou has won the short game of tug-o-war.

bakugou makes his way into your room, not even caring to check if the door handle has made a new hole in the wall. his mouth opens, ready to say something, only to purse into a straight line when he sees the tears flowing down your cheeks.

"i don't want you here." you mumble out, attempting to hide your tears by wiping them away as quick as they came.

with a grunt, bakugou is pulling you up to your feet, his hands gripping onto your shoulders while his lips smash against yours. the kiss is rough, almost uncomfortably stiff. and yet, you almost let out a moan of satisfaction just by him giving the worst kiss ever. he pulls away a moment later, his hands keeping you in place.

not like you'd be able to walk away even if you wanted, your gaze was fixated on his soft features, eyeing those lips of his. this time, it's bakugou whose walking away—and it's you who is running after him.

with haste, you push yourself forward to the blonde, your hand wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back to you. bakugou breathes out a grunt when your lips collide with his once more, desperate and clumsy, more teeth than tongue. you can't help but grab into bakugou's broad shoulders before finding better purchase by wrapping them around his neck, feet on all toes in order to reach his lips.

bakugou pulls away from you, quickly shutting the door and locking it. though, he barely has time to do the second, as soon as the door is closed, you're pushing him against it and shoving your body against his, encapturing his lips with yours once again. he swallows your desperate whines, his tongue fighting for dominance against yours. it's messy, it's not at all in sync—but just that alone has your body heating up than what you thought was possible.

and bakugou can feel it. his hands find purchase on the small of your waist—your skin is hot to the touch, almost fever hot. he raises an eyebrow when the feel of his skin on yours alone has you letting out a soft moan, much to your embarrassment. experimentally, bakugou's hands travel down to the curve of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh lightly, earning a gasp from your lips.

seeing this, bakugou pulls away from you, a fat string of saliva connecting the two of you. his red eyes watch you tortuously, watching the way your delicate features contort with pleasure as his hands explore your ass, his squeezes getting more and more rough as your body reacts. his finger glides up to the hems of your shorts, playing with the drawstrings and eventually pulling on one to untie the knot, allowing your flimsy excuse of so-called shorts to drop and lay around your feet.

your cheeks burn at the way he stares closely at your half-naked body, eyes darting down to the ground when you realize that you didn't even put on any underwear. to you, bakugou is eyeing your body, looking for any imperfections and unsatisfying marks.

but to bakugou, he has to hold back a groan by biting on his lower lip at the sight of your bare cunt. his hands tighten it's grip on your hips, attempting to keep his composure. bakugou finally pushes himself off the door, leading you quickly by the small of your waist to your bed.

with a gentle shove, you're laying down onto your back, your legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. your eyes widen when bakugou's hands grab the hems of his shirt, pulling it up to his head and discarding of his shirt, revealing his rather toned abs and few scars he's gained in the various fights he's gotten into as a hero.

your mouth is agape in awe, practically drooling at the sight of his fit muscles and small waist. without another word, your hand subconsciously reaches for him, generously touching the muscles of his abdomen. for the first time of the night, bakugou finally shows some emotion, smirking widely at your infatuation with his abs.

"i know i got some great abs, huh?" he grins, his hand coming up to rest on the flesh of your thigh. his grin flattens to an slightly agape 'O' when your hand travels down lower to his lower pelvis, your nails caressing the skin, sending shivers down his spine. dangerously, it continues, your fingers meddling with the edge of his baggy pants, circling the metal button.

before you could do anything else, bakugou is grabbing your hand away, and much to your surprise, settles himself inbetween your bare legs, eyeing your exposed cunt. naturally, you rush to close your legs, but are stopped by his hands that rest on both of your inner thighs.

"don't try to hide yourself from me." he growls lowly, his cock growing hard in his pants at the fuller sight of your glistening cunt. a yelp leaves your throat when you are pulled closer to the edge of your bed, cunt mere centimeters from bakugou's face. your eyes close shut, palm hiding your face in embarrassment.

"open your damn eyes, you're gonna watch as i eat this pretty pussy." he hisses out before blowing lightly onto your folds, enjoying the way your thighs shiver. with a lick of his lips, bakugou dives into your cunt, his tongue dragging across your folds and into your core. you let out a rather loud moan at the feel of his tongue exploring your cunt, your hands diving down to entangle themselves in his short blonde locks.

as told, you watch bakugou devour your poor pussy through tears, moaning into your palm to not let anyone hear the way you're getting eaten out by one of your classmates. your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel bakugou enter his index finger into your tight walls, massaging your gummy walls without mercy.

"bakugou.." you mewl out, back arching off the bed when you feel the knot in your stomach begin to unravel. the fingers tied in his hair pull tightly on his roots, earning a hum of satisfaction leave his lips, vibrating against your clit so deliciously it has you sobbing out his name within seconds and squirming within his tight hold as you cum. tears run down your cheeks as your body convulses with pleasure, eyebrows furrowed intensely as your first orgasm of the night washes over you.

a minute later, you finally come down to earth, chest heaving heavily as your eyes focus down to bakugou who licks up the remains of your delicious juices. it's so over stimulating, but it feels so good, the way his tongue laps up your cum as if he was a starved man.

for a second, you close your eyes, basking in the sweet after-glow of your orgasm before a familar vibrating sound snaps you out of your bliss. bakugou holds up the pink bullet-vibrator within his hand, cocking his head to the right. "this yours?" he asks teasingly, a sly grin painted into his face.

before you could respond, bakugou is pressing the bullet against your clit, sending waves of overstimulated pleasure up your spine. you wiggle and shift on your bed, attempting to get away from it, from him, but in the heat of the moment you seem to have forgotten of bakugou's trained strength. he pins your hips onto the bed with ease with one hand, and holds the bullet to your clit with the other.

he evilly chuckles into your cunt, his tongue gliding into your tight hole. your cries and pleas are melodies to his ears, and he only stops when your thighs are shaking for a second time around his head and your pussy walls are tightening up around his tongue. he hungrily laps up your fluids once more, the tip of his nose brushing up against your clit as he discards of the vibrator in order to grab onto the back of your thighs and practically smothers himself into your pussy.

finally, once he's deemed you cleaned up and not an ounce of your cum wasted, he pulls away from your drenched pussy. his chin glistens with your juices, his tongue lapping up any remains on his lips. his ruby red eyes watch as your chest heaves up and down, his hand grabbing your wrist that was covering your flushed face and discarding it to the side.

he passionately kisses you, not like the kisses you two shared earlier. rather, your inhaling his heavy breaths as his hips roll subconsciously into yours, his hard-on poking against your inner thigh. "bakugou.." you exhaled against his lips, your hand sliding inbetween your close bodies to palm his confined cock.

bakugou lets out a almost pained groan, his eyebrows furrowing at the feel of your hand brushing against his cock's tip. "fuck.." he groans, his head dipping down to your chest when your hand slides below his trousers and over his confined boner. "wanna help you too bakugou," you mumble shyly, batting those pretty eyelashes at him.

the tempered blonde seems to have been frozen in place at your unexpected boldness, his cock growing impossibly harder at your words. he curses under his breath when your hand glides in between the gap of his boxers, your fingers coming into contact with the skin of his cock.

you're so unexpected. it's all bakugou can ever think of. unlike all the others, you've surprised him the most. you've surprised him with your wits—instead of strength and speed. no matter how mean or offensive he's been to you, you've been nothing but a saint—going so far to even nurse him back to health after a particularly aggressive battle with a villian.

thats why he had to be the one to help you. after all you've done for him, he had to return the favor in the one time he could save your life, even if it meant having sex would save you. he wasn't about to let those ungrateful, clueless extras do it with you either when they didn't deserve the opportunity to have you so vulnerable for them.

and having sex with you doesn't seem too bad, not in the slightest. especially not when your hand is pumping his cock so deliciously. bakugou's lips apart slightly, a sharp gasp escaping when your palm tightens around his sensitive cock.

you jolt when bakugou's own hand wraps around your wrist firmly, practically slapping it away from his cock. you look up at him with filmy eyes, looking for an explanation within his own. "gotta focus on you," he mumbles under his breath, his hands coming down to your hips and dragging you down to him.

bakugou finally begins to undo his belt, the metal buckle causing your ears to tingle. he pushes down his pants to his lower thighs, for a second he glances up at you, to which you can see a small glimpse of the red tint that covers the apples of his cheeks and the way he stares intently at your features, most likely waiting to see your reaction.

he slides his dark red boxers down to the middle of his thighs, just enough to free his cock of his uncomfortable confines. and, just wow, maybe it's because you're quite literally drugged with a sex drug, or maybe he's just that perfect—but just the sight of his cock has your pathetic pussy walls clenching and throbbing around nothing.

your mouth salivates at the mere thought of his cock, and just now seeing it—god you just want him to fuck you already. without a thought, your hand reaches once more for him, only for bakugou to pin your wrist down to the side of your body, his own climbing on top of the bed. your legs come to rest on each sides of his hips, his thighs underneath yours while he sits on his knees.

it seems you're not the only one so horny, afterall, as bakugou wrapped his hand around cock, his hips inching closer to yours, his body jolted, eyes widening. his sudden movement has your heart dropping in your stomach, a cold sweat breaking out on your body. "w-what? what is it?" you stutter out, your hand crossing defensively over your clothed chest.

bakugou's cheeks seem to bloom more a shade of red as he leans back, searching for something in his pocket. "hah.. i almost forgot the condom.." he says, taking out the unmistaken small square packet out of his pocket.

you chuckle lightly at the mistake, feeling embarrassment for yourself as well. to think that you two were so wrapped up in the heat of the moment that you almost forgot the condom gives such a strange feeling in your stomach.

finally, bakugou puts the condom on, a bit shaky with embarrassment as he slides it on. all prepared, he looks up at you—possibly the calmest you've ever seen him, but there's a hint of seriousness and maybe even care with the way his eyebrows are furrowed lightly or how his eyes never leave your face.

"ready?" he asks cautiously, his hand gripped onto the underside of your thigh with the other resting on the side of your lower stomach. with your nod of approval, bakugou meets his thighs to your ass, his cock tip pressing lightly against your virgin hole.

before bakugou could go any further, your soft sobs stop him. his head immediately snaps up to yours, his eyes wide with shock. your eyes are once again wet with tears, eyebrows arched and lips frowning.

"i know this is not very convenient, y/n, but if we don't do this, you'll die-", he tries to say before he's interrupted by your sobs and hiccups. through fat tears and incoherent sentences, you finally manage to say something clear.

"it's not that." you practically hiss, surprising the blonde. "..then what is it?" he urges, a confused expression forming on his face. with a loud sigh, you groan loudly with anger and sadness, practically throwing your hands to your face as you try to wipe away your never-ending tears.

"i d-didn't want it to be like t-this!" you sob loudly, your shoulders jumping with every hiccup. before bakugou could press any further, the years of untold suffering and thoughts just came rushing to you, spilling out of your mouth like vomit. "i-i didn't w-want it to be l-like this! to happen like this!"

"oh my g-god! bakugou i've been in love with you since i've m-met you—and it–it hurts—for it to happen this way—you're only doing this just b-because you f-feel obligated to do i-it—not because you l-love me—" you mumble out, hands covering your eyes to avoid seeing his reaction.

"for it to ha-happen this way—it's like a whole prank..! like a fucking—slap in the face!" you say, practically yelling the last part as your hands fly down to the bed with frustration, finally meeting bakugou's gaze. your sobs quiet down, stomach churning at the realization of the word vomit you just had.

you thought he would be weirded out, maybe even make fun of you for it. but instead, bakugou is now looking at you with an unfamiliar gaze, full of something that seems to just be more than politeness and friendly care. sure, he's not smiling, but the way his red eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated so big they might as well just be black, his eyebrows no longer furrowed but instead arched upwards with what seems to be surprise.

before you could say anything else, waves of sharp pain are shot up your spine as bakugou unexpectedly pushes in the tip of his cock, his arms now finding purchase by wrapping around your waist, lowering himself closer to you.

his lips press yours, slow and steady as he inches his fat cock into you. he pulls away from your lips with a grunt, his eyebrows arched downwards as he tries to set aside the way your cunt feels so heavenly wrapped around the end of his cock.

"i'm sorry for how i've been treating you." he says lowly, his teeth nipping at the pristine skin of your collarbone. "i just didn't know how to tell you—didn't think you felt the s-same," he breathes out, stuttering the last word when your walls clench around his cock. bakugou curses under his breath, trying to ground himself by pawing at your clothed breasts, sliding his hands under your tank to feel the bare skin.

bakugou's words has fresh tears forming once again at your water line. "the same..?" you think out loud, a hiccup escaping your throat at the realization.

"f-fuck, y/n—," he chokes out, his balls becoming flush with the curve of your ass. "bakugou.. the same?" you urge on, a small gasp leaving your lips when his cock tip glazes against your sweet spot. it takes bakugou to find the strength to answer, but he does with a groan, rising his upper body to have a better look at the sight of you.

"..yes the same you dummy." he finally confirms, his eyes unable to lock with yours, instead choosing to glue themselves to the sight of your tight pussy swallowing his cock. without wasting another second, your hands fly to his nape, pulling him back down to kiss him roughly. the two of you moan into the kiss, your hands desperately exploring the skin of his back while his continue to grope and massage your breasts.

"hah—i just couldn't allow it.. i didn't want the others to have you.." he groans out, his hips speeding up against yours. his teeth bite at your breasts possessively, leaving dark red marks over the unmarked flesh. his possessiveness sends a shiver up your spine, making you impossibly more hornier than you thought possible.

"baku—katsuki," you mewl out, your fingernails digging trails of red into the skin of his back. his head nods silently at your use of his first name, his ears tingling intensely.

his head tilts up to face yours, unprepared for what you were about to say. "please fuck me. i need you."

with a few words of heavy profanity, all previously known touches of gentleness are thrown out the window and bakugou is throwing your leg over shoulder and practically folding you in half. bakugou is quick to cover your mouth with his palm, if not your screams of pleasure would be heard by all the other people in these dorms—and he's not quite on board with any nobodies hearing your pretty moans.

bakugou practically jackhammers his hips into yours, his cock tip bullying your cervix. your eyes roll to the back of your head at the foreign feeling of your cervix being fucked, of your cunt being mercilessly destroyed by a fat cock. your hand flies up to the head board, desperately attempting to find purchase on anything to keep you grounded.

his cock grazing your sweet spot has you screaming once more into his palm, creaming around him for the first time that night. "f-fuck—" bakugou curses loudly, his teeth drawing blood on his lower lip in an attempt to hide own moans.

your cunt walls have a vice grip on his cock, practical almost leaving him unable to move as you cum around him. still, bakugou works his hips in and out, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from cumming just yet.

in an last ditch effort to do so, bakugou lifts his palm up from your mouth, flipping your body so you lay onto your stomach. he's quick to shove his cock back into your overstimulated cunt, rutting into you like a dog in heat. bakugou doesn't find it within himself to care when you're moaning so loud that the first floor can probably hear you, neither does he care that he's fucking you so hard that the bed frame begins to slam against the wall.

all he cares about is destroying your cunt, destroying you, something he's been wanting to do since he's met you. "fuck, fuck, fuck, y/n you feel so fuckin' good—i'm gonna cum," he babbles, his cock growing hard at the sight of your fat ass bouncing with every impact of his thrusts.

you're no better off than him, moaning his name desperately like a mantra. bakugou finally comes with a sharp and deep thrust, pushing his cock so deep it has the tip flush with your bruised cervix. he groans incoherent words, most likely profanities, as he cums into the condom, his hands gripping on the swell of your hips as he tries to ground himself.

you cum just at the unmistaken warmth that pools inside of you, tongue lolling out of your mouth pathetically. your body twitches underneath his weight, hands weakly grabbing onto his biceps. "katssshuki.." you mewl out, stars practically twinkling in your eyes.

bakugou pulls out of you with a sharp inhale, taking off the filled condom. his cock twitches when you stop him just as he's about to throw away, taking the cum-filled latex from his hand and holding it over your mouth, allowing the cum to drip onto your tongue and into your throat.

he watches you with wide eyes as you practically suck the cum out of the condom before throwing it into the trash bin on the side of your bed. you look at him with a grin, licking your lips generously before giggling.

bakugou's face twitches uncontrollably, any remains of the composure and the obvious "better safe than sorry", he has left is discarded before he practically pounces on you like a wild beast.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

bakugou is jolted awake, his eyes darting to the door of your room. theres a couple of knocks, his eyes look for your clock, '5:04 AM'.

he shuts his eyes, fully okay with ignoring the late visitor before theres more knocks. bakugou, begrudgingly, gets up, only because he doesn't want you to wake up.

he wraps his lower body in a spare blanket, taking a few seconds to rub awaken more before he's inching the door open, just barely enough to see who the visitor is. though, his shoulders relax when he sees it's just mr. aizawa at the door, most likely checking up on your state.

mr. aizawa blinks unexpectedly at bakugou, surely not expecting him to answer the door. his expression softens at the realization, being quick to offer an explanation. "i was just coming here to see if y/l/n was alright.. but i see it's under control, right?"

aizawa punctuates the last word of his sentence with the tilt of his head, his eyes pointing out bakugou's half-naked body. bakugou in response sheepishly shrugs, muttering out a groggy 'yeah' before closing the door.

he stands at the closed door for a second, rubbing his eyes tiredly before turning around to go back to bed, your bed more specifically. he stops in his tracks for a moment before continuing, seeing that you're now sitting up and staring at him.

"katsuki.." you breathe out tiredly, practically purring when you feel his hand settle onto your hip, bringing you back down onto the bed with him.

the two of you share a chaste kiss, departing only to get a short breathe in before you're pushing your body against his, deepening the kiss once more for the nth time that night.

please like and reblog with tags

#bakugou x reader angst #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou x reader smut #bakugou katsuki smut #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia fluff #my hero academia angst #my hero academia smut

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sanjisprincesswifey · 1 year ago

Text

pros and cons list

summary: the good, the bad, the ugly, perfectly curated into a pros and cons list

black leg sanji

pros:

constantly wants to color coordinate your outfits together

let’s you pick meals at minimum once a week

very good kisser (he practiced with his pillow a lot before your first date)

he wants you to walk him like a dog

sanji never lets you forget how much you mean to him

always remembers important dates, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

remembers the little things and notices your absence (will often go to try and find you)

adapts to whatever love language you respond to

cons:

the nicotine smell embeds into your sheets and clothes and is a pain in the ass to get out

yells for any minor inconvenience

occasionally too handsy

always finishes before you

major jealousy issues

is constantly horny

says he’s fine but he’s dying inside

doesn’t understand the concept of alone time and takes it personally if you ask to be by yourself

roronoa zoro

pros:

the best napping partner

protective

is a softie but only with you

very emotionally intelligent

gym trainer boyfriend

let’s you take the relationship at your own pace because he can’t be bothered

loves to mark you and give you hickies

always makes sure you finish first

cons:

stinky (bro smells like sweat and steel)

does not have a single romantic bone in his body; you’ll literally have to teach him how to be a boyfriend

is extremely blunt

snores super loud

might fall asleep while you’re talking

you can no longer be friends with sanji

doesn’t ask you to date him, just assumes you are together

gets upset when you can’t keep up with his drinking

monkey d luffy

pros:

the best hugger

extremely loyal to you

hides midnight snacks for both of you

lets you sit on the ship’s figurehead with him

king of silly sentimental gifts (hand-picked flower, cool rock, pretty seashell, that sort of thing)

always makes sure you’re included in conversations

shares his favorite foods with you

can always make you feel better

cons:

doesn’t know how to be quiet or whisper

never lets you win arguments

throws himself at you with no regard to his strength

no concept of personal space

rubs his boogers on you

accidentally makes fun of the noises you make during sex

will steal blankets from you while you’re asleep

points out your pimples or zits

usopp

pros:

always finds a way to make you laugh

grows flowers for you

comforts you if you’re insecure

handmade gifts!!!!!!

brags about you to everyone

loves to show you off and tell stories about your adventures together

names special attacks after you

always lets you in on the pranks he pulls

cons:

is insecure

would sacrifice you to an enemy to protect himself

shows you bugs even if you’re afraid of them

incredibly awkward with all your firsts

clammy hands

make jokes during arguments (it makes you madder and the cycle continues)

never tops

sometimes pranks you too

nami

pros:

lets you take a few of her tangerines

immune to her reprimanding when something bad happens (most times)

extremely thoughtful gift giver

shares her money with you

cares deeply about you (don’t point it out though because then she’ll stop)

is always telling you how pretty you are

very good in bed

is more lenient with your allowance

cons:

pawns gifts you get her

bad communicator

critiques everything about you

can and will distance herself from you

charges you if you piss her off

talks about vivi way too much for having a whole other girlfriend

doesn’t apologize after fights even if she caused them

bullies you (with love)

nico robin

pros:

leaves you notes in books to find later

the voice of reason in your relationship

notices and compliments you on every little change you make (haircuts, style change, etc.)

extremely good listener

literally a human search engine; so smart you can ask her almost any question and she knows the answer

passionate lover; treats you like a god in bed

soft lips

spoils you in every way that she can

cons:

can make you feel dumb with her endless knowledge

will never say ‘i love you’ first

always tops (a possible pro depending on your preferences tbh)

has nightmares almost every night ):

closed off in the beginning of your relationship

franky hits on her (and you) all the time

rather be reading than with you

takes your relationship extremely slow

portgas d ace

pros:

can heat food up for you at any time day or night

loves pda

plans fun dates

probably says ‘i love you’ a million times a day

into body worship (both ways)

kills bugs for you

walk him like a dog, sis !

never says no to you

cons:

sweaty and greasy in the summer

farts and gives you a dutch oven

doesn’t take anything seriously

adhd moments

mommy AND daddy issues

likes to lay on top of you even though he’s huge and basically crushes you

talks with his mouth full

is loud in bed (because he enjoys it so much) and everyone can hear when you two have sex

sabo

pros:

another body worshipper

dragon claw fist. need i say more?

the best secret keeper

praises you

would actually bow down to you

very respectful, asked you to kiss on your first date

awkward but sensual lover

a loyal puppy

cons:

loves being right

sore winner & loser

cocky ass mf

talks about luffy and ace 24/7

never on time

bad temper

might catch on fire if he’s mad

loves to tease you (again, could be a pro depending on your preferences)

shanks

pros:

buys you anything you could ever want

good kisser

always showing you off

treats you like a queen

calls you his wife

very affectionate in public

another worshipper; does that thing where his kisses lead up from your hand to your shoulder

when he gets drunk and you try to kiss him, he pushes you away and says “get off me, i have a wife”

cons:

gets you riled up during the day

teases you all the time

can be unreliable

bad at flirting

drunk all the time

still makes jokes about his arm even though it’s been YEARS

lingering alcohol smell

pervert

trafalgar law

pros:

rarely cooks but always does for you when you’re sick

smells amazing all of the time

lets you do this eyeliner in the morning (based off this fanart)

is a victim of the ‘she fell first, he fell harder’ trope

gives you sound solutions to your problems

literally becomes addicted to you and can’t live without you

flusters easily, very shy

would shave his facial hair if you asked him to (please tell him to shave off that godforsaken beard)

cons:

very blunt

never talks about his feelings

grammar police

a virgin; he doesn’t know what to do but fakes confidence like he does (it makes your first time a bit awkward but just talk him through it, babe)

humbles you without meaning to

over explains if you broach a subject he likes

sassy

just stares at you when you try to flirt with him

eustass kid

pros:

scary boyfriend privilege

an absolute beast in bed

insanely good kisser

raspy morning voice

you get to use his boobies as a pillow

is very smart but kinda dumb

eats pussy like a starved man

will always save you some food (it’s how he shows he cares)

cons:

dramatic

hangs out with killer more than you

will put the milk carton back in the fridge even if it’s empty

you can never be mad at him or make him mad because he’s the biggest asshole ever

ignores you if you’re fighting

zones out while you’re talking

if you send him a long, thoughtful text, he’ll respond back with ‘k’

what’s his is his and what’s yours is his

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated (✿◠‿◠)

#black leg sanji #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #usopp x reader #nami x reader #nico robin x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #sabo x reader #shanks x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #eustass kid x reader #one piece x reader

7K notes · View notes

stereoqueen · 3 months ago

Text

sunshine - pt1 - l.hughes

summary: luke walks into media after a win and recognizes a pair of eyes he hasn’t seen since he left the university of michigan behind. espnreporter! x luke hughes au

< au what to know > < next >

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"You have media in 10, Hughes!" Keefe yells through the locker room as Luke sighs, putting up his gear. Fresh off of a win, he was tired and ready to go home. He quickly showered and put his extra pair of clothes on, slipping on a hat over his wet curls. Leaving the locker room, bag in hand, he says goodbye to everyone as he walks to media.

The media room was large, podium in the middle with at least 20 reporters to talk to. Mercer walked out as Luke walked in. “Good luck bro, same old questions,” Dawson said as Luke sighed. He thought about even if they won, the questions are still the same and stupid. Dropping his stuff near the podium, he looks down to see a text from Jack.

Jack: Solid game bro. Have leftover pizza at home with your name on it! 🍕

He laughed as he quickly typed back,

Luke: Going to need it after suffering media… AGAIN!

Putting his phone down, he walks up the podium, fixing his hat so he can see through the bright lights better. The questions start to roll in as he gave the same basic answers. Nothing was new, until he heard the door open.

The back door creaked open as a woman sneaked in. She was wearing black trousers, white top, and a black trench coat. Her hair was pulled half up in a clip, and her media tags around her neck. She took a seat in the back, taking notes on her ipad in her left hand, and holding her recorder out in her right as Luke continued answering the question. His mind however, was on the woman, and why she looked so damn familiar. It’s like his memory was trying to assess why she was so familiar. Was it because she was one of the prettiest reporters he’s ever seen? Or was it the brown eyes that caught his attention.

“Luke— you were saying?” The reporter who asked him a question caught his attention back to reality as he sighed. A small smirk in his lips as he made eye contact with her and then back to the original reporter. “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. What I was trying to say is that this playoff push is….” He continues answering as his gaze lingers on the girl in the back.

15 minutes later and that was it. Questions were over, and the back lights turned on, giving Luke a clear look on who tripped him up earlier. She was packing up her stuff when he was leaving the podium. He was headed to ask what her name was and introduce himself when Amanda beat him to it. He tried to ease drop on the conversation, walking slow and taking his time out of the media room. He didn’t catch her name, but he did figure out how she looked so familiar.

“How was your first time in the media room? Crazy right?” Amanda asks her as Luke walks by. Her gaze follows him as she assessed his 6’3 frame. “It was great! Way bigger that Umich that’s for sure,” She said as Luke walked out the door.

His eyes widened when she said that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Flashback: Umich, 2022

It was a cool September day walking to practice on campus. Sophomore Luke Hughes was feeling good. Games were about to start, and he was going to prove why he should be in the NHL now. He decided to stop by the coffee shop next to the rink before practice, as he needed a caffeine fix after a long day of class. Loud, full of students, and busy, but absolutely worth the wait. He placed his order and waited in the corner on his phone, texting Dylan, his roommate that he would be cutting it close to practice.

“Coconut latte for Hallie!” The barista said as Luke looked up, thinking that the H was going to be Hughes.

A girl in jeans and a bright sun yellow top went up to the coffee bar to get the latte. Luke’s eyes followed down her frame subtlety as she said thank you to the barista. Her hair was long, honey blonde highlights popping against her tan skin. She turned around to walk towards the door, and towards him — he couldn’t help but stare. She was gorgeous. The embodiment of yellow. She waved to a few girls to his right, smiling as she rushed off. He moved out of the way and held the door as she looked back to him.

“Thanks! I appreciate it!” She said to him, smiling big as she walked out the door. Stunned by her genuine thank you, his face turned pink. “No problem,” He mumbled to himself as the door shut behind him. All he thought of was how beautiful her brown eyes were. They looked like little chocolate kisses. Oh how he wanted to get lost in them—

“Iced coffee for Hughes!” The barista yelled through the shop, snapping him out of it as he looked down at his watch. “Shit!” He said to himself as he grabbed the coffee and sprinted out the door to practice.

Rushing to practice, the guys laughed as Luke ran through the front door and up to the locker room. His coffee, half full from sprinting in his hand as he dropped his stuff and put his gear on faster than one can say Go Blue!

He made it to the ice with two minutes to spare, gaining looks from his friends. “Dude, what took you so long?” Dylan whispered as Luke tilted his head, trying to make up a better excuse. “Um, took longer than I thought?” He mumbled as he fixed his gloves.

“Okay! Before we start, I want to introduce some of the ladies you are going to be working with this season. We have Gab, Maggie, and Lauren as our returning social media team! and our newest member is our on ice reporter, Hallie!” Coach said as Luke looked to the bench, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop.

He had his helmet on so he was praying she wouldn’t recognize him. He was embarrassed that the first interaction was that way. Him stumbling over words and being distracted by her smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Luke was on fire his second year at Michigan. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was the reason why. Scoring or making a crazy play would lead him to her to be interviewed. So, he did everything could to be interviewed, building his stardom as he did. It also helped that he had a crush on the reporter. Her energy was contagious, questions were detailed, and he could tell that she was into her job, and the sport which was a good change. Her soft honey brown eyes had him head over heels since the coffee shop. The team could see the change in the young defenseman’s demeanor. He wouldn’t avoid the camera as much anymore. He would try to interact with social media more, and get to know the social staff.

Hallie didn’t know that Luke was originally “afraid” of media. They would have to pull teeth to get him to interview or interact with the camera off the ice. But when she came around, it all changed. She noticed this when Gab came up to her after practice and said something.

It was December 2022, the high of the season before the break. Hallie had just finished interviewing Luke, who had scored twice this game. “Well that’s all I have for our superstar. Our next game is after the break, see you then.” She signed off to the camera as Luke wiped his face off, leaving the camera’s sight. “Thanks sunshine, see you after break,” Luke said, crooked smile as Hallie returned the smile. “See you then, superstar!” She joked as she walked over to Gab.

Gab was laughing as she passed Hallie her water. “What’s the laughs for?” She asked Gab as she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’ve never seen Luke interact this way with media— ever!” Gab said as Hallie shrugs. “No idea, Maybe he likes the attention?” Hallie joked as Lauren comes up next to them, “If you’re talking about Hughes… he has a huge crush on you. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see it, Hals.” Hallie’s face dropped as Lauren said that, “No way.”

Lauren leans against the wall, camera in hand — showing a picture of the two of them interviewing. His eyes were locked into hers as she asked a question. Her smile bright. The Live Photo goes as she can see his eyes go down to her lips and back up to her eyes, a small micro change in view. Hallie’s face turns hot. “Oh my,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Present time, March 2025

“Way bigger than Umich huh? That’s what Hughes said almost two years ago when he got here,” Amanda says to her as she smiles. “Did you know him?” She continues as Hallie tilts her head.

“Kinda. I wasn’t close to him but we knew of each other. But now, I’d be shocked if he knew my name,” Hallie tells her colleague as they walk out of the media room, walking down the hall to the parking garage. They talk about what Hallie needs to do for the upcoming week, with correlation to the Devils’ schedule in alignment with ESPN’s. By the time, they reach the garage, most of the cars are gone.

“Well, you have my number if you need me! See you on Sunday for morning skate!” Amanda yells across the garage as they go to their separate ways.

A BMW rolls past Hallie as she looks up to see the infamous man himself. He stops at the exit, not noticing her, but some little kids asking to sign their jerseys. He rolls down the window, signing them and making conversation. She walks by the exit, knowing her car is parked in a different lot since she didn’t get her passes until now.

Finishing up with the last kid, Luke looks up to see the woman walking to her car. She opens the back driver’s door to set her bag in the back. Looking up slightly, she sees his hazel eyes looking at her intently. He smiles, a real smile, not one he does for the camera as her brown eyes light up. He would never forget those eyes.

She hops in the car, windows down as she goes to back up and exit the area. She looks to see the BMW pass again, windows down as “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison plays through his speakers.

“I guess he did remember me after all,” She said to herself as she backed up out of her parking spot to head to her apartment.

By the time she made it to her apartment, her phone had blown up with new followers on Instagram and Twitter.

Instagram: lhughes_06 has sent you a follow request!

Instagram: lhughes_06 has sent you a direct message!

Instagram: lhughes_06: Think I saw a ray of Sunshine in the Devils media room tonight.

She blushed, shaking her head as she approved his request and typed back a quick message.

halliebrooks: Just as original as the last time I saw you, superstar.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Rusty! You’re back! Traffic was that bad?” Jack asked from the couch as his little brother huffed into the apartment.

Luke shut the door, dropped his stuff and immediately flopped onto the couch. He felt so dumb, stalking her instagram and then immediately dm’ing her. His mood was ruined if she took it the wrong way. Jack, confused on why his brother didn’t run to the open box of pizza, stood up and over him. He put his hand on his face to feel his head. “Nope, not warm but something is definitely off,” Jack said as Luke swatted his hand away.

“I’m just not hungry,” Luke grumbled as he felt his phone buzz. Excitedly, his mood instantly changed as he sat up and read the notifications.

Instagram: halliebrooks accepted your follow request!

Instagram: halliebrooks has sent you a direct message!

Instagram: halliebrooks: Just as original as the last time I saw you, superstar.

Luke jumped off the couch, grabbing a beer from the fridge and starting to eat the pizza as he tried to craft a message back.

“Okay I don’t know what the fuck just happened but you need to explain. NOW!” Jack pestered as Luke talked through his pizza. “I take that back. Eat and then explain why you just pulled a 180 like that.”

The commercial’s annoying jingle ended as ESPN came back on the screen. Luke immediately pointed to the TV, where the Devils broadcast was wrapping up. Hallie Brooks, ESPN Reporter was doing her highlight review of the game, taking over for Emily Kaplan. Jack’s gaze whipped from Luke eating to the TV and then back to Luke who was glued to the TV.

“This is THE famous Sunshine? No way.” Jack says as Luke shoves another piece of pizza in her mouth. “You gotta explain, start from the beginning before you put another piece in your mouth, or I’m calling Q.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

taglist: @chiblackhawks @hwalllllllelujah @dancerbailey3

#written by stereoqueen #stella’s works #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x oc #sunshine au #espn!reporter x luke hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #dawson mercer #new jersey devils

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shrimpybbq · 8 months ago

Text

season 4 pt1 with rafe, high school gf and their son!

rafe and high school gf who spread his dad’s ashes together. they’re on rafe’s boat together as he spreads the ashes, her arms wrapped around his waist comfortingly. he wouldn’t want anyone else to be with him for this moment

rafe is pretty content with hiring a babysitter to look after the kids when he wants to spend some time alone with his girl, and when he decides to compete at the enduro, he deems the day kid-free. no one would think the couple had two kids and a house together as they stood together on the beach, her hands brushing tenderly against the nape of rafe’s neck as he sat on his bike.

“You’ve got this baby, you know that? It’ll be a piece of cake,” she said, her voice quiet. This was a moment between the two of them, and no one else needed to hear. Rafe still disliked sharing intimate moments in public brazenly, but he still needed reassurance and love.

He nodded, bringing her closer to him as he placed a quick kiss against her lips. “I’m gonna win this for you, baby.”

rafe absolutely adores when he gets to bring his smokin’ hot wife out with him to the events on figure 8. he loves to let his girl get dressed up and all pretty (for him), knowing she sometimes felt frumpy after looking after their kids all day. they’re at the club when rafe starts yelling at a random girl, enraged by her comment about his dad. his wife now having to drag him away with the help of topper, her hands soothing over his chest to try and distract him. it had been really hard for him since his dad died, and he swore he’d only survived bc of his wife and kids.

the couple are at the club they frequent together when hollis speaks to rafe, who after their conversation was no longer paying attention to the older woman, instead focusing on the girl he suddenly tucked under his arm

“And who is this?”

“This is my wife,” Rafe said with a smirk, his arm wrapping around his girls shoulders, placing a quick kiss to the top of her head. At that, the older woman’s smile dropped minutely, quickly excusing herself.

“Who was she, baby?” His wife asked, watching as Rafe turned the business card over in his hand.

“Uhh.. the biggest realtor/cougar on the island.”

“Oh ok, sounds like just your type, huh?”

“Baby, nonono, why would I want a cougar when I have the hottest milf standing in front of me?”

Rafe shielded himself from her playful swats as she came closer, his arms wrapping around his wife’s frame easily and lifting her off the ground.

“Come on baby, you know you’re the only one I want.”

rafe talks about his business deals with his wife often, her lounging on the pool chair as he vents his frustrations. he felt she was the only person he could tell everything to, and she would provide him with advice and solutions that actually helped, not just telling him what he wanted to hear

their son is resting on the other pool chair, exhausted after playing in the pool for hours with his mother and father, whilst their daughter rested on her mother’s chest, sleeping after being fed

rafe feels all of his frustrations slip away when he’s with his children - their innocence and happiness making him feel much lighter

girl dad rafe! he loves charlie but there’s something about his little girl who looks so much like her mother, who adores him and always outstretches her chubby little fingers towards him, that makes rafe’s heart melt

he spoils his little girl more than he should, buying her all the little dresses and shoes and accessories a baby could ever need

rafe who asks his wife to teach him to braid so he can practice for when she’s older!!!!!

girl dad rafe training charlie to be protective over his sister and make sure he’s always by her side

rafe had been addicted to coke, and while he’d managed to give it up, he had replaced the coke with alcohol. high school gf notices and does her best to reduce his intake, but truthfully, after seeing how difficult is was for rafe to stop the coke, she knew that this was probably the best she would get for a while. still, he doesn’t escape without a raised eyebrow when he goes to get another drink from the fridge

topper who knows never to talk bad about rafe’s girl - EVER. he made that mistake once and lived to regret it, having to lie to his parents that he fell from his bike. topper actually likes her now, and he gave himself the title of uncle topper to the cameron kids

as a husband, rafe is so handsy in public. he doesn’t care what people think about him anymore, so he lets himself squeeze and touch as much as he wants

beach time bby! i feel like honestly, rafe doesn’t like bringing his kids around the drunken kooks. they’re rowdy and rude, and rafe is trying to be better

so instead, he loves to take the family down to their private stretch of beach adjacent to the house, and relax and play with the kids. it’s so peaceful to him, and he truly feels content with his life in those moments. he’s got his hot as shit wife in a little bikini with their daughter tucked in her side, and little charlie is climbing all over rafe as he tries to get his father to throw him in the water again

oh he 100% helps his wife pick out her bikini that day, tying the tie for her, his hands roaming a little too much as she giggles in front of him

she had told him once that she felt insecure after having their children, her body a little different than it used to be. truth be told, rafe loved it. every time he looked at her body naked, fucked her or held her in his arms, he was reminded that she brought their children into the world. she gave him purpose and love

(he also likes that her tits are bigger from breastfeeding and loves to squeeze them whenever he can)

rafe is such a good dad bc he puts everything he has into being there for his children. they’re his entire world and everyone can see it

still, he needs frequent reassurance that he is nothing like the father his dad was, instead, he cares and nurtures his children

rafe discusses his plans to make amends with sarah with his wife, and she gives him strategies to try and talk to her (not that he tends to take them), but she also misses sarah

charlie who still asks for his aunty every now and then, making his mothers heart break. sarah hasn’t even met their daughter yet :(

when he makes the decision to do the deal with hollis, he does it for his family. he wants to look after them, and this deal would do that for them.

but when she hits on him, sensually touching his hand, he makes his priorities clear to the woman as he scoffs, pulling away from her

“I’m married…. And you know that - you even met her. I’m doing this deal for her, and for our family, so….”

rafe has problems but that man is so loyal, he actually couldn’t ever imagine wanting anyone else. he fought so hard and went through so much to keep his high school gf by his side and now he feels that she is the only person in the world who understands him fully. in his mind, it’s them against the world

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

1K notes · View notes

godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

The Flood Brings Clearer Days

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, smut (p in v sex, fingering, face sitting), the light angst, light fluff too, love confession, no-filter curse

Summary/Warnings: You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want.

And most of what you want is Dean.

Author's Note: Request from @deans-yn! This one was very silly and horny (the sweet spot). Enjoy!!!

Word Count: 8.2k

“Are you sure-“

“I’m fine.” You shoot Sam a glare over the table. “I’m not dead, or dying, and if you ask one more time if I feel okay, I’m going to throw you out the fucking window.”

Sam raises his hands in surrender, a wide look of shock on his face, and Dean snorts.

“You’re violent today, kid-“

“Stop calling me kid.” You snap, glaring at the papers in front of you. “Or you’ll get windowed too.”

“Defenestrated.”

“Bless you, dude.”

Sam sighs, giving Dean a flat glare. “No, it means-“

“To be thrown out a window.” You grumble. “I know. I like saying windowed, because Dean won’t know what defenestrated means, and I’m trying to threaten him, not give him a fucking English lesson.”

“The threat might be the English lesson,” Sam drawls your name, and Dean scowls.

“Hey-“

“Don’t be a dickhead, Sam.” You snap, and Dean grins.

“Yeah, Sammy, don’t be a dickhead-“

“And you.” The look you shoot Dean is withering, and it immediately makes something whine and coil in your chest. “I- Sorry.”

Dean frowns. “You didn’t do anything, sweetheart-“

“I yelled at you.” Now you’re mumbling. This is a weird day. “Made me feel bad. Sorry.”

“Do I get an apology too-“

“No. Read.”

There’s a stretch of silence, the guilt twists again—though now in your stomach—and you let out a long, slow breath.

“Sorry, Sam.”

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, but you don’t miss the look he exchanges with Dean.

One of those looks. Where they’re having a silent conversation or argument about something, and you usually have to guess who’s winning, or what it’s about, or why this has to be a silent conversation you can’t participate in.

But you don’t have to guess tonight.

They’re talking about you.

And you’re fine. You are. You feel great, and no amount of Sam and Dean worrying and flocking around you is going to change that. The curse didn’t work, simple as that. It missed you, or it had been cast wrong, or you’ve simply built up an immunity—that’s not really a thing, but it could be—and that’s it. You’re good.

Some sort of odd weight feels like it’s been lifted from your head and tongue, but if anything it’s good. A little like being drunk, where the colors of the world are brighter and everything a little blurred, and Dean’s somehow prettier and Sam is somehow taller-

Sam says your name carefully, and it’s falling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“You’re really tall.”

Dean snorts, and Sam lets out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, uh, I know-“

“Did you grow?”

“I’m in my thirties, I’ve been done growing for a while-“

You shake your head. “No, you grew. You’re taller. Just like Dean’s prettier.”

There’s a gagging and spitting sound from the couch, and when you glance back to Dean, he’s gaping at you, his whole face red.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean gives Sam another look. “I’m fine, just- Got caught off guard. Sam-“

“I heard it.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair and watching you with a cautious expression. “You’re sure you’re-“

“Sam.” You hiss. “Windowed. I’m fucking serious.”

He drops it. Smart choice.

You don’t think you’re strong enough to defenestrate him at all. And you wouldn’t defenestrate Dean. It would make him too sad. Which would make you too sad.

And you tell him that later, while Sam is out getting dinner, just so he knows.

All you get is a blank stare in return.

“Dean, did you-“

“I heard you,” he mutters your name, shaking his head slightly. “I- Stay here.”

“Where are you going-“

“Out.”

“Out where-“

He sidesteps, blocking you from the door. “I gotta call Sammy. Stay.”

You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “I am not a dog, Dean Winchester. Although I do like doggy style, in bed-“

“Jesus fucking-“ Dean covers your mouth with a hand, and you freeze.

His hand is big. And warm. And it fits really well over your mouth, and would probably fit in it as well. Along with other parts of his body.

You’d tell him that, if he’d just fucking move his hand.

“You need to stay here.” He snaps, scanning over your face carefully. “No following me, no going outside, no talking to anyone else. Okay, kid?”

You raise your brows at him, your gaze flicking down to his hand—still over your mouth—and he sighs, moving it away.

“I really don’t like it when you call me kid.” You blurt, the moment you can. He needs to stop doing that, because it makes you feel small and sad and like a wet, pathetic fucking burden, and he should know that. “It makes me feel bad. I’m not even that much younger than you.”

“You- Alright.” Dean gives you an odd look, his jaw clenched. “Are you going to stay here?”

You shrug. “I’d do anything you told me to.”

That makes his face red again, but Dean just nods and—with one last odd look over his shoulder—walks away.

You miss him the moment he walks away.

And you tell the air, because there’s no one else around to hear.

You’re fine. You really are fine. You still feel a little high, a little strange, but nothing hurts. You aren’t forgetting who you are, or being someone you aren’t, or doing anything you normally wouldn’t-

Shit.

No.

You’re fine. You have to be fine.

In the car, you’d told Dean his hands were hot, but that was just so he knew. And you’d told Sam his hair was too long, but it needed a cut. And you’d been complaining more than you’ve ever complained in your life, and you’ve been more forward than you reasonably should be, but maybe it was just the drunk feeling. Courage, flowing through your body and making you bold.

You were being bold.

But that shouldn’t be something to worry about. So you’re fine.

Dean comes back after an hour, and drives you both to the diner. Apparently, whatever talk he had with Sam was done, and-

“Why’d you leave?”

He glances over at you from the driver’s seat, a slight frown on his pretty face. “I had to call Sammy.”

“But you left. The motel.” You cross your arms, holding his gaze with a glare. “Why.”

“It’s-“ He sighs. “Look, I can’t tell you right now. Drop it.”

You might be pouting at him. You don’t really care. “Why.”

Dean grunts your name. “I told you, I can’t-“

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because explaining why I can’t tell you would be freakin’ telling you, sweetheart-“

You’re certainly pouting now. “But I tell you everything.”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes- Well, almost everything.” You frown at the air. “I don’t tell you about all my dreams. I lie about those, when you ask how I slept, because usually it’s a dream about you fucking me and-“

Dean’s covering your mouth again, scowling at the road like it’s personally offended him.

“Dean-“

Your snap is muffled in his palm, and he lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head. Still not saying anything.

“Dea-“

“Not like this,” he mutters, and it’s mostly under his breath, but you can still-

“I can hear you-“

Dean grunts your name, his grip tightening. “Whatever you’re saying, I can’t understand you. And I’m just going to keep this right here ‘till we get to the bar, alright?”

He squeezes your jaw, you moan–it feels nice, and he’s very handsome when he glaring at things—and Dean’s eyes widen slightly.

He heard.

You should probably care about that, but the weight is gone, so you don’t. You don’t really care about anything but Dean knowing things. All your lives are darkness and secrets and stress, and he should fucking know that you’re here, and you’re not leaving, and that you keep secrets, but they’re dumb, emotional secrets, so he doesn’t ever have worry about you. About you getting hurt, because you refuse to be a person he adds to the tally of people he failed to save. About ever failing you at all—he couldn’t if he tried—or you leaving him like so many other people have.

He should know that those people are idiots. That God himself would have to drag you away from him, and you’d still go kicking and screaming. That you love Dean, and you’ve never told him because he’s too good for you—too strong, and important, and there’s already so much pressing down on his chest without adding yourself to the burden—but he should now know, while the weight from your own mind is gone.

You would tell him, here, in the car, if he wasn’t covering your mouth. If the moment he removed it, he didn’t sprint out of the car and across the parking lot.

Away from you.

Maybe he’s-

“Are you mad at me?” You ask him as you drop in the booth, and Dean just shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes.

Sam says your name—carefully again, and it’s getting really annoying, because you’re fragile but like a bird, not fucking glass—and watches you carefully as he continues. “Why do you think Dean is mad at you?”

“Because he ran away from me.” You grumble, fidgeting with the paper napkin on the table. “And he covered my mouth the whole drive, and he vanished earlier, and he won’t-“

“We get it, ki- Sweetheart.” Dean mutters, still not meeting your eyes. “See, Sam? There’s nothing.”

“Nothing where?”

Sam shakes his head, ignoring you entirely. “I don’t know, dude, she took a pretty bad hit on the head too, maybe it’s that instead of-“ He shoots you a careful look. “The other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“It’s never just an injury. It’s always the fucking witches-“

You sink back into your seat as they continue to argue, never once even looking at you.

Dean’s not looking at you, and he’s mad at you, and you’ve obviously done something wrong, but you don’t have a single clue what. And he hates you. He must hate you, and if Dean hates you, Sam is going to hate you too, and you don’t want anyone to hate you, and the air is too thin and your heart and eyes and tongue sting-

“Shit,” Dean says your name like he cares, and a weak, strangled sound leaves your throat. “Fuck, what’s-“

“You hate me.” You whisper, shredding the napkin even further. “You hate me, and you won’t even say why-“

“Sweetheart, I don’t- Fuck, Sam-“

Sam shakes his head, raising his hands in a motion of surrender. “You made her cry, dude, not me.”

“I didn’t- Son of a bitch.” Dean reaches over the table, grabbing your chin and tilting it up until you’re meeting his gaze, and you’re still crying.

Which is odd.

You don’t really cry that much, most of the time.

But that weight is gone, and with it, so is your ability to care about being strong. If Dean hates you, he should just-

“Just say it.” You’re sniffling, but Dean’s still not moving his hand. “Say you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Dean mutters your name, scanning over your features with a frown. “I promise, kid, you’d know if I hated you.”

“Then why are you ignoring me.”

“I-“ He looks over to Sam for help, and only gets a shrug in response.

“Does Sam know?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, he does.”

“So why won’t you tell me-“

“I will.”

“But-“

“Later, baby, okay? How about I tell you tonight?”

You swallow, and he’s never called you that before. It’s strange. Spreading a warm, buzzing feeling through your whole body, taking you higher.

“I’d like that.” You whisper, and there’s nothing in the world to look at but Dean. Looking at you. Grinning at you. Not hating you. “I love you.”

Sam goes rigid, and Dean swallows, something flashing over his face that you don’t understand.

“Sure, sweetheart. Sammy, can you-“

“On it.” Sam stands up, grabbing your arm and pulling you with him. “Let’s go.”

You frown up at him. “Go where?”

“Sammy’s gonna take you back to the motel.” Dean pulls his keys out his pocket, but holds them back, out of Sam’s grip. “If I see one scratch-“

“You’ll kill me, Dean, I’ve heard the speech before-“

Dean raises his hand, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “I’m not done. If I see one scratch on either of them, I’m putting your number on a sex crisis hotline for grandmas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That’s gross, Dean. I don’t even think that’s a real thing-“

Dean shoots you a wink, and it lights you on fire. “It’s not for you and me, sweetheart, but Sammy here’s probably got some-“

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam makes to snatch the keys, and Dean jerks the back with a frown.”

“I gotta hear it, Sammy-“

“They’ll be fine.” Sam snaps your name, still glaring at Dean. “It’s- She’s an adult, Dean, and this obviously isn’t killing her-“

“What’s not killing me-“

“And, I can drive. It’ll be fine.”

If Sam ignores you one more time, you’re going to-

“I’m going to punch you, Sam.”

Dean snorts, and tosses the keys into Sam’s indignant face. “Not a scratch. On either.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon,” Sam mutters your name, grabbing your arm.

“But Dean-“

“He’ll be fine.” Sam mutters, dragging you towards the exit. “He’s got some work to do, because you- Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“You’re cursed.”

You roll your eyes. “For the last time, Sam, I’m not cursed-“

Sam gives you a flat look, but just shrugs. “Alright. Keep walking.”

“But I want to go back to Dean-“

“I know. But you can’t.”

“Why-“

“Because if you tell him you love him again, he’s going to have a stroke.”

You frown, letting Sam herd you into the car. “Why? I- I know he doesn’t love me back, but I just wanted him to know. Is he-“

“He’s not mad at you.”

“So I should be able to stay-“

“It’s- Look, I promise Dean’s not mad at you, but we need to focus on fixing you right now, okay?“

“Nothing wrong with me.”

“Sure.” Sam sighs. Again. “How long have you been in love with Dean?”

“Since the vamp hunt in the swamp.” You shrug. “He picked me up, and he was really strong, and I thought that I wanted him to keep holding me forever. Then I cut off a vamp head and he laughed, and I wanted to hear that forever. Then he took his shirt off at the motel and I wanted to lick his abs.”

Sam clears his throat. “And that was love?”

“Love was the decapitation. The abs were a bonus.” You pause, tilting your head at the air. “And when he covered in blood and sweat. That was hot. I wanted to make him look like that because I gave him a blowjob, because I’m actually really good at that, Sam-“

Sam shakes his head, almost frantically. “I- That’s good. Uh, for you. I think. Can you think, just try to figure out why you’re telling him now?”

“Because he should know.”

“But if you’ve been in love with him for that long-“

You cut Sam off with a shrug. “I don’t know, I just- I love him, and he should know that. I really don’t expect anything Sam, I promise. If he wants to fuck me until the bed breaks, I won’t say no, but I mostly just want him to know.”

“I- Fine.” Sam runs a hand over his face, shaking his head at the road. “Can we just listen to the radio?”

You nod, leaning your head on the glass, and yesterday Dean was listening to the radio, and-

“Sam?”

He grunts in acknowledgment, and you make a soft, almost dreamy noise that you don’t really recognize from your own body.

“You know when Dean drums on the wheel during songs.”

“Yeah, I drive with him literally every-“

“I wish he’d do that to me.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when Sam break it, his voice is cautious again. “Drum on you?”

“Use his fingers on me during a song.”

“Oh my- You’re not going to be able to stop, are you?”

You blink at him. “Stop what?”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, just, uh-“

You yelp as he pulls a sharp U-turn, the Impala’s tires skidding on the pavement.

“Dean’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah, I know. But,” Sam lets out a long breath, frowning at the road. “I need a beer.”

A beer means eight beers. And when you ask him at checkout if he’s okay, Sam just shrugs and mutters something about a long night, and Dean owing him one.

But something is off with Sam. And the more you ask—you want to know, and there’s nothing stopping you from asking—the more he just shakes his head, his expression growing blanker and blanker as the night progresses.

And you can’t stop talking. You should. Reasonably, you know you should. It’s rare for you to speak out of turn at all—let alone this fucking much—but that high feeling is still strong all over your body, and you can’t stop. You tell Sam every thought that passes through you head, about the show, or the takeout Chinese, or how you’ve never been to China, but you’d like to go, if only because it’s historically interesting. That gets you half of Sam’s attention, for about fifteen minutes.

“I wouldn’t want to go without Dean.” You mumble, picking at the label on your own beer bottle. “I never want to go anywhere without Dean. I love him.”

Sam shoots you an unreadable, almost soft expression, scratching something in his notebook. “I know you do. But he can’t fly, he hates it.”

You hum. “Would it help if I gave him a hand job on the plane?”

Sam sighs, dropping his gaze back to his laptop. “Yeah. It probably would.”

“That’s good.” The label chips off onto the couch, and you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “I like it when he’s happy.”

“I know.”

“He’s really pretty when he’s happy.” There’s that breathy sigh again. You’d be worried about it, if it didn’t fall so easily out of your body. “I love him.”

Sam makes another note. “Yep.”

“He’s pretty all the time. Do you think he knows that he’s pretty all the time?”

Sam just shrugs, and you’re already talking again before he can answer your question.

“I just- I love him, and I want him to be happy. And I really don’t care if it’s not with me, Sam, I don’t,” you sit up, twisting over the couch to give Sam a pleading look. “I promise. But I love him, and I want him to know, and that’s kind of selfish-“

“That’s not selfish.” Sam gives you an odd look. “Loving people is the opposite of selfish.”

You shake your head. “No, it is.”

“Why do you think loving people is selfish?”

“I don’t know, because then you’re expecting something of them. Depending on them. And that’s-“

“Depending on people isn’t selfish.” Sam’s voice is careful again, and this is the first time he’s cut you off since the car. “I mean, expecting them to be something they’re not is, I think, but I depend on Dean all the time.”

“That’s different. You’re his family, and he loves you, and I’m-“

“He-“ Sam cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, he better be back soon.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Will he? Be-“

“I don’t know. Watch the TV.”

You don’t move. You just frown into the now dark motel room, and you don’t know where Dean is, and there’s something stinging at your eyes again, and-

“I miss him.” You whisper. “I love him.”

Sam makes another little note. “I know.”

It takes a second of heavy breathing, but you turn back to the TV, and the pattern resumes. You talk, Sam—sort of—listens, and then night creeps on without Dean.

“I love him.”

Sam grunts, and you hear the pencil scratching.

“If he was here, he’d love this.” You tilt your head at the TV, watching the grainy old Western on the already poor-quality screen. “Dean loves Cowboys.”

“I know.”

“I love him.”

Pencil scratch. “Uh huh.”

You point to the TV, twisting over your shoulder to look at Sam with big eyes. It’s important that he hears this, so he understands your intentions with his brother. “I’d ride his face like that.”

Sam drops his head to the table with a long groan, and you frown.

“Are you-“

“I got it!” The door bangs open, and Dean marches through, turning something in his hand. “I’m gonna stab Rowena later, but shit, Sammy, this should work-“

“Thank God.” Sam mutters, pushing out of his seat. “Are you sure this will-“

“Pretty sure.”

“I can’t take pretty sure, Dean, I- Man, I’m gonna jump off a bridge if I have to put up with another day of this.”

“Hey.” You scowl at him. “That’s rude, Sam-“

“I’m sorry,” Sam sighs your name, desperation written all over his features. “You’re like a sister to me, I promise, but I’ve also had to listen to you talk about how you want to be bent over the table by my brother for four hours-“

“Sam.” Dean grunts, and his grip on whatever’s in his hand is suddenly white-knuckled. “Shut it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just- I’ll see you guys in the morning-“

Dean’s eyes widen. “Wait, where the fuck are you going-“

“I’m giving you two privacy, Dean. I’m already gonna have to put bleach in my ears-“

“We don’t need privacy-“

“You-“ Sam cuts himself off, his eyes narrowing, flicking quickly between you—still blinking at the from the couch—and Dean. “Dude, you can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But-“

“I’m not talking about this, Sam-“

“No, we need to talk about this-“

“Talk about what?” You cut in with a frown, looking between Dean’s set, unreadable expression, and Sam’s exhausted on. “What’s going on?”

Dean sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re sick, sweetheart, don’t-“

“Don’t tell me not to worry, Dean!”

Your words are spat out, and you push up onto your knees to glare at him.

It’s been a long, strange day. And they’ve both been ignoring you, and you understand that—you’d ignore you too, if you could—but they’re talking about you, and the weight is gone, and that means that there’s nothing to stop the sudden burst of white-hot rage through your body.

“Neither of you telling me what the fuck is happening, and I’m not sick, I just- I feel weird but that’s not your problem, and it’s not even that bad, but I just want you to look at me and talk to me and I love you-“

“Stop saying that.” Dean snaps, and Sam punches him in the shoulder. “Fuck, what the-“

“She can’t stop saying it, you idiot. You know that, and thinking that you shouldn’t talk about this is insane, even for you-“

“Talk about what-“

“Sam, I swear to god-“

Sam ignores Dean, holding your gaze as he says your name. “Tell me when you fell in love with Dean-“

“I told you earlier, on the vamp hunt-“

“The one in Louisiana, right?”

“Yeah? I don’t know I’m not good at geography-“

“See?” Sam raises his brows at Dean. “That was four years ago.”

“But I was in love with him longer.” You snap, raising your voice so they can’t ignore you. “I’ve loved him since I met him, I think. I’m pretty sure. No, I know, I remember you walked into the bar, Dean, and I thought oh I want him to fuck me until I can’t walk-“

Sam tips his head up like he’s praying, and Dean grunts your name, but you ignore them both. You’re done being ignoring, because Dean should know this.

“And then we started talking and you were the most amazing person I ever met, and I never, ever wanted to leave you. Ever.”

There’s a long moment of heavy, long silence as Dean just stares at you, and Sam clears his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Sam, shut it-“

You shrug, talking over Dean’s hissed words. “Because that’s manipulative. And mean. And I can take care of myself, and Dean shouldn’t feel like he ever needs to do anything for me.”

Dean gives you an odd, strained look. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Now you know how it feels.” You stick your tongue out at him, and Sam sighs, running a hand over his face.

“And why are you telling Dean now? If it’s been so-“

“Because I love him.” Your answer is quick. You know it better than your own heart. “And he deserves to know.”

“Twenty-two.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve said you love him-“ Sam leans over, checking his notepad. “Twenty-two times, if you count that one.”

“Oh?” You pause, turning over Sam’s words, trying to work out why Dean looks like he’s been shot. “Why were you counting that?”

“Because Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

Dean’s dumb, blank expression falls into a scowl. “I’m not an idiot, Sammy, she just doesn’t know what the hell she’s saying-“

“No, but she knows what she��s thinking.” Sam shrugs, grabbing his wallet from the table. “Spell didn’t mess with her actual, you know, thoughts. Fix her and she’ll feel the same thing.”

Dean shakes his head, almost frantically. “Sam, I can’t-“

“No. You can.” Sam snaps, and he’s definitely taller now. Glaring down at Dean with a narrowed gaze, like he’s imaging slamming his brother into a wall.

“You’re taller, Sam.”

He sighs, giving you another odd look. “I know. See you tomorrow.”

Dean still tries to block Sam’s path to the door. “Sammy, I’m serious-=

“So am I. Fix this. And not just that,” he points to you, still glowering at Dean. “All of it. For once in your fucking life, Dean, let someone want you.”

Then he’s gone.

And Dean’s just fucking staring at you from the doorway, and he thinks you’re sick, but-

“I’m not sick. And I do love you.”

“Yeah. I know.” he sighs, glancing down at-

“What’s in your hand?”

He gives you a strange look, then shakes his head. “It’s for you. To help you.”

You feel yourself almost physically wince at the words. Help. You’ve become something Dean needs to help.

“I really do feel fine.” You whisper. “I do. You don’t need to- To worry about me-

“But I’m gonna.” He shrugs, and you swallow, watching him cross the room.

“I’m sorry I got angry-“

“’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Those words sound heavier than they should be, and Dean looks… weighed. Like whatever’s been set free from you is still crushing him by his temple down.

“Dean?”

He grunts, dropping down on the couch at your side.

“I love-“

“Just- Don’t.” Dean passes a little vial into your hands with a sigh. “Drink it. You’ll feel better after you drink it.”

“But-“

He mutters your name, staring at his hands. “Please. Drink.”

You glance down at the vial. It’s green. A nice green, like-

“It looks like your eyes.”

Dean just leans back, staring at the ceiling, so you keep going.

“I love your eyes. They’re a really pretty color, and they’re always- You’re always watching people.” You tilt your head at him, he lets out another long breath. “I watch you, though. Someone has to, and I love you.”

Dean rubs his brow, shaking his head at nothing at all. “Alright. Here’s how this is gonna go down.”

“Wha-“

“Just listen,” he mutters your name, finally meeting your eyes, and you’d do anything he asked.

So you nod. There’s a moment as Dean scans over your features, seems to decide you’re telling the truth, and then he gives a tight nod.

“Alright. You’re gonna drink that, and you’ll probably feel like shit after, but I’m going to be talking. Just- Let me talk, and then you can jump in with whatever you want. But you just need to drink, and listen. Okay?”

You hum, and glance down to the vial. “Do I just-“

“Yeah. Go.”

You down the liquid in one swig, and it’s fucking instant.

You messed up. You fucked up. You destroyed everything, because you had been cursed, and the weight that’s supposed to be there—that you need, that protects you from yourself and your stupid fucking feelings—crashes back down with a new, iron-clad ton of what the fuck did you do.

You told Dean you loved him. You were never supposed to do that, never supposed to be another person he was responsible for, that wanted something from him when the world took too much, and you had no right, you had no fucking right-

But Dean told you to listen. And even though the filter is back, you’d meant it. You’d do anything he asked.

Even sit in the vile toxin of your own, stupid fucking actions all day, being rude and crass and vulgar and telling Sam—poor fucking Sam, you’re surprised he didn’t throw you out the window—about how much you wanted to fuck Dean, and-

Dean mutters your name, and it snaps you just a little out of your rotting guilt.

“I- Uh- I’m not good at this.” He’s still staring at his hands. “I’m trying to be better at it, I’ve been trying, but it’s still. I’m not. I- Uh-“ He coughs, shaking his head slightly. “I feel it too. What you feel. I want you, want you all the freakin’ time, baby, and it drives me insane. You’re smart, and funny, and mean but in a really hot way, and I- Shit-“

“Dean-“

“No, I’ve got it, just-“ He takes a slow long breath, finally looking up at you, and it’s like once he’s there he’s trapped. His eyes widen, and he leans forward, and this is it.

The moment.

The one you’ve only allowed in dreams, where Dean is leaning in so close and if you reach out, you’d be allowed to touch him without it being a newer, worse weight.

“I need you.” He mutters, one hand slowly moving to cup your cheek. “I really need you, so much it scares me.”

“Dean-“

“I like needing you,” his words are growing a little firmer, and you can’t look away either. “I do. Fucking love it. And if it was the spell talking, all the stuff you said about me-“

“It wasn’t.” You whisper, and it’s not forced through anything. It just is. “I love you. And you don’t need to say that, Dean. I- If you mean it-“

“I do.” He grunts. “Son of a bitch, I mean it more than anything.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

You swallow. He’s still touching you, and if you’re not careful, you think you’ll melt all the way into him with no way out.

You don’t really want one.

There’s no way to know who moves first. Dean fully grabbing your face between his hands and pulling you closer, the exact same moment your fingers fist in his shirt and you yank him down over you. It’s a rough, furious, bruising kiss made of spit and teeth, but you’ve both been starved. You know you’ve been dying of it—the need to fucking touch Dean, to tug at his short hair, to let your lips part for him and moan when his tongue moved against yours, to bite his lip and feel fire spark in your blood at his groan—but you can feel that Dean’s been burying it just as deep.

His hands are grabbing at every single part of you. Palming your breasts and ripping off your clothing as he hauls you over his lap. He swallows your every moan and throws it right back when you grind down onto where he’s pressing through his jeans, and fuck-

You’re already missing your shirt, when his kisses fall down your chest and full, firm lips start to suck at your nipples.

“Dean-“

He growls against you, squeezing your hips as you roll against him, and the sound rolls through your whole body.

“Shirt.” You gasp, trying to peel it off his body. “Dean- Off-“

It’s only a second, when he leans back to help you, but then you’re gasping as he pulls you back down into a wet, sloppy kiss, and God, if this is what being cursed gets you, you should let it happen more often-

“I’ve got a game for you,” Dean mutters against your lips, and you lean back to frown at him.

But he’s grinning. Bright eyes, mussed hair, and an almost primal grin. “Dean, I just want to, you know-“

“I know.” He winks at you, and your nails scrape at his chest as he ruts up into you. “Trust me, we will, but c’mon. It’ll be fun.”

You sigh, nodding, and drop your mouth down to his neck. He hisses right in your ear, as you start to suck and kiss around his throat, but it quickly turns into a deep chuckle.

“That’s how we’re playing this, baby girl?”

You can’t control the whine that escapes you, and Dean moans again. Big, warm hands rub all over your back, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Baby girl, and hands, and moaning-

“Son of a- Alright-“ Dean’s grip on your hips tightens, until you’re pinned right to his knee. “Can’t think while you’re doin’ that-“

You bite him, and the sound that leaves him should be considered a sin, or virtue, or fucking hymn.

“Shit-“ Dean tugs you back by your hair, and this kiss is no different from the last ones. Long and desperate, until you’re a little dizzy and looking at Dean with an open, needy expression when he pulls away.

“You- Dean-“

“I know,” he mutters, watching you with an expression that’s dangerously close to adoration. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart, I promise, you just gotta be a good girl and listen for ten freakin’ seconds, okay?”

You nod a little stupidly, and the facts that you’re a little dazed from the taste of Dean still on your tongue and the way that your aching core is pressed right against the muscles of his thighs are the only reasons that smug grin doesn’t get punched off his face.

“I want you to tell me everything you want me to do you.” Dean’s voice is deep and rough, and you would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up. “In detail. Then I’m gonna do it.”

You cough, already sounding breathless from nothing but his attention. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“I, um, I-“

“And don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, baby.” He nips at your lower lip, and you swallow. “You can do it.”

He’s teasing you. You know he’s teasing you, so you whack at his chest, and he laughs, and it helps.

He wants you. To make you feel good.

And you really would do anything he asked you, because he’s Dean, and you trust him with a little more than your life.

“It’s- I-“ You let out a breathy laugh. “This is a lot harder when I’m not cursed.”

“C’mon.” Dean starts to press soft kisses over your shoulder, just enough to make your nails dig into his forearms. “Try.”

“You- Your hands.” You might be leaving indents on his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve always- You have really good hands, and I’ve always imagined- you know.”

He leans back, the smug somehow only growing. “I don’t know. You gotta tell me.”

“Dean-“

“Ah.” He catches your hand as you slap his arm, kissing your knuckles before he continues. “Detail, baby. Please.”

You swallow, and something softens in his gaze.

“If you don’t wanna-“

“I do.” You whisper, shaking your head. “It’s just- It’s embarrassing. I might need a second.”

Dean just shrugs. “I got time, sweetheart. I’ll wait as long as you need-“

“I want you to finger me.” You let the words fall out of your mouth, grabbing Dean’s face between your hands. “Then I- If you want- I like your mouth, and I want it down there too, and then I want you to fuck me, hard. Maybe raw, if you’re clean, because I’m clean and I’m on birth control, and you know I- If it’s okay, I like it.”

You might be burning alive, from your center up, but Dean-

Dean looks like he’s going to try and eat you alive.

You’d really like to see him try.

“De- Fuck-“

You’re moving before you know what’s happening. Dean stands up, holding you tight against his body as he moves to the bed, dropping you down so you’re sat at the edge of the mattress.

“I-“

“I’ve got you.” He mutters, giving you another, heavy kiss before dropping to his knees between your legs. “God, you’re so fucking pretty-“

“Dean-“

Another, longer kiss, and you can feel his hands trailing up your thighs, right to-

“Fuck-“

“This wet for me?” Dean grins, running two fingers between the lips of your pussy, your underwear discarded somewhere on the floor. “You want me, baby girl?”

“You know I-“ Two fingers press right of your entrance, and you drop your brow to Dean’s with a shaking breath. ��Please.”

He hums, flicking his thumb over your clit, swallowing your gasp with a kiss. “You gonna let me finally take care of you?”

“Yes-“

“You love me?”

There’s something more fragile in that question. As if he really is unsure of the answer, and this is your last out. Your last chance to tell him it really was all just the curse, and you want him to stop.

But he really fucking couldn’t drag you away.

“I do.” You smile at him, tracing his jawline with a gentle hand. “I love you-“

That’s it.

It’s like a switch flip in Dean’s brain, his eyes growing only darker and his whole body relaxing, and words seem to be useless. Those two fingers slam into your pussy, pumping and twisting and scissoring, driving you into a mess of whines and gasps of his name. And Dean doesn’t let up for a second. Any noise is devoured with deeper and deeper kisses, your grinding onto his hand is only met with fingers crooking deep in your cunt, right against-

“Dean-“ You grasp, tension building right in your gut, white-hot and readying to burst. “Dean, please-“

He only groans, tugging at your hair to mark and suck on your neck, and his thumb presses right over your clit.

The tension breaks, and the sound that leaves you is almost unrecognizable. High and desperate as something falls out from between your thighs, and Dean pulls back with wide eyes.

His fingers are shining. Covered in-

Shit.

“I-“

Your words die in your throat as Dean brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean and holding your gaze and you’re going to cum again, if he doesn’t look away-

“I didn’t know I could do that.” You mumble, fixing your gaze on his bare chest, and he chuckles, squeezing your thigh.

“Well, you’re doing it again.”

That makes your eyes dart back to his face. “Wha-“

“On my face this time.” He pauses, pouting like he’s trying to work something out, then nods. “Yeah. On my face.”

“Dean-“

“Hold on.” He rises to his feet, pulling off his jeans and boxers in quick movements, and your mouth falls open.

You’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about this. More than you’ll ever admit to him.

But he’s still better, and thicker, and bigger than you’d guessed. And he’s fully hard, and stroking himself with a wide, lazy grin, and-

“Nope.” Dean swats your hand away when you reach for him. “Not about me tonight, sweetheart.”

You give him your best, sweetest, doe-eyes, and he just laughs, leaning down to pull you into another kiss.

“Asshole.” You mumble against his lip, and he smirks.

“You want it that bad?”

“You know I do-“

“Yeah, but I still got some things on our list to take care of.” Dean pulls your lower lips between his teeth as he draws away, and then he’s gone.

Moving to lay on his back, pulling you with him by your wrist and grinning at you as he sprawls on the mattress.

“Dean, what-“

“Sit on my face.”

You might be drooling, He’s just there, just muscles and softness in all the right places, and looking more like a god than a human in the soft motel lights, and looking at you, only you, and-

“I’ll crush you-“

“Nah, you won’t.” He tugs you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your inner wrist. “Trust me, baby, I’ve survived a lot worse than a hot lady sitting on me.”

“But-“

“You said you wanted my mouth down here.” He rolls his thumb over your clit, and you almost collapse over his chest. “This is how you’re getting it.”

You take a long, slow breath and nod, straddling Dean’s face until his subtle is rubbing on your thighs, and if you’re careful-

Dean doesn’t seem to care about careful. He grabs your hips, slams you down over his face, and you’re gone.

This has only ever been a fantasy. Never a thing you thought you’d actually get.

But Dean seems to have no interest in doing anything but surpassing every dream you’ve ever had, and you think you might be ascending, or falling, or just bursting into a million, perfect pieces.

His tongue plunges in and out of your cunt without relent, and that same stubble is burning so perfectly along the most sensitive parts of your body, and his fucking hands keep kneading your ass and holding your right against his mouth. Keeping your still as he takes your clit between his lips and suck and bites and flicks his tongue until you’re in a frenzy-

You might be swearing, or cursing, or praying, or just repeating Dean over and over like a long, desperate plea, but whatever sounds are leaving your body only seem to spur him on.

He rises without warning, right when you’re on the edge of release. Keeping his hold on your thighs firm and his head buried between your legs, Dean sits up until you’re fallen back against the mattress, grabbing at the sheets as his nose bumps your clit and his tongue never slows and fuck-

You cum with a scream of something, the coil snapping once more and soaking down your thighs, and when Dean pulls back his eyes are shining.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” He mutters, bowing over you for another, almost gentle kiss that you only whine into, your whole body only putty from his work. “Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart?”

You feel raw. Impossibly sensitive and fucked out, wrecked and spent and burning from every nerve point perfectly, as if you’re high and dissipated into nothing but a light, happy mist of Dean.

You nod a little stupidly anyway.

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Sorry, baby, I need wor-“

“Fuck me.” Your voice is only a breath. Based on the way Dean tenses above you, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Please, Dean, fuck-“

This kiss is deeper. Rougher. Almost feral, pressing you all the way into the mattress until you’re scratching at his back, and then-

You whine as Dean rises back up, but it turns into another gasp as he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your ass up into the air and running fingers between the mess he’s left between your thighs.

“Son of a bitch, you’re amazing.” He mutters, and you don’t get the time to come up with something to say back before he’s pinching your clit, rolling it between broad, calloused fingers. “Ready?”

“Ye- Dean!”

He slams into you with one firm movement, your hands fist in the sheets, and the moment when he lets you adjust—hanging over your body, kissing over your shoulders and neck as he just sits in your cunt—is the longest in the world.

“Move.” You gasp, twisting around to try and meet his gaze. “Dean, move, please-“

His growl rolls through your whole body, and your hips jerk back into his.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t hold back. There’s one moment after Dean rises back up where he gives a slow, experimental thrust, but you moan his name and grind your ass up into the air, and he’s gone. Whatever he’d been controlling in himself vanishes, and he fucks you. Fully, properly fucks you, the mattress squeaking and his balls slapping over your clit and god, he’s too good at this. You’ve never been this full, this dazed, dragged right to the edge only by Dean slamming in and out of your pussy, his cock is hitting so deep in your body you’re certain you’ll feel it in a month. And his hands are pulling and rubbing at your skin, and his thrusts are measured but they’re quickly growing feral as you squeeze around him, and he’s moaning again-

“Fuck-“ He grunts your name, bumping right against that impossibly deep spot in your cunt. “So fucking tight, baby girl, taking me so good-“

“Dean-“ You bury your face in the bed, writhing below him. “Fuck- I- I need-“

“I know.” He lowers himself back over you, never once breaking pace and angling your face to crash his lips into yours, swallowing every needy, high plea of his name. “So fuckin’ close, sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me, being such a good girl-“

“Jesus-“

“One more,” he grunts down your throat, a hand snaking around your stomach to rub at your clit. “Just one more for me, baby, c’mon-“

That’s all it takes. Your orgasm bursts and washes through your whole body, leaving the world spinning and everything lost in a daze of pleasure and good, and you can only really hear Dean moaning your name as you squeeze around his cock, fucking you through your orgasm.

He pulls out when you’re shaking below him—hot shivers still running through your body in the aftermath of your release—and second later his cum is staining over your back, one gentle hand still holding your ass in the air.

He cleans you up. Of course he does. He’s Dean.

He kisses the base of your spine before crawling off the bed, grabs a shirt instead of a rag—because he cleaned the shirt at the bunker but you’re both smarter than using a motel towel to clean anything down there—and wipes your thighs and back clean, before collapsing over your body and burying his face in your shoulder.

“You think Sammy’ll be back tonight.” He mutters, his words slightly muffled against your body, and you sigh.

“I’m worried he’s never coming back.”

You feel Dean’s frown against your skin. “Why-“

“Remember how he said I mentioned wanting you to, um, bend me over a table?”

Dean hums. “Shit, I forgot to do that-“

“Later, I kind of-“

You squeak as Dean grabs you by your hips, flipping you over until you’re nose to nose, and his boyish, smug grin is right where you could bite it off his face, if you wanted.

And you really do.

“We’re having a later, baby?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course we are, Dean, focus-“

His fingers start to trail up your inner thigh, and it takes all the self-control in your body to whack them away.

“I’m still sensitive-“

He shrugs. “I can work with that, sweetheart-“

“I know, but Sam.”

“You said he’s not comin’ back-“

“Yeah, but I need to send him like a fucking fruit basket or something.”

Dean frowns at that. “Why, what-“

“I told him everything, Dean. All the stuff I told you, and some, uh, other stuff.“

“What other stuff?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it does,” Dean catches your hand before you can cover your face, pinning it above your head with a smirk. “I need to know what that smart brain is coming up with, how I need to be fucking you-“

“But-“

Dean drawls your name, raising his brows. “Look, that is far from the worst shit Sam’s heard. When I was heading to hell, he had to sleep in the car just so I could get laid. He’ll walk it off, then we’ll drop him at Eileen’s to get some of his own ass.”

You snort. “I’m sure he’ll be very thankful-“

“He better. I saw the marks on my fucking tires. Lucky I’m not defesternating him.”

“Defenestrating.” You hum, smiling as Dean settles back over your body, burying his head in your chest. “Close, though.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You comb your fingers through his hair, unable to stop the final, soft statement from escaping your lips. “I love you, Dean.”

“Good.” He squeezes his hold on your body. “Same.”

You smile. He won’t say it back, but not because he doesn’t feel it. His weight is heavier than yours, and you know that, because you know him.

And love him.

And he does love you, but for now, that’s the best he can do.

It’s still better than you ever dreamed.

But then again, so is Dean.

End Note: We've hit new peaks of torment for Sam Winchester. Sorry my king.

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mylovesstuffs · 25 days ago

Text

OT13 reaction to their s/o taking off their engagement/promise ring during a fight

Request: Hii! It's actually my first time asking. But I love your posts so much that I wanted to try requesting as well.

Can we get an ot13 reaction to their S/O taking off their engagement/promise ring during a fight? Thank you! Ignore if uncomfortable.

Immediately breaks down — Seungcheol, Mingyu, Seungkwan

As soon as he sees the ring off your finger, it’s like the air is sucked out of the room. “Wait, don’t—please don’t do that,” he’s already tearing up. For him, that ring is everything that he means to you, and watching you take it off, even out of anger, makes him spiral. He forgets the fight and all he can focus on is, “Are you… leaving me?” Even if you say, “i didn’t mean it,” he’s shaken and holds onto you tightly, begging you not to ever take it off again even during fights.

Freezes in disbelief — Joshua, Jun, Dokyeom

He just… stops. Mid-argument. Eyes stuck on your hand, “you took it off?” His voice is soft, stunned, as if his heart just dropped [it actually did]. He doesn’t yell or fight back, but there’s this cold silence that follows that hurts more than shouting. You’ll see him sit down somewhere, running his hands through his hair, overwhelmed. It’s not the end for him, but now, the conversation shifts from the fight to: “Did I hurt you that much?”

Tries to stay composed but his voice shakes — Wonwoo, Minghao, Vernon

He tries not to react at first, tries to pretend he’s calm, but his voice gives him away. “...You took off the ring?” He won’t guilt-trip you, won’t lash out. But you’ll see the pain flash across his face with a small crack in that composed exterior. He takes a moment, then asks, “Do you still want this? Us?” It's not because he’s giving up, but because he needs to hear you say it and needs to know this isn’t goodbye. He listens to you because he's patient, and if you say you didn’t mean it, he’ll hold your hand and gently slide the ring back on.

Gets angry before realizing what it means — Hoshi, Dino

“Oh? That’s what we’re doing now?” His immediate reaction is anger with sharp words and a bitter laugh. He thinks it’s about winning the fight, but then… he sees your expression. Sees your hand, sees how hurt you are, and suddenly, the fight doesn’t matter anymore. He softens so quickly, it’s jarring. “No—wait, I didn’t mean that. Please don't.” You’ll feel him fumble through apologies, trying to undo the emotional damage and holding your hand, shaking and trying not to tear up.

Goes heartbreakingly quiet — Jeonghan, Woozi

No yelling or reaction. Just… silence. He watches you take the ring off, and for a moment, it looks like all the light leaves his eyes. “So that’s it?” he’ll say, even if you didn’t mean it like that. He walks away but it's not because he’s giving up or something like that, but because he needs to breathe before he breaks in front of you. You’ll have to go to him, to explain, to say “I still want you.” And when you do, he’ll pull you into the softest hug and whisper, “Then don’t take it off again. Ever.”

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

badly craving for some Fyodor fics & your writing is good asf 😩 I would like to humbly request an arranged marriage au with Fyodor where the reader has a big fat crush on him but he finds their affection disgusting. After the wedding, they try to woo him and get him to fall for them but to no avail. Until one day he gets sooo sick of it and essentially yells at the reader to stop which causes them to lose all hope and start to secretly hate him because he's actually cruel. On the other hand, Fyodor notice how the reader is not the same affectionate spouse anymore and gets uncomfortable. He realizes how he has become fond of their tenderness of him. Basically, (yander-ish) Fyodor tries to win their love back after noticing how they're falling out of love with him.

(feel free to ignore this request, hope you have a wonderful day <33)

Bittersweet

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

The morning after your wedding should have been a dream. Instead, it was a cold, unfeeling reality.

You woke up early, your heart fluttering at the sight of your husband still asleep beside you. Fyodor Dostoevsky looked almost peaceful in his slumber, his dark lashes resting against pale skin, his lips slightly parted. You wanted to reach out, to brush a strand of his hair away from his face, but you refrained. He had barely tolerated your presence the day before; you doubted he would welcome your touch now.

Still, you couldn’t help but admire him, your heart aching with the depth of your affection. So, as the sun cast its first golden rays through the curtains, you slipped out of bed and set about preparing for the day. You instructed the servants to make his favorite tea (or at least what you had learned was his favorite), and you carefully arranged a breakfast tray, making sure everything was just right. You wanted this to be a good start.

When Fyodor finally emerged from the bedroom, his loose white shirt hanging carelessly off his frame, his eyes flicked toward you—and immediately away.

"Good morning, Fedya" you greeted with a hopeful smile, setting the tray down on the table. "I had breakfast prepared for you. I wasn’t sure what you preferred, but I made sure to—"

"Unnecessary" he interrupted flatly, walking past you without so much as a glance at your efforts.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. We are married now, after all."

Fyodor turned to you then, "Yes, we are." He stepped closer, and for a brief, foolish moment, your heart leaped in anticipation. But then he leaned in, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he murmured, "Try not to make a nuisance of yourself, dear spouse."

And with that, he pulled away, seating himself at the table without touching a single thing you had prepared.

Your chest tightened, but you swallowed the disappointment down, forcing yourself to remain composed. It was only the first morning. There would be other chances.

The rest of the morning was much the same.

You tried. You truly did.

After breakfast, you attempted to engage Fyodor in conversation, asking about his work, his interests—anything that might spark even the smallest hint of warmth. Each attempt was met with silence or vague, uninterested responses. His gaze barely lingered on you, his words clipped and dismissive.

By midday, you were accompanying him through the estate’s grand halls, trying to match his slow, measured steps. He had business to attend to, you knew that, but you had hoped he might spare you a moment—just a fleeting second of genuine attention.

Instead, he stopped in his tracks, exhaling a sigh of barely concealed irritation.

“Do you intend to follow me all day?”

“I only wished to spend time with you. We’re married now, aren’t we?”

Fyodor let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Ah. A dutiful spouse. How sweet.” He tilted his head, a mockery of affection glinting in his dark eyes. “You think that if you play the devoted partner, I will fall at your feet? That I will somehow return the affection you so desperately throw at me?”

Your heart sank. “That’s not—”

His presence, his words, his very existence—it was all razor-sharp, meant to cut you down.

“I find your affections revolting.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, and somehow, that made it worse. “A pitiful display of misplaced devotion. I agreed to this arrangement, but do not mistake compliance for desire.”

It was a knife to the chest.

He didn’t wait for a response. With a final, disinterested glance, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you standing there, hollow and trembling.

That night, you didn’t wait for him to return to bed. You didn’t linger by the door, hoping he would speak to you.

For the first time, doubt began to seep into the cracks of your foolish, hopeful heart.

Maybe love wasn’t something you could earn.

For a month, you tried.

You woke before him each morning, ensuring his tea was prepared exactly the way he liked it. He never drank it. You arranged quiet dinners, hoping to share a meal with him, but he rarely showed. On the rare nights he did, he barely acknowledged your presence.

You tried to touch him—just a brush of your fingers against his sleeve, a hesitant hand on his shoulder—but he recoiled each time, his eyes flashing with something between disgust and boredom.

Yet, you persisted.

Because you loved him.

Because you had convinced yourself that if you just showed him enough warmth, enough care, enough devotion, he would soften. That the walls around his heart would crack, even just a little, and he would see you.

But they never did.

And then, one evening, it all crumbled.

It had been a long day. Fyodor had returned home later than usual, his coat damp from the rain. Still, you greeted him at the door, reaching out instinctively to take his coat.

“Welcome home, Fedya” you murmured, offering him a small smile. “You must be tired.”

“And?”

“And… I thought perhaps we could spend some time together?”

“You never stop, do you?” he said, “This pitiful game of yours.”

“Game?”

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” He continued “A desperate, clumsy attempt to win my love. Do you think I don’t see it? Every lingering gaze, every pathetic offering of affection.”

Your hands trembled at your sides, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. “I just wanted us to be happy”

“You are a fool” he murmured, “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

It was then that something inside you shattered.

Something in your chest grew cold.

That night, for the first time, you did not wait for him to come to bed. You did not look for him in the halls or seek his company at breakfast. You no longer lingered in his presence, no longer tried to win a single scrap of his affection.

----

For the first time since the wedding, Fyodor felt… unburdened.

The mornings were quiet. He no longer had to brush off your eager greetings or ignore the tea you so carefully prepared. The nights were peaceful. You no longer waited for him, no longer tried to share hushed conversations as he undressed for bed.

Yes. This was better.

A week passed. Then another.

He still saw you, of course. You lived under the same roof. You still crossed paths in the grand halls of the estate, still shared the same dining table on occasion. But you no longer sought him out.

You were distant but polite, reserved but not cold. You still addressed him as "Fyodor" still fulfilled your duties as his spouse, but there was no warmth behind your words.

He had gotten what he wanted.

One evening, as he returned to the estate, he realized you no longer greeted him at the door. You used to wait for him, no matter how late, a soft smile on your lips. Now, you were nowhere to be seen.

The first time, he dismissed it. The second time, he noticed. The third time, he lingered in the entryway for a second too long, waiting for something—someone—that never came.

Then, it was the meals.

You used to insist on eating together, always trying to engage him in conversation. He had found it annoying, an intrusion into his silence. But now, you simply took your meals at a different time.

It was convenient, really. He no longer had to deal with your chatter.

And yet, when he sat alone at the grand dining table, his food untouched, he found himself staring at the empty seat across from him.

It was quiet.

He told himself he should be pleased. That this was what he had wanted all along.

But if that were true… why did he keep noticing your absence?

Fyodor didn’t have an answer.

And for the first time, the uncertainty unsettled him.

It happened over dinner.

For the first time in weeks, you and Fyodor sat at the same table. Not because you sought his company, but because it was simply convenient. A mere circumstance, nothing more.

You ate in silence, your gaze lowered, your movements graceful but detached. You did not speak unless necessary. You did not try to meet his eyes.

And Fyodor hated it. He hadn’t intended to say anything. He wasn’t sure why he cared. But as he watched you calmly cut your food, as if he were just another person sharing the space instead of your husband, the words left his lips before he could stop them.

“You no longer prepare meals for me.”

You didn’t pause, didn’t even flinch at his sudden remark. You simply finished chewing, set your fork down, and responded with quiet indifference.

“You never ate them.”

He hadn’t expected that response.

“You used to try regardless” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “You no longer do.”

This time, you did pause, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words.

Then, you shrugged.

“I suppose I grew tired of wasting my efforts.”

“You’re different.”

“I learned my place.”

For some reason, that did not sit well with him.

For some reason, he found himself watching you more closely as you returned to your meal, eating in the same quiet, unshaken manner.

For some reason, he didn’t like this calm, distant version of you.

You set your utensils down with deliberate care, wiping your mouth with a napkin before speaking.

"You don’t have to worry, Fyodor." You met his gaze, but there was no desperation, no lingering hope in your eyes anymore. Just something steady. "I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"That my presence is of little consequence to you." You leaned back slightly, your posture relaxed, as if you had long made peace with this truth. "You have your work, your plans—things far more important than indulging a foolish spouse’s affections."

His grip on the glass tightened, but he said nothing.

"You can focus on those things" you continued, "I won’t get in the way. I won’t bother you with unnecessary affections or expectations anymore." You glanced down at your plate before pushing it aside. "I’ll be here. Silently."

This should have been a victory.

This was what he had wanted—what he had forced you into. You were finally the ideal spouse. Quiet, undemanding. A presence that did not intrude upon his world.

Yet, as you sat there, distant but composed, something gnawed at him, something he couldn’t place.

It was unsettling.

He no longer understood you.

And he didn’t like that at all.

Days passed, and it only grew worse.

He found himself noticing the spaces you had left behind.

The library, where you once sat curled up in the corner, reading quietly as he worked, was empty now. The garden, where you used to walk, humming softly to yourself, now held only the sound of the wind. Even at night, the room felt colder.

---

It was at a gathering—one he had little interest in attending, but one that required his presence nonetheless. You had accompanied him, as expected, standing by his side as poised and composed as ever. But unlike before, there was no subtle shift toward him, no gentle touches, no warmth in your eyes when you addressed him.

You spoke with others, smiled at their words, laughed at their stories. Not in a way that was inappropriate, not in a way that brought disgrace to him, but in a way that made something in his chest coil unbearably tight.

Because it was a smile he had not seen in weeks.

Because it was warmth you had stopped giving him.

You were fine.

You were content in this new distance, unaffected by the void that had begun to gnaw at him.

It unsettled him.

More than that, it infuriated him.

He had expected bitterness. He had expected resentment. Those, he could have understood—controlled. But instead, you had done something far worse.

You had let him go.

You had truly accepted the reality he had forced upon you, had adjusted, had thrived without the need for his affection.

He was the only one suffering now.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

----

Fyodor had never asked for your assistance before.

Not when he was drowning in paperwork, not when his workload was unbearable, never. He was a man who preferred solitude, who functioned best in his own world without distractions.

Yet, tonight, he had called for you.

And so, you sat beside him in his study, your presence unobtrusive, your role simple—double-checking documents, ensuring nothing was overlooked. It was quiet work, but for the first time in weeks, conversation flowed easily between you.

You spoke of your days, of the things that occupied your time now that you no longer wasted it on him.

New books you had taken an interest in. The musicians who played in the town square. People you had met—acquaintances, staff, fleeting faces in the estate.

And him.

"The garden’s been lovely lately" you mused, absently flipping through a page. "All thanks to Mikhail."

His pen halted mid-stroke. Mikhail?

"The new gardener" you continued, unaware of the shift in the air. "He’s been doing wonderful work. The roses have never looked better."

"You seem fond of him."

"I suppose I am. He’s good at what he does. Very passionate about it." A small chuckle. "He talks about flowers the way some poets talk about love."

"And you enjoy such conversations?"

You only shrugged. "It’s interesting to listen to. He has a way of making the simplest things sound beautiful."

How… irritating.

A man who spoke of flowers as if they were poetry.

A man whose name had no business being spoken so fondly from your lips.

A man who had stolen your attention that had once belonged to Fyodor alone.

His gaze dropped back to his papers, but the words blurred, his thoughts elsewhere.

You had moved on.

You had let go.

And now, for the first time, Fyodor realized—

He did not want you to.

Mikhail disappeared without a trace.

One day, he was there—trimming the hedges, tending to the roses, greeting you with his easy smile. And the next, he was simply gone.

At first, you assumed he had left for personal reasons. Perhaps he had fallen ill, or maybe he had found a better opportunity elsewhere. But no one seemed to know.

The other staff whispered about it. His belongings were left untouched in the small quarters he had been provided. There was no resignation letter, no farewell, nothing.

It was as if he had simply vanished.

You tried not to think too much about it. People left all the time, didn’t they? There was no reason to assume the worst.

And yet, a strange unease settled in your chest.

Still, life moved on. The estate remained, the garden still needed tending. And when no one stepped in to fill the role, you did what you could.

At first, it was manageable. Watering the plants, plucking weeds—simple things. But soon, it became overwhelming.

Some flowers began to wither.

The roses that Mikhail had so carefully cultivated lost their vibrancy. The once-thriving vines grew untamed, the flower beds dulled, lifeless.

You needed a new gardener.

You had to hire one.

You mentioned it one evening, seated once again in Fyodor’s study as you absently flipped through a household ledger.

“I need to find someone new for the garden” you mused. “It’s been difficult keeping up with it alone.”

Fyodor barely glanced up from his work. “Is that so?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Some of the flowers have already started wilting. It’s a shame. The estate looks so much livelier when it’s well-maintained.”

A quiet hum from him. Nothing more.

“It’s strange, though. How Mikhail just disappeared like that.”

This time, his quill paused—just for a second.

“I suppose some people are simply unreliable” he murmured, dipping the quill into ink.

An odd feeling stirred in the back of your mind.

It was silly, wasn’t it? The thought that Fyodor—

No.

You shook it off. Ridiculous.

There was no reason to think he had anything to do with it.

Yet, as the days passed, as the flowers continued to wither, as the space Mikhail had once occupied remained empty, you couldn’t quite shake the thought.

And worse—though you did not yet realize it—Fyodor knew you couldn’t.

And he was waiting.

Waiting for you to understand.

That no matter how far you tried to move from him—

He would never let you go.

It started with the flowers.

No matter what you did, they wouldn’t bloom.

Some parts of the garden thrived as they always had, but a particular patch—right where Mikhail had once worked the most—remained barren. The soil was wrong, dense and damp in ways it shouldn’t have been.

One day, curiosity got the better of you.

You knelt down, gloved fingers sinking into the earth as you began to dig.

A few inches deep, the soil darkened. The smell turned foul, pungent.

Your fingers grazed something.

Something not stone. Not wood. Something soft.

You swallowed, heart pounding, and dug further—until a shape began to take form beneath your hands.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A hand.

Pale, lifeless, limp. The fingers were stiff, the nails caked with dried blood.

You jerked away, scrambling back, your vision blurring with disbelief, with horror. And as you sat there, trembling, staring at the thing that should not have been there, your mind whispered the truth before you could stop it—

Mikhail.

You should have screamed. But before the panic could fully seize you, before you could even process the implication of what you had just unearthed—

The bells in town rang. Loud. Urgent.

And the news spread like wildfire.

Another body. Another victim.

The serial killer had struck again.

Suddenly, all thoughts of Mikhail’s shallow grave were drowned beneath something bigger, something that seized the town in terror.

The killer had been targeting people in the area. And now, they had claimed yet another life.

The estate became a sanctuary, a place of safety. Servants whispered in fear, locking their doors at night, avoiding the streets unless absolutely necessary.

And Fyodor—Fyodor had never looked calmer.

One evening, as the news spread and the fear settled into every home, he turned to you, “You should stay close to me.”

“What?”

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair. “It’s dangerous out there.”

You hesitated. Of course it was. That much was obvious.

You nodded.

And Fyodor smiled.

Because you had no idea, did you?

No idea that the real monster was sitting right in front of you.

And now, you had walked right into his arms.

At first, Fyodor simply remained close—never overbearing, never forceful, just there.

You didn’t even question it.

After all, it made sense, didn’t it? The town was in fear, a murderer lurking in the shadows, and you lived in a secluded estate. Of course, you would stay near him. Of course, you wouldn’t wander too far.

And Fyodor?

He played his role perfectly.

One evening, as you read by candlelight, a cold breeze drifted through the room. Without a word, Fyodor draped a shawl over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your skin just briefly before pulling away.

When you thanked him, he only gave a quiet hum, as if it was nothing.

Then, the meals.

He had never cared about your routines before, had never paid attention to whether you ate or not. But now, he would casually remind you.

“You’ve hardly touched your plate” he’d murmur during dinner, tilting his head slightly. “You should eat more.”

And when you did, he looked pleased.

Then, conversation.

You had spoken freely before, of course—but now, Fyodor engaged.

He listened intently when you spoke of your interests, made thoughtful remarks, even encouraged you to continue.

And perhaps it was just because you were lonely, because the house felt emptier, because the world outside was dangerous—

But you found yourself enjoying his company.

He simply filled the spaces that had once been empty.

And soon, without realizing it, you began to trust him again.

You laughed a little more around him. You lingered in his presence longer. You sought his thoughts on things you never would have before.

And Fyodor?

He watched.

He waited.

Because it was working.

You didn’t even realize, did you?

That he had pulled you back in.

That, piece by piece, you were becoming his again.

It was gradual—so gradual that you didn’t even notice.

Little by little, you returned to how you once were.

At first, it was just habit. You had always been warm, always been affectionate. And now that Fyodor was allowing it, even reciprocating in his own quiet way, it felt natural to fall back into those patterns.

You started making tea for him again.

Not because you expected anything, but because it felt right. Because he drank it now, without a word of complaint.

You sought his company more.

Not in the desperate, longing way you once had, but comfortably. You’d sit in his study, flipping through a book while he worked, just as you used to.

And most importantly—

You trusted him.

You felt safe with him.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with unseen horrors, and Fyodor was steady. Reliable. A pillar of protection in the growing storm.

Of course, you didn’t realize that it was he who had created the storm in the first place.

And Fyodor?

He knew better than to be careless.

Yes, you had come back to him—had settled back into his grasp—but he wasn’t a fool.

Affection was fickle. Trust was fragile.

And he had no intention of letting you slip away again.

So, he tightened his hold.

"You should stay in today" he murmured one morning, glancing toward the window. "I have a bad feeling about the town."

You hesitated—but he was rarely wrong, was he?

So you listened.

Then, it was the staff.

Servants who used to chat with you now avoided meeting your gaze, as if afraid of something unseen. People you once trusted left without a word.

Slowly, the house became his entirely.

And then, it was you.

One evening, as you prepared to retire to bed, Fyodor’s voice stopped you at the doorway.

"Come here."

You turned, confused, but something in his tone left no room for argument.

So you stepped closer, and he reached out, his cold fingers brushing over your wrist.

"You forgot your necklace" he murmured, fastening it around your neck.

You blinked. "I… I don’t remember taking it off."

He only smiled. "Perhaps you shouldn’t take it off at all."

You didn’t notice the way his fingers lingered against your skin.

Didn’t notice how pleased he looked when you nodded, murmuring, "Alright."

You didn’t see it—

The slow, delicate strings that bound you to him.

By the time you realized, it would be too late.

Because now, he had you.

And he would never, ever let you go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #bsd x reader #bsd x you #yandere bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #heliosfyodor

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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boxer!rafe had his anger mostly under control. thats what the boxing was for. but no one’s perfect. there were times he’d slip up.

he’d developed the knack for being able to ignore the other men in the locker room at the fighting grounds. he had his own upcoming fights to worry about, his own family to feed — whilst he used to be a sucker for a good argument, it had become the least of his concerns. they knew that about him, therefore they knew what would get under his skin.

“ayeee, it’s pretty boy!” one jeered as he stepped into the locker room — sore, toned body trudging over to his usual locker to retrieve his stuff so he could get out and go home to you. he was used to the nickname, infact it had even been self proclaimed at some points on the ring. girls held up ‘pretty boy’ signs during his fights, upon winning multiple fights and climbing the ranks he was gifted a chain with ‘pretty motherfucker’ engraved on the pendant. it was nothing new to him.

the chatter continues in the room amongst the men, and he figures he can let his guard down now, knowing they wouldn’t be testing him. they’d heard of his rage through stories, rumours that he’d been in jail for killing a cop in his past. it intrigued people, wanting to see how far they could push him. just as the cameron boy is getting his gym bag together to leave, he’s brought into the conversation once more.

“right? i wanna start seein’ some newer faces in the crowd i’m gettin’ tired of the regulars.” the same douche that addressed rafe when he entered speaks, eyes flickering over to the younger guy in amusement. “hey cameron, got anyone you can bring to spice things up around here? how ‘bout that pretty wife of yours? maybe she can motivate me before the fight—”

he doesn’t get to finish his taunt, before in a flash rafe had pinned him the locker with a crash, doors rippling and padlocks clattering. he presses his arm into the man’s neck, jaw clenched and vein popping out his neck.

“fuck you say? huh? nah, go ‘head repeat yourself.” rafe threatens, practically growling through bared teeth at the man. the other fighter goes to shove him back, but the cameron man is unmovable. if there’s one thing he doesn’t play about, it’s you.

rafe stumbles back slightly, but it’s only to wind up and slam his fist into the man’s face when he dared to smile. the other men start to get involved now, trying to pull rafe off but it only made him angrier. “think that’s funny? yeah?” he yells, and punches the man again, the time harder. his skin cracks and blood splashes onto his knuckles as he continues. he knew this was going to result in at least a week suspension from the gym, and that was with the gym owner being fond of rafe. he shoves himself off eventually, the man groaning on the floor in pain.

full of adrenaline, rafe picks up his bag and heads to leave, but not without spitting out a venomous “lemme hear you talk about my wife again. i’ll kill you. a’ight?”

he’s not proud of himself by the time he’s arrived home. it’s been a while since he’d gotten angry like that, violent outside of professional boxing. it’s so soft in your shared home when he arrives, and it makes him feel ashamed. it smelled like you’d been baking fresh cookies, the house clean just for him. it melts him, because sometimes he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still the monster he used to be. something that didn’t belong here.

he stops in the doorway to see you napping on the couch, looking delicate like a petal that had fallen off a flower, drifted in the wind and had just landed there perfectly. the small bump that had only just begun to show through your dress strains ever so slightly against the material and he scratches at his cheek. he shouldn’t be acting like this. not when fatherhood is approaching.

he busies himself off to the shower, hoping to wash the day from him. not long later, the sound of the water woke you — and you appear in the bathroom quietly, stripping yourself of your clothes and climbing in behind him. you press a soft kiss to the centre of his back because you could tell it’s tense, a telltale sign that he’d had a rough day. you don’t need to speak, not yet anyway as he relaxes slightly at your touch — feeling your tits press against him from behind and your swollen tummy when you lean forward. he lets out a long sigh, head running beneath the water.

hugging him from behind, you peer round to see his bruised knuckles. he hadn’t come home with those for a long time, he’d usually wrap them if he was going to spar or whatever.

“what happened?” you can’t help yourself, curiosity getting the better of you.

he presses his lips together, caught. he doesn’t wanna tell you what they said, make you uncomfortable. it’s not necessary and it would only make him mad all over again. he runs his knuckles under the water, ridding them of any of the left over dried blood that he wasn’t sure was his.

“ah i uh… i lost my temper… a little. s’not important.” he huffs, peeking briefly over his shoulder at you. you don’t question it, knowing it was potentially a sore subject. he feels another kiss on his back.

“s’okay.” you’re so nurturing, so gentle. your hands slide around his hip bones, caressing the veined skin on his lower stomach above his cock. the appendage jumps once realising what you were after. maybe it didn’t take long because of the soft kisses and your body pressing to his, paired with the day he’d had — but he’s hard in no time when you start palming at him.

he tips his head back under the water, the droplets racing down his toned back and shoulders as you slowly tug at him from behind, doing your best to relax him. “s’okay rafe.” you whisper once more. “you’re home now.”

he certainly was.

#boxer!rafe #rafe cameron prompt

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unluckilyimnot · 5 months ago

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Friend trying to win your bf over/talking shit behind your back

Characters: isagi, sae, rin, karasu, nagi

Note : I did this for a request but I'll do it with more fandom (genshin and windbreaker), so tell me if anyone want one with a character in particular (hc / one shot...) or another fandom

Tr ver.

m.list | rules

Sae

Sae's not there to be fucked around or around people he loves

So let's just say that your friend looking down on you will only happen once

He hates the way she interrupts you to talk about her own feelings or point of you to HIM

Why would he care about someone else?

"Nobody cares. Go on, Dear."

He's not scared to speak for everyone since he clearly realized she's trying to steal time and space from you specifically

He's the type to just stop listening to her of answer her – not that he paid much attention before

It's almost boring how quickly he reacts, but he can't accept someone hurting you when your his everything

Rin

Same as Sae, he's not open to other people and rarely care about them

He's less blunt though

He doesn't really like your friend for the start but he'd almost admire her persistence if it wasn't turned against you

He's lost count of how many times he just sighs at her face or side eyes her to death when she's trying to be better than you

He'll generally put up with it if you can defend yourself but he also turned her down a lot when he's tired of it

He's impressed how quick you shut her up the second she tries to touch him though

He hates it and you can't put up with that, she can try to look down to you in front of your bf but she can't step too close in his personal space

Rin convince you to cut her off after that

Yoichi

Does realize what's she trying to do but LATE

He really thought for a long time that she was just trying to be included and to get to know what he liked so he wasn't left out

He also told you that you were exaggerating the few first times you mention her attitude

It honestly put your relationship in danger bc he couldn't get himself to push her away when she got a bit too close to him or he ended up listening to her more than you

It took his friends to mention her weird attitude around you two, PLUS you yelling him to open his eyes before he finally get to realize she was like this only with him

And how much she looked down on you on every chance she had

He's more than quick to turn her down after that and oh gods, he's doing his best to regain your trust

Karasu

He's not buying her overly cute and harmless behavior but still let her a chance

He also get the chance to understand why you think so low of yourself, with friends like her around

He's careful around her, staying close to you, paying close attention to you and assuring you that you're doing enough when she tries to push you down

He's sick to see that she's always trying to get close to him even if he brings every conversation to you, even if you're not here

He push her away before you get the chance to do so, and then insisted for you to cut her from your life

Nagi

He's honestly not interested in anyone but you and his few close friends, so let's say it doesn't go the way she wants to

She can talk to him all she wants, he's not listening, he doesn't even realize it's for him

He only thinks she's full of herself and boring to be around

You're probably annoyed and frustrated at first, and you talk to him about it

But when he tells you that he find her so boring you can't help but laugh and let her do so much before cutting her off

But not before nagi told her himself that she's so boring he wants to leave every time he sees her

Let me know if you liked it !!

#blue lock x reader #blue lock hc #blue lock headcanons #blue lock fluff #isagi x reader #sae x reader #rin x reader #karasu x reader #nagi x reader

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shouts-into-the-void · 3 months ago

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Montresor caring about Will didn't come out of nowhere, Lenore was just mad: a biased completely unbiased post

The thing we need to remember as a rule is that Montresor's default personality is rude and antagonistic even when he's not actively trying to be an aggressor, which means you have to look at what he means rather than necessarily the things he says. He's a clear victim of abuse, who reacts to feelings trapped, cornered, threatened, panicked, or humiliated by lashing out. From what I have gathered, it seems like his mother may have been the type of person who was nice one minute, then became abusive at the drop of a hat, and/or acted loving while claiming she "had to do this for his own good", and he was clearly raised in a very strict religious environment where he didnt have a lot of control/was punished for things he couldnt help. As a reaction, Montresor tries to force an aggressive response out of anyone he feels threatened by, because at least then it's predictable and he feels in control. Okay, great, Montresor analysis out of the way, moving on.

Our first real look at Will and Montresor as a unit is when the clusterfucks (side note: I've seen a lot of people calling them the acoleets now? Far less funny, absolutely not) are discussing their spectres. During this conversation, Montresor is actually hyping Will up, and even when he agrees with Ada that is sounds useless, he makes sure to assure him that it "looks really cool though."

We only really see Montresor become outright violent and dangerous once it's revealed that only one person can win a new life. We see him actively panic about it, and while we don't really get a lot more context for him yelling at Will in the moment, I think its relevant that this is the moment when he starts treating Will less nicely, because now it's a competition and everyone else is potentially out to get him. Hell, he even immediately begins joking around with Will after telling him to shut up, so it's clear that he's acting out of stress and fear immediately after the revelation.

The interaction that immediately follows this is the incident with Morella and Ada, and I find it notable that Montresor goes out of his way to include Will. (when he makes sure to let you get your turn humiliating a woman to prove her loyalty to the group #romantic 🤡)

Later, during the Spectre vs. Students lesson, when Berenice bites Will and he asks for help, Montresor immediately tells her to leave him alone. While he seems mildly annoyed with Will the whole time (kind of understandably, because Will keeps screwing up the plan) he only says anything particularly horrible after Berenice slashes him across the face with her knife, which clearly pisses him off in general. We see him letting Will nap on his shoulder afterwards, which isn't super important I just think it's cute.

Montresor clearly sees them as a unit, as he still involved Will with the plan despite Will messing up the previous night with Duke and stops Will from helping Annabel with Ada despite not having a real reason to do so by saying "We'll sit this one out." Like it should have gone without saying that if he's not doing it, Will isn't either. Then the next day, the fact that Montresor comes to get Will specifically so they can walk to breakfast together? Knows what his toothbrush looks like and goes out of his way to give it back? The little flick on the forehead when he calls him a churchmouse? That he picks up on Will's distress and immediately goes to collect Ada to save him? I see you, fake-ass idgafer.

Which brings me to my next point, which is that it is Lenore on her enraged, vengeful tirade who claims that Montresor hates Will. She claims it's due to his behavior towards Will when he came to get him, but I think its pretty clear she only says it to upset Will. And Will can't think of anything nice Montresor's ever done for him because he's stressed, thinks he's about to get shot, and his self-confidence is super low. He even addresses the fact later that Montresor goes out of his way to save him all the time.

I also think now is a good time to point out that Montresor only seems to physically hurt Will in any significant way when he's been having a flashback. His expression when he comes out of his death flashback to find himself attacking Will is shocked, and while he doesn't apologize, his response does come across as apologetic. He has a similar expression when he wakes up from Ada's vision choking Will, only he looks incredibly panicked that time because he'd done actual damage. The expression on his face when Lenore points out what he's done is pained. I think this runs back to Montresor telling Will not to touch him, I'm pretty sure part of his trauma revolves around physical touch and when he's having an episode of PTSD/not fully aware of his surroundings he lashes out instinctively at the person touching him, which unfortunately means Will, who is a very physically affectionate person (man has 13 siblings and it shows.) Which is unfortunate, because I think Montresor also seems to be a very tactile person, and he actually goes out of his way to be touching Will a lot.

Another interesting thing? Montresor only ever addresses Will by name, which is very significant with context. The nicknames Montresor gives people are meant to mock them, so by only using Will's name it subtlely signals that he holds him in higher respect (or at least in more genuine regard) than the others. In Will's flashback, Sally–someone who went to school with him and was in all the same classes–doesn't remember his name, only that he's one of many Wilson siblings. So for Montresor, who can't even remember his "ace in the hole" and current fling's name, to be constantly making it a point to say he knows who Will is, is a great indicator of his actual feelings. By contrast, Will calls Montresor "Monty" exclusively, the only nickname he receives that is genuinely affectionate and something he never attempts to make him stop calling him.

Which pretty much brings us back to the events of the current episodes, which I've already talked about the significance of in another post. I know this is probably insanely biased for multiple reasons and im sure theres a bunch of little tidbits I've forgotten , but do with it what you will.

#now that yall are up to date and seeing my vision #nevermore #montresor nevermore #will nevermore #willtresor #nevermore webtoon

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westside-rot · 6 months ago

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Talk To Me Nice

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black reader

No warnings for this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors cuz it's only lightly edited. I'm trying to squeeze in my last post of the year lol

This little idea is the result of a writing prompt and @megamindsecretlair keeping me honest about writing something every day. Figured I'd share the results with whoever else wants to check it out.

“That’s a bit harsh my love…”

After spending the last 20 minutes filling your home with negative energy you expected reciprocation. Instead you were being derailed with a new form of gaslighting, the kind reserved for evolved men who appeared harmless on the surface but harbored a petty side few got to see. Though impressive, you knew Terry was only using kind words to paint himself the victim. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead you thought you were. The guilt still hit with the same bruising force.

Six months of newlywed bliss cruelly interrupted by disappointment you never wanted to feel so early into your marriage. Perhaps there was a better way to convey that hurt to your husband. Maybe sitting him down for a mature conversation would’ve spared you from the growing pressure around your temples and the rawness in your throat from all the yelling you’d been doing. You were convinced the window for apologies and grand romantic gestures had closed. He'd started it. You were damn sure going to finish it.

You pushed through your doubts and committed to your frustrations with arms folded tightly across your chest, the initial urge to roll your eyes shifting to a hard, resolute stare. “Well Terrence sometimes harsh is necessary.”

He scratched his beard and nodded as though you’d just agreed on what to have for dinner. Silence took over the room once again, intensifying the conflict between you. His eyes never broke contact.

“Are you done?” From anyone else the question would’ve triggered your inner toxic and possibly resulted in the police being called. But there was note of calmness in your husband’s voice that exonerated him from the accusation before it became your new truth. Terry wasn’t being dismissive. He was simply better at regulating his emotions. His inability to stop wringing his hands together revealed the stress hidden within. For a second time you were forced to ignore your guilt for the sake of winning. Mirroring his casual demeanor, you continued to stand firm and prepared for whatever he intended to say next.

“I must’ve imagined sitting in premarital counseling for all those weeks. Or maybe I was the only one taking it seriously. That must be it 'cause at the first sign of a problem you’ve broken every promise we made to each other.” His words landed direct hits on your conscience. Everything holding you together began to cave under the weight of his response. Terry wasn’t wrong. Instinctively, you went into defense mode anyway.

“That’s not fai—”

“Nah, you’re not about to interrupt me. I let you speak. You’ll show me the same respect. Understand?” The natural base in his voice instantly got your attention. Yes sir rang so clearly in your mind you weren’t entirely convinced you hadn’t said it out loud. You prayed Terry couldn’t somehow feel the lust pulsing alongside everything else flooding your system. One day soon under normal circumstances you were going to explore his newfound aggressive side. How, you weren’t entirely sure. With a new goal seared into your brain and soaked through panties clinging to your ass you managed to retain a sense of dignity as you obeyed your husband’s command.

“You’re my wife. One day you’ll be the mother of our children. I refuse to let them hear us talking crazy to each other, so I’m gonna need you to find a better way to communicate your feelings. If I need to sign us back up for therapy I will but this shit ends tonight.”

All the fight drained from your body. Shame took its place. In its presence you were finally able to recall those important conversations leading up to your wedding, the dreams you shared, the legacy you wanted to create. If not for your anger you could have revisited them sooner and found a better use for them. Now you were facing an evening apart, perhaps more depending on how long Terry held on to a grudge.

All you could do was stare at the ground and wait for it to be over with. Hopefully you’d find a way to sleep knowing you had failed your first test as a wife. When your lip started to quiver you promptly bit down on it to keep your hurt feelings in check. You hadn’t behaved in a way deserving of care but when Terry's long fingers reached out to palm the side of your face you sought out his warmth like a needy kitten.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“I can’t help it. Did you have to be so mean?” Though you found your ability to speak you burrowed your pout lips further into his hand. The loudest person in the room didn’t deserve to cry. If you were lucky you'd disappear and rematerialize tomorrow with more sense.

“It got your attention. Besides, I thought harsh was necessary. Or does that only apply when you’re cursing me out?” He chuckled. You weren’t persuaded by the playfulness in his voice to look up. Terry initiated the gesture with fingers affectionately placed beneath your chin. It wasn’t lost on you that he'd repositioned your face at the same proud angle you held while lecturing him as if two nights apart somehow equated to years of neglect. You wanted to look away but soon discovered his eyes remained steadfast and beautiful in the aftermath of the storm you’d caused. They connected with your soul in an instant providing a gentle assurance that you were safe with him.

The words flowed through your upturned lips effortlessly. “I’m sorry baby. You didn’t deserve all those ugly things I said to you.” Before you could say more he captured your face in both hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re already forgiven my love.” Terry’s lips grazed yours as he spoke. The distance was torture. Finally, after what felt like an unbearably long time, he covered your mouth with his, reestablishing his dominance with a tenderness that sets your heart and mind at ease. It was a proper reconciliation, but it also wasn’t enough. Not after the way you behaved tonight.

You treated the sincerity on his lips as your own personal buffet. When it became difficult to breathe you pulled away to regain control over the situation. “I still have a lot to make up for.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he pushed the curls back from your face. “We both do. Your approach needs some work, but you had a right to be upset with me.” You nodded and yet nothing in you wanted to celebrate the vindication. You were simply relieved to know you hadn’t caused any irrevocable damage by overreacting. Even more relieved to see him smiling again. "I think my beautiful and extremely childish wife should get the honor of going first.”

The frown you attempted to hold cracked under the pressure of his wide grin. You hate being teased. You were also guilty on all counts and willing to take your punishment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“It’s very fair.” He mumbled between prolonged kisses down your neck.

You exhaled and curved your fingers over his broad shoulders. It was becoming harder to think or even breathe with him sucking everywhere his lips could reach. “Can we talk it out like grown-ups tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby. It's mandatory from now on.” When he spoke the guttural quality possessing his voice registered deep in the places he’s yet to touch. You felt painfully empty but knew you wouldn’t stay that way for long. At the rate his lips were moving you weren’t convinced you'd make it past the couch. You preferred the comfort of your king-sized bed the scene of your crime was a fitting place for getting down on your knees to make proper use of your mouth.

Terry surprised you when he broke the suction on your collarbone to reunite at eye level. There was a noticeable glint of mischief in his eyes before he bent down to throw you over his shoulder. You squealed and braced a hand at the center of his back for support you really didn't need.

"You better not drop me trying to be cute!"

"I was planning on letting you off easy tonight. Now I'm thinking your apology needs to be as loud as all that shit you've been talking."

"Yes daddy. Remind me what all these big strong muscles are really for. Also, please send help!"

With a single act you reclaim the home you’ve built, your gasps and combined laughter echoing along the walls as he carried you upstairs.

#terry richmond fic #rebel ridge fanfiction #x black reader

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sir3n-s · 7 months ago

Text

Steve knew that one day he wouldn't be able to refuse to play dnd.

Especially since he was now dating a dragons master or whatever it's called. He can't keep up with all the names.

And don't get him wrong Eddie is great and dnd sounds sort of interesting but he's been against playing for so long he doesn't want to give up the act.

But he if was going to give up the act he was going to get something in return.

The kids were all gathered at Steve's house for a movie night.

They had 2 different kinds of movie night, one where they all actually watched movies and the other where the movie was just there for background noise while everyone either talked or worked on something.

Tonight Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin were making character sheets for Eddie's new campaign while trying to get Steve to join as well.

"Just play one campaign" Dustin whined for the 20th time that night. And probably the 100th time in his life.

"Are you ever going to let this go?"

"No! You have to play one now that you're dating Eddie. Aren't couples supposed to try out each other's hobbies?" He got him there.

"He's got a point Stevie," Eddie says finally engaging in the conversation after being glued to the TV. Despite the volume being low he was still watching it with intense interest.

"You're right, couples should try each other's hobbies" Steve agreed.

"Uh oh," Robin says without looking up from the puzzle she was going with Nancy, knowing what he was going to say next since he ran his plan through her first.

"I will play a campaign but!" He says before the kids could get too excited, "you all have to play basketball with me"

They all groaned. Except Lucas who was completely fine with this arrangement.

It was Saturday and they were all at basketball court in the park. Most of them were wearing their gym clothes.

Except for Lucas and Steve who actually had basketball jerseys.

Max and el were also playing since they wanted to join despite the fact they won't play dnd either.

And who was he to say no to them? The more the merrier.

Robin and Nancy were sitting at the bench in the shade, Robin saying she refuses to play a sport because she's too clumsy and Nancy saying Robin shouldn't have to sit alone. But Steve knows they just want to talk shit about them.

He wasnt going to stop them, he knew it was a lost cause to try to get them to join as well.

The only rule they had before playing was that Steve and Lucas couldn't be on the same team, 'it wouldn't be fair' Dustin said and everyone else agreed. Even Robin and Nancy.

So they ended up being the team captainsin on each team.

Steve's team was Max, Mike, and El while Lucas had Will, Dustin, and Eddie.

And it was going well! Better than Steve thought it would. Especially with how unathletic most of them were.

Steves team was winng, and despite Dustin whinning about how it was because Steve was older and had more experience he hasn't even made all the points.

He did score the first point but El scored the last 2.

It's was 3 to 1. The only point they had was from Lucas. Eddie couldn't throw for shit, Dustin kept dropping the ball, and Will was actually doing pretty well but was kinda being ignored because Lucas and Dustin wouldn't stop arguing.

He can tell eddie was getting annoyed with having to constantly break up their fights.

Their team only needed one more point to win and Mike had the ball.

"Pass it to me!" He yells towards Mike and he does pass it to him. Just way too hard.

Because it goes past his hands and right towardd his face. Smacking him hard in the nose and knocking him over.

He hears everyone gasp as he groans on the ground.

He heard the tapping of people feet on concrete, and on grass, get close to him.

"Holy fuck are you okay?" Despite his eyes being closed he can easily tell that's Eddie's voice.

"Damn Mike why did you throw it so hard" he hears max says. He also hears a light punch but doesn't comment on it this time.

"I didnt mean to!"

"I'm okay" Steve says while getting up, grabbing his nose when he felt something on his lip. Blood, of course.

"That would've been a great throw if I was a little bit farther from you," he says towards Mike as Eddie helps him off the floor and leads him to the bench despite saying he was okay to keep playing.

Everyone gather arounds him as El hands him some of the napkins she keeps in her pocket.

"If this is how you all act everytime someone gets hurt it's going to get extremely annoying as we keep playing" Everyone makes weird faces, except for Robin who was grinning.

And Nancy because Robin definitely told her.

He smiles. "You guys are going to want me to play more than one campaign, so you will all be playing more games of basketball."

While Lucas smiled, everyone else groaned.

#i like the thought of them all playing basketball together #lucas was definitely happy he got to play basketball with his friends #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie #implied ronance #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #will byers #max mayfield #el hopper #nancy wheeler #laine writes

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matchpointfaist · 27 days ago

Note

pretty woman au with rich retired art

i see you eyein’ me down but you’ll never know much past my name 🪩

dilf! art donaldson x anora! reader

tw for smut, reader is a stripper. this is so anora coded. lowkey subby art if you squint (a first for me!) reader is described having nipple piercings

the lights were low, but not forgiving. red and violet bled across the main stage, bathing the crowd in the kind of glow that made people feel braver than they were. cigarette smoke hung like old perfume, and money floated down in lazy arcs when a good song hit. you’d long stopped hearing the music. it was all muscle memory now—hips, eyes, smile, touch. repeat. you weren’t a headliner tonight, just working the floor in heels that could kill a man if you kicked right. tips were mediocre, the crowd restless. nba off-season types, trust fund boys, and hedge fund men pretending they had more power than they did, until he walked in.

you spotted him before he saw you, standing near the bar, hair messy in a way that could only be intentional, wearing a navy button-down rolled up to his forearms. he didn’t belong here, not in the way most men didn’t belong but came anyway. no bachelor party smile, no wide-eyed lust. he looked lost. or worse, lonely. you didn't realize who he was until you were halfway to him. the kind of fame that crept up on you—not hollywood obvious, but familiar. your ex watched tennis. you’d seen this guy win a tournament in rome with a clenched jaw and bleeding hand. art donaldson. the good one, the quiet one. married to that fierce coach who yelled from the sidelines like she owned the court.

he was sipping something dark, neat. his eyes swept across the room like he was trying not to look interested. you approached like you would any other mark—but something in your gut was twisting. "looking for someone?" you asked, voice low, smooth. he blinked, focused. and then you saw it, the flicker of recognition. "no," he said, “but i think i just found her," you grinned, “that’s a line," “it is, yeah. a bad one," “very bad,” you agreed, leaning just enough to keep his attention, "but i’ve heard worse," he looked up at you like he was reading your stats. calm, analytical, curious. “i’m art,” he said, offering his hand like he was at a charity gala and not surrounded by bare skin and $20 bills.

you took it, noting his soft palm, the calluses on the fingers. "roxy,” you replied, “i charge extra if we pretend to be on a real name basis,” that got a half-smile out of him. not quite flirty, just tired. “what does it cost for a conversation?" you tilted your head, curious, “no touching?” “no touching,” “no lap dance?” “nope,” you folded your arms across your chest, teasing but cautious. “you know this is a strip club, right? you’re, like, aggressively wholesome for this place," that almost made him laugh. “wholesome’s a stretch. i just didn’t know where else to go tonight,” that stopped you. not the words, but the way he said them—like he hadn’t meant to say them at all.

you gestured toward a semi-private booth, away from the stage. “that one’s $300 an hour for talking,” he didn’t even blink, just pulled out a black card and handed it over. “then let’s talk,” the booth felt quieter than it should. art sat across from you, long legs splayed slightly, one hand loose on his drink, the other resting flat on the table—nervous energy in the fingertips, like he wanted to pace or serve a ball. you stirred your soda with a straw, not drinking it. “so, you came in here for what exactly? clarity? a story to tell your therapist?” “i needed to be somewhere no one expected me to be,” he looked at you, “you ever feel like that?” you snorted, “i work in 7-inch heels under fake names. what do you think?” that made him smile. tired, but real. “tell me what this is,” you said, “because if you’re about to ask for a half-price fantasy, i’d rather you do it fast,” he looked directly at you—too directly. “i want you to come back to my hotel,” he said, “just for the weekend,” you didn’t flinch. you’d heard worse, sleazier versions of the same sentence. “for what?” you asked, slow, cautious. “i have this thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “a sponsor gala tomorrow. press, fake laughs. everyone’s expecting my wife to be there, but she’s not coming,” you blinked. “so you want me to be your... what? arm candy?”

“not just that. someone to talk to, to look good next to me. be on my arm, pretend we like each other," you leaned in, eyebrow raised, “pretend?” that grin again—slight, crooked, instinctive, “depends how good you are,” you let out a soft exhale and leaned back against the leather. “girlfriend experience, then,” he nodded. “i’m not cheap,” you said. “i know,” “and i don’t do submissive. if i’m going to play the part, i call some shots,” “good,” he said, “i don’t want obedient. i want real,” that caught you off guard more than anything. real wasn’t usually part of the deal. “okay,” you said after a pause, “one weekend, your hotel. i get a bed to myself, meals on your tab, wardrobe budget, and you don’t touch me unless I say it’s okay,” he met your eyes. “deal,” you grabbed the black card he left on the table and tucked it into your bra. “better pick your favorite designer, donaldson. i’m gonna need to look expensive,” he gave a soft chuckle, almost shy. “you already do,”

his hotel was almost obnoxiously nice, big light fixtures and boys waiting around to carry your luggage. the elevator hummed softly as it carried you up to his suite, a sleek glass box perched high above the city skyline. you leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the neon glow bleed through the floor to ceiling windows. the city was alive beneath you, but inside, the space felt almost sterile; expensive, empty, waiting.

he stood by the kitchenette, pouring two glasses of whiskey, his movements precise and deliberate. he looked less like a tennis champion and more like a man trying to hold himself together. you caught the flicker of vulnerability behind his calm facade and wondered what he was really running from. “you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “most guys come here looking for a distraction. you, though? you seem like you’re trying to solve something,” he turned, raising an eyebrow in that quiet, analytical way of his. “maybe i am. or maybe i’m just tired of pretending i’m okay,” you studied him for a moment, then stepped closer. “you’re good at pretending, art, i can tell. but everyone’s got cracks. it’s just a matter of whether you want to show them,” he hesitated, then set the glasses down. “i don’t want to pretend anymore tonight. not with you,”

your lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “well, then. let’s start by being honest. what do you really want?” he looked at you, eyes searching, as if weighing whether to trust this stranger more than his own thoughts. finally, he sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. “i just want to feel something real for once. even if it’s just for a little while,” you nodded, understanding more than he knew. “sometimes, that’s all we need,” you moved toward the bed, the plush sheets beckoning. art hesitated, then followed, shedding his jacket and tie, revealing the lean, muscular frame beneath. he sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, looking lost again. “tell me what you need,” you said softly, voice gentle but firm, “no masks, mkay? no expectations,”

he looked up at you, vulnerability flickering again. “i need to forget the world out there. just for tonight, just for a little while,” you eased closer, standing between his knees. “then let’s do that. no pretending, just whatever happens next,” his hand reached out, tentative, then settled on your waist. the moment hung between you, thick and electric. you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a slow, deliberate kiss, an unspoken promise that tonight, at least, you’d both be real. outside, the city pulsed on, indifferent to the secrets being shared inside. for a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered but the truth you both dared to find in each other’s arms. "tell me what you like," you mumbled against his lips, fingers threading through his cropped blonde hair, "wanna know exactly how to make you feel good," that seemed to unlock something in him, a quiet groan leaving his plush lips. “don’t care, just need to feel you,” he pulled you down into his lap, your thighs spread on either side of his hips, his lips against yours drowning out your thoughts.

a soft gasp tore from your throat as he slid a finger beneath the line of your underwear, his skin warm against the growing wetness. “wait,” you mumbled, pulling his hand away gently, “tonight’s all about you, baby. let me treat you,” you got the sense that he wasn’t a man used to being treated in that way, judging from the way his pupils dilated as you sunk to your knees before him, the hesitance in his posture like he couldn’t believe you’d submit. “take these off f’me,” you instructed, dark fingernails tracing the buckle of his sleek belt, grinning up at him as he did as you said. he had an obedient air about him, soft in all the right places, but a quiet, simmering dominance. not demanding, just sure. you watched with sparkling eyes as he let his dress pants fall to the floor, his underwear following, his breath tight as you traced him with your eyes. “so pretty,” the tone of your voice surprised even you, the truth of it, “bet you taste so good, art,” you leaned up just enough to trace his tip with your tongue, the salty taste of precum filling your senses, “so eager,” he groaned when you took him into your mouth, relaxing your throat, letting him feel it all. “oh, fuck,” he practically gasped, hand flying to your hair, “oh, that’s good, fuck-“ you reached up to rest a hand beneath his cock, thumb tracing the veins on his skin, nearly grinning when you felt them contract beneath your touch.

his hips rutted as he started to relax into it, the ridges and tension melting away with each lap of your tongue. “not gonna last,” he panted, fucking up into your mouth with desperation you could practically taste, “wait- wait, please, wanna fuck you,” you pulled away, frowning mockingly up at him, “no fun,” you hummed, leaning your head lower, your hand idle on his cock as you lapped at his balls. he gasped, thighs tensing up immediately, “oh, god,” he groaned, rutting into your hand, “oh, that’s so- this is too much,” you let your tongue trail lower, just slightly, and a wild moan left him, his cock spasming in your hand. “please, pl- i’m not ready to cum,” he sounded close to tears, and when you glanced up at him through your lashes, he looked as desperate as he sounded. his eyes were screwed shut, cheeks glowing, lips bitten raw in an attempt to silence the sounds that flew from him. “you wanna fuck me that bad, hm?” you murmured, crawling back up into his lap, “show me then,”

he wasted no time, all restraint broken away. he flipped you over, tearing your clothes away, eyes tracing over every inch of newly exposed skin. “oh, god,” he licked his lips, eyes focused on your chest, the small silver piercings on each nipple, “fuck me,” he dove in, taking your breath away as he latched onto one, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. “art,” you exhaled, voice shaky, trailing your fingers through his hair. he hummed against your chest, his free hand trailing down between your thighs, fingertip tracing your soaked clit. your thighs shook slightly, back arching further into his touch. “gotta fuck you,” he murmured, a trail of spit from your chest to his shining lips as he leaned up to kiss you, settling between your legs. you watched through lidded eyes as he positioned himself, sucking in a breath when he tapped the tip of his cock against your clit, rubbing it through your wetness. “you’re soaked,” he sounded half in awe, half lust struck, “all for me?” “mm, all for you,” you nodded, reaching between your bodies to take him into your hand, pumping slowly, “don’t make me wait any longer, baby,” he obeyed, once again, your hand slipping away as he slid inside of you easily, a broken moan leaving his lips. “fuck,” he held your thighs open, pressing your legs closer to your chest, eyes all over you in the new position, “you feel so good,”

you were helpless to do anything but moan beneath him, your composure slipping as he stretched you open. “you’re so big,” you mewled, a soft feeling in your chest as he slid his fingers between yours, still holding your legs up, “oh, art,” “is that good?” he panted, eyebrows tight together in focus as he sped up his thrusts, barely holding back, “am i doing good?” “you’re so good,” you nodded eagerly, clenching around him, “look so pretty fucking me,” “oh, fuck,” he whined, forehead falling into your chest as he collapsed into you, “not gonna last,” “it’s okay,” you murmured, pulling him into a kiss. the second your lips met his, your tongue slipping into his mouth, he stilled inside you. his hips jerked, and then you felt him, hot and full as he spilled inside of you. “oh, fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, hips jerking with aftershocks, “oh, god, you’re so beautiful, thank you,” “that was so good,” you praised softly, scratching at his scalp, “don’t need to thank me,” “you didn’t finish,” he frowned slightly, sitting back to look down at you, “did you?“ “it’s okay,” you waved a dismissive hand, but he shook his head, pulling out of you with a quiet shaky breath. “no, want you to finish,”

he was between your thighs before you could stop him, lapping at you like he was starving, greedy, satisfied moans leaving him, muffled by your cunt. “oh, god,” your eyes rolled back, your hands resting in his hair as he worked two fingers inside of you, unbothered by his own cum spilling onto his skin. his tongue worked expertly while his fingers curled inside of you, your thighs shaking and back arching, vision spotty, “art, baby, i’m-“ “come in my mouth,” he panted against your soaked skin, “please,” the sheer desperation in his voice sent you over the edge, and you moaned his name as you came undone on his fingers and mouth, bucking your hips and scratching as his scalp. “god, you taste good,” he groaned, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you caught your breath, “you’re perfect,”

he crawled back up beside you, chest heaving and lips slick, “god, roxy,” he mumbled, head resting on your bare shoulder. it jarred you, brought you back to the reality of this moment. “don’t- call me my real name, please,” you surprised yourself as you told him, the sensation foreign, forbidden. “that’s beautiful,” he murmured, smiling slightly, “thank you for telling me,” “feels fair. i know yours, why keep mine a secret?” you smiled softly, trailing his nails over his biceps, the scars littering his milky skin, “so we have our first appearance tomorrow?” “mhm,” he nodded, eyes already closed. “i hope i don’t mess it up,” you hated the insecurity you felt, like you didn’t deserve a seat at their table. “you’re gonna do perfect. gonna be the prettiest girl there,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “get some sleep, angel,” “yeah, alright,” you hummed, “only because you look so comfy,” “mhm,” he rolled over, pulling you to his chest, “goodnight,” “gnight, art,” you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his strong arms around you, this foreign weight. you let yourself dream of nights like this, of comfort and his presence, not just for the weekend.

#challengers #art donaldson #mike faist #art x reader #challengers 2024 #art donaldson fic #matchpointfaist #art donaldson x reader #artdonaldson #art donaldson smut #pretty woman! au #art donaldson au #art donaldson x you #pretty woman! art donaldson #dilf! art #retired! art #dilf! art x reader #anora aesthetic #anora

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

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REQUEST IDEA 😼😼🔥🔥‼️

Reader goes on a family trip basically. BUT they bring their s/o. Reader's aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and parents (or just their primary family in general) go to a somewhere for a get together. Could be a summer vacation, a winter skiing trip, an autumn trip outside the country, or anything else. Whichever vibes you want to go for 😋😋.

It's what people I know usually do but they let their kids bring their s/o and their family. So when a lot of the kids already have s/o's, it's gonna get harder and harder to take group photos😅😅. It's when the families are already familiar with each other enough yk.

And I wanna see character and reader's family interactions🔥🔥😋. How'd they interact with their little cousins, how they'd deal with interrogation from family members, how they'd try to win their family's favor, silly shenanigans they'd do with reader while on the trip, etc.

This is alrdy getting pretty long but I have to get this out. Scenario ideas!!! Reader's little cousins go through the character's bag. thats it lol. Embarrassing childhood stories. Interactions between the s/o's. "So what do you do?" conversations and other ppl answer "doctor/lawyer/engineer and other impressive sounding stuff" and the character just answers "...I play soccer" IDKK but it's fine in the end bc ppl probably know who they r. Speaking of, some person in the family fangirling/fanboying over the character bc they're rlly into soccer. NOT NECESSARY TO THE PROMPT THO so ignore this if you want🫶🫶

Any characters really but heh.... rin😼🥶😴😴🥶. Also now that I read over the prompt, this seems sooo Isagi. I don't really have a preferred format so it's up to you🫶. sorry if it's too long lmao 😭😭

“𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐬. 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲”

a/n: i am aware that everyone has different families, but for the sake of making it funny, i made reader’s family pretty chaotic!

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧

a/n: rin and sae are on good terms here! (art credits go to 1omya on X)

your family’s idea of a relaxing vacation was flying twelve hours to a quiet countryside villa in italy during peak autumn season, renting out an entire stone estate surrounded by vineyards, and somehow turning it into survivor: family edition. you knew it was going to be chaos the second your aunt asked in the group chat, “should we all bring our significant others?” and thirty messages later, the answer was yes. and that was how rin itoshi ended up in tuscany, standing stiffly in a turtleneck, carrying your pink suitcase like it personally insulted him, and regretting every life choice that led him here.

“you okay?” you asked sweetly, looping your arm through his as you walked toward the villa.

“i already hate it here,” he muttered.

“you say that, but you look cute with the autumn leaves in your hair.”

he deadpanned, “i’m going to throw myself into a wine barrel.”

the villa was already buzzing when you arrived. your cousins were running through the vineyard like feral woodland creatures. your mom was yelling at someone to stop touching the antique chandelier. your dad was trying to operate a pizza oven. and your great aunt, who had just discovered the bidet, was giving an enthusiastic tutorial to anyone within earshot. rin looked like he was actively trying to astral project.

then the interrogations started.

“so, rin,” said one aunt, sipping her wine with the measured look of someone who professionally judges wine and people. “what do you do?”

“i’m a soccer player,” rin said flatly.

“oh, that’s nice,” she said with the tone of someone who thought that meant he coached toddlers.

“professionally,” he added. “in europe.”

someone at the table choked on a breadstick.

“wait,” your cousin whispered, eyes wide. “wait. rin. rin itoshi?”

“unfortunately,” he muttered, already sensing what was coming.

“NO WAY. I FOLLOW YOUR FAN ACCOUNT,” they yelled, which immediately summoned a second cousin from across the villa who screeched “I HAVE HIS JERSEY SIGNED” and a third who appeared out of the hedges, clutching a soccer ball like a talisman.

and that’s how rin was cornered at the dinner table, being grilled about world cup stats by three cousins and your aunt, who suddenly “remembered watching him play against spain.” meanwhile, another cousin was secretly filming him from behind a wine bottle like a biologist observing a rare animal.

you leaned over and whispered, “having fun yet?”

“your cousin just asked if i’d sign her forehead.”

“you should. she said she’d tattoo it.”

he blinked. “what the hell is wrong with your family?”

“genetics.”

somewhere in the chaos, your little cousins broke into his room and started going through his suitcase. you walked in on them holding his designer jacket like it was a relic from a museum. one of them tried to wear it. it reached the floor. another was snooping through his skincare bag.

“what is this?” they asked, holding up his eye cream.

“expensive,” he said, snatching it back. “put it down before i cry.”

honestly, you were impressed with how he didn’t immediately flee to the airport. sure, he was grumpy 85% of the time and muttered threats like “i will fake my death and disappear into the hills,” but he also helped your cousin pick olives off the trees. he taught your younger cousin how to juggle a soccer ball and got way too into it. and when your grandma cornered him with a glass of homemade limoncello and asked if he loved you, he answered without hesitation.

“yeah,” he said. “i do.”

you didn’t hear it firsthand, but your grandma told everyone at breakfast. you couldn’t look at him without smirking. he threatened to put you in the pizza oven.

rin’s family arrived a few days into the trip, and the contrast was hilarious. his mom was quiet and sweet, immediately bringing you a scarf she knitted and complimenting your italian. his brother sae showed up in sunglasses like he was there to cause problems on purpose.

“yo,” sae said, sitting next to your dad. “you know your daughter’s out of rin’s league, right?”

rin almost choked on his wine.

somehow, the itoshis blended in perfectly. his mom and your mom started a wine club (which was just them drinking and ranking cheeses). his dad and your uncle bonded over espresso. sae teamed up with your cousin to build a bonfire that was technically illegal. someone’s dog peed on the vineyard. rin started drinking espresso like water. you weren’t sure if it was for the caffeine or emotional support.

one night, after a chaotic dinner involving three languages, a spilled lasagna, and your aunt accidentally texting the wrong rin her apple strudel recipe (a kid in osaka got it), you pulled him aside into the garden.

the moonlight lit the leaves gold. the air smelled like wine and pine and the burnt crust of whatever your uncle put in the pizza oven this time. you leaned on the railing. he stood next to you, arms crossed.

“you survived,” you said.

“barely.”

“but you didn’t hate it?”

he glanced at you. “your cousin asked if i was gonna propose.”

you grinned. “and what did you say?”

“… i said not with her watching.”

you laughed, eyes crinkling. he looked at you like you hung the moon.

“you really love me, huh?” you teased.

he rolled his eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot.”

“so lucky.”

and then, because it was your family and nothing was sacred, someone threw a wine cork at you from the balcony and yelled “GET MARRIED ALREADY!”

you both turned.

rin shouted back, “MIND YOUR BUSINESS.”

you? you just laughed. because honestly? this was already better than any fairytale. just rin, your ridiculous family, and the chaos that made life sweet.

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

a/n: art credits go to jyauii on X

you weren’t really sure what possessed you to bring isagi yoichi to your family’s yearly summer beach trip. maybe it was because your little cousins had been bugging you about your mysterious soccer boyfriend for months. maybe it was because your mom asked a little too sweetly if “yoichi could come, if he’s free, we’d love to have him.” or maybe it was because you wanted to see if he could survive your family’s unique brand of chaos. turns out? the man’s got survivor instincts.

you’d barely parked the car before one of your younger cousins launched himself at isagi like a heat-seeking missile, declaring a wrestling match to establish dominance. “he’s testing you,” you said, deadpan, while isagi politely got tackled into the sand.

“i think he wins,” isagi wheezed, pinned under a four-foot-tall ball of energy.

the beach house was packed. like, “how did we pass the fire code” packed. your family didn’t just vacation, they migrated. aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, family friends, and that one mysterious extra person no one ever explained, everyone was here. and now, so was isagi, wearing his nicest shorts, polo shirt, and a hopeful smile, completely unaware that he was about to be questioned like a man on trial.

your mom greeted him with a hug. your dad sized him up. your aunt took one look and whispered, “he looks polite. that’s suspicious.” you gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. “good luck,” you whispered. “they smell fear.”

he handled it pretty well, all things considered. by the time dinner rolled around, he was already holding a baby in one arm and flipping burgers with the other, like some sort of domestic action hero. your grandma called him “helpful.” your uncle called him “a decent enough guy, for someone who wears ankle socks.”

but of course, the moment of truth came during the infamous family dinner interrogation, where your relatives ask everyone under 40 what they do for a living, purely to judge silently afterward.

“so, yoichi,” one of your uncles began, already swirling a glass of wine like a villain, “what is it that you do?”

“i play soccer,” isagi replied, like a fool. silence.

“for a local team?” another asked, squinting.

“… i play professionally. in germany.”

your aunt blinked. “for which team?”

“bayern munchen.”

a beat. then your cousin, who’d been silently scrolling under the table like a short-attention span ipad kid, let out a strangled squeak and went, “NO FREAKING WAY. YOU’RE ISAGI YOICHI? I HAVE YOUR FIFA CARD.” and that was that.

it was over.

your uncle’s wine glass trembled slightly. your younger cousins screamed. your grandma, bless her, just nodded and said, “ah. so he’s on television.” she then resumed eating her grilled fish like nothing happened.

you could see the shift. suddenly, your relatives weren’t just tolerating isagi, they were trying to impress him. your cousin who once called soccer “just people kicking balls around” was now pretending he’d always been a diehard fan. your aunt googled how to say “go, isagi!” in german. your uncle who played a little in college suddenly decided it was time to “kick the ol’ ball around again,” which ended in him tripping over a cooler and blaming the sand.

later that night, your younger cousins raided your shared suitcase and found a photo album his mom had secretly slipped in “for memories.” mistake. big mistake.

“LOOK AT BABY YOICHI!” one cousin yelled, holding up a photo of isagi with his signature ahoge and bright yellow rain boots, pouting dramatically at the camera. “WHY IS HE CRYING HERE?”

“his cake had no frosting,” you explained solemnly. “dark day.”

another cousin flipped to a picture of him sleeping with a soccer ball clutched to his chest. “i’m gonna send this to my group chat.”

“i’m being blackmailed by children,” isagi mumbled.

you kissed his cheek. “you’re doing great, love.”

honestly, he kind of was. he helped the kids build a sandcastle shaped like a turtle, he got tricked into joining a beach volleyball game where the ball hit him in the face twice, and he somehow ended up in a conga line started by your aunt after two piña coladas. it was beautiful. and terrifying.

then his parents showed up.

his mom brought handmade onigiri for everyone, which instantly won the hearts of your entire extended family. his dad complimented your dad’s grilling technique, which led to them bonding over charcoal like long-lost brothers. the two families mingled like this was the summer crossover event of the year. your mom and his mom were already planning a joint potluck. your grandma offered his dad a homemade remedy for back pain that involved vinegar and prayer. someone suggested a badminton match that turned into an all-out olympic-level war. it was perfect.

as the night wound down and the fire pit crackled, you and isagi found a quiet moment alone by the shore. the moonlight glinted off the waves. laughter echoed from the deck behind you. you kicked off your shoes and sighed.

“that was… a lot,” you said, leaning into him.

“you think your uncle’s gonna send me that photo of me covered in ketchup?” he asked softly.

“he said he’s using it as your contact picture.”

he groaned and let his forehead fall against your shoulder.

“yoichi?”

“mm?”

“thanks for coming.”

he smiled into your skin. “you kidding? i’d survive a thousand uncles if it means getting to do this with you.”

you grinned. “you really like me, huh?”

“more than soccer.”

“liar.”

“… equal to soccer.”

you nodded, satisfied. “i’ll take it.”

and as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, sand between your toes and half your family plotting a family soccer tournament with him as the coach, you thought yeah. this was gonna be one hell of a vacation.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #my boyfriend vs. my family

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