#this will probably be my last fic for quite some time as life starts to kick into high gear again

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 2/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 here. Word count: 5.1 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Part two! I don't usually rec music for my fics but if this fic was a song, it would be Dead can Dance’s In Power we Entrust the Love Advocated.

You wake up with a giant plastered on your back.

His bed is far more comfortable than your own, soft and cushy, and there must be flowers somewhere in the hay because there is a surprisingly pleasant odour lingering in the air as you come to. The mattress overall doesn’t reek of too much sweat: some poor slave must change the fillings often enough for König’s stench not to settle on the bed. Actually, you’ve slept quite nicely, despite being embraced by an ogre the whole night.

König has slept like a stone, too, but stirs when you start to shift. You turn on your back and find his drowsy stare on you: it’s generous and warm as he pulls you closer to him. You could roll your eyes when you notice he’s hard down there again – he’s probably hard all the time, whether in bed with a woman or raging on the battlefield, sticking his swords into some poor man’s gut.

“Gut geschlafen?” He asks, and you reckon he’s trying to ask if you’ve slept well – in his domain, in his embrace, after he just slaughtered half of your village.

You give him another pout, which is starting to become your signature expression now. He replies to your grumpiness with a smile, his own trademark move, the one that threatens to strip you from all your arms. He squeezes you fondly against his chest, and then his hand starts to wander: he plays with your tits again, then slinks further down to brush your navel. When he crosses the border and heads straight toward your womanhood, you seize his arm.

He whines softly at your refusal, but to your surprise, he actually stops. You let him go as he moves back up and stay immobile under his touch, amidst the flowery scent and the faint stench of dirt and man sweat, sighing as he cups your breast again. He doesn’t seem to get enough of them, and they’re beginning to feel sore: he gave them so much attention last night already and is now at them again.

You pull his hand away, but this time, he doesn’t respect your wishes but resists you. Trying to hinder a man who’s as strong as a bull is futile, but you have an attempt at it anyway. It turns into a play fight: you wrench his hand down, he drags it back up. Up and down and up and down, as if your breast is a hill he needs to conquer at all costs. But he’s the only one who finds any amusement in your silly game: eyes narrowing again with a smile, a few soft chuckles under that hood telling you he enjoys it when you fight him a little.

It all ends when you finally slap him.

It’s neither a good nor a hard slap, and his mask muffles whatever sound was supposed to give you at least some measure of satisfaction. 

But he stops... And laughs.

“Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige.”

His language is harsh and throaty, abrupt, and you tell him that, safe with the knowledge that he can’t understand a word you say either.

“You talk ugly,” you complain and watch him up and down, searching for a clue that would tell you that he somehow understands your insult. König simply thunders with another mirthful laugh at your morning crank.

“Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg.”

He looks down at you like he’s the Sun God now, thoroughly life-giving and kind. Then he dares to bend forward and press a kiss on your forehead.

“Go away,” you try to push him back with your hands - the hood prevents you from feeling his skin and breath and lips, but the… intimacy is still too much.

“Brute,” you want to spit the word out but end up sounding like a child attempting to quarrel instead. And he’s laughing at you again, both with his eyes and his mouth, covered by that darned hood. You don’t know why on earth you would think that such a charming laugh must come from an equally charming mouth.

He finally retreats and rises from the bed, stretching out his arms. The broad muscles on his back are exposed to the frigid air and his cock is jutting out, long and veined, completely unaffected by the cold. This beast is ripe and ready for another day, and you swallow when you see him in his full glory again, tall and wide and strong, looking like he’s about to eat an entire boar and fuck ten women in the process.

“Schön,” he comments as he turns to look down at you, lying naked and sweet there in his bed. He looks at you like you are the most lovely, adorable, difficult little thing. He even gives his horse cock a few good strokes while taking your sleepy little pouts in.

“Ugly,” you slur back, and he winks at you. 

Gods… You’re too hot and riled to even speak.

You choose to vehemently stay in bed as König starts his day: eats some fruit from the table - still naked - pours himself some wine and washes his mouth with it, tears a handful of bread from a loaf and starts to eat with his mouth open, munching loudly under that hood, walking around without bothering to cover himself and that ungodly erection that is bouncing in the air without a care in the world.

You, on the other hand, escape back under the warm covers of the furs, but your eyes never leave König. He draws the draping flap of his tent aside - still naked - giving his soldiers a good view of his morning wood, a lovely chance to get a look at their champion. Perhaps it’s his way of saying good morning, you think bitterly. Then he leaves, probably to take a piss, and you’re more and more convinced that this man is the worst beast that has ever walked this earth.

You’re still under the furs when he returns and finally gives you the grace of clothing himself. It’s stupid that you mourn losing the sight of those shoulders and feel a bit disappointed when his cock disappears under the red tunic. His manhood doesn’t look any less intimidating even when growing soft; it’s still long and veiny and thick, and you find yourself… curious. Just curious.

He doesn’t put his armour on this time, chooses to wear only his tunic and sandals and a pair of hard-boiled leather cuffs to protect the vital veins on the wrists. He does take one Gladius with him, though - a sign of distrust in his own men or a Roman custom, you can’t tell.

He’s already at the mouth of the tent when he turns and points at you, now with a good amount of sternness in his voice.

“Du. Bleibst.”

…

He’s away the whole day. Probably drawing plans at some field war council, eating and drinking and bouncing some poor girl on his knee. 

Even the thought makes your nose wrinkle and your stomach churn. Of course there are other trophies, and of course men want to show them off, pass them around, give their commanders a chance to give each woman a good squeeze. König has probably stuck that cock into a few women by now. Moaning, screaming women. 

Or then he just settles for annoying their poor senses out of them…

You can’t deny that you’re relieved he hasn’t thrown you to the wolves yet, not even after you denied him. Wondering why on earth he would even want to listen to your wishes gives you an awful headache, and the image of him laughing at - or with - some other shy captive girl is making you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that you throw the skins away after noon, and decide you’re not going to just succumb to your fate, least of all give in to sadness and apathy. 

You eat this and that from his table like you’re not a slave girl but an honoured guest, a queen. You eat his figs and his bread and some smoked meat; you even drink some of his wine, as sour as it is. You’re a bit tipsy when you go through all his belongings, which are not as abundant or exciting as you thought they would be. 

You thought you’d find tiny chests filled with gold coins and rings. You thought you’d come by dried body parts taken as trophies, perhaps the crown of some long-forgotten Hibernian king. But there are only a few trinkets under his bed, a huge bow and some arrows, his armour and the second Gladius, perfectly stored above the ground so that rust and mould wouldn’t bite them. There are jugs of wine and some firewood and oil for the braziers, there’s water and benches and the table and lots and lots of candles in different shapes and sizes… But that’s it. There’s no hoard, no treasure, nothing to prove to you that this brute is just another Roman soldier trying to gather a fortune by raping and pillaging so that he can go and retire early from all the bloodshed.

And it makes you shiver. Does he do this just for the sake of it, only because he enjoys killing so much? What is his reason to fight?

The only item that sends an odd sting in your heart is a small wooden statue. You feel like a thief when you rummage through a small satchel you find next to his breastplate, the only place you didn’t feel like peeking into because it looked so… personal. 

Proving to yourself that you don’t care about his privacy or feelings, you end up pushing your fingers inside it anyway, meeting this peculiar carved piece of wood. There is nothing else there in the satchel, just the statue, and you feel yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you see it depicts a lush, buxom woman. Her breasts are nearly the size of her belly, larger than her head, and you realize that it is clearly the statue of the Great Mother this brute carries with him.

You put it back quickly, feeling a tingling in your fingers and a rapid flutter in your heart, as if you had just poked into something quite sacred. And it is sacred, the Mother. You wonder why, for the love of all the gods, this man would keep such a divine and fertile amulet near him. The statue is supposed to be a vessel for wishes and fortune; it is an idol of worship. König seems like the last man on earth to take up worshipping women.

You just want to get out of this place but can’t. There’s no one to go back to: your chief is dead, the people have fled, the rest of the warriors are scattered across the land. You have no idea where your brother might even be. 

You have no wish to escape this tent; you have no desire whatsoever to step a foot outside and show yourself to his hungry men. 

König comes back after nightfall and is not surprised at all to find you haven’t escaped. He’s not surprised that you have eaten some of his food either; he doesn’t even scold you. But then the eternal groping starts again as he gets undressed and lays himself down next to you.

You don’t even know why you allow him to touch you. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s better to just let him caress you if he wants; it’s better to suffer the weight of his hands on you if it means he won’t rape you with that cock. If you don’t complain, perhaps he will settle for squeezing and petting and stroking you.

But your body is a traitor: it’s hungry for him, for some ungodly reason, and always craves for more. You say to yourself that you only allow this to happen because it’s a condition, a compromise, a meeting in the middle. You never acknowledge the way your nether lips puff up like a fat flower every time he fondles your breasts. You pay no attention to how wet you get when he caresses your face, your waist, even your thighs, every part of you except the place between your legs, the place you kind of want him to touch... If only he would be gentle and didn’t get too excited, you’d let him touch you there, too, as sick and accursed as it is.

And it’s all good until he starts to hum. 

It may be some song from his homeland, the land of ugly brutes, but it’s not a crude giant song… In fact, it’s a rather beautiful, melancholy tune. Your body is relaxed and your pussy is wet; your nipples are tight and pleased as he pets you slowly, lovingly - but that song is too much. You don’t want him to see you cry, not even a single tear, and now there’s an entire flood about to occur.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, trying not to choke on your sorrow. He doesn’t stop - of course he doesn’t. He gets bolder by the day, and he can see that you’re enjoying yourself. In a way.

"Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden?" He asks, soft and tender, so incredibly gentle that the tears are about to burst forth at any given moment now.

“Ich glaube das tust du,” he rumbles when you don’t answer him. His hand is heavy and broad on your hip as he finally stops caressing you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it causes the glimmer in your eyes to fall. Tears roll down your cheeks and into your hair, as you lie there next to a titan, about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…?”

You want to shout at him to shut up already, to stop talking so gently, asking you questions you don’t understand, to stop trying to find a way to communicate with you through song and hum and touch. The hand on your hip moves, slowly, with devastating cunning towards your core. He’s about to touch you there, to try and feel if you’re wet... If you’d like it that he pounded you a little. You wonder if he would do that gently too, and almost laugh through your tears. It will be your undoing if he finds out that you’re soaked all the way to your thighs, aching to feel him inside you, even a finger, just something…

“No… Nein,” you rule out sternly, opening a new way of communication. You don’t know if the word is correct, but he catches it immediately and stops. 

“Nein?”

He sounds both happy and sad; happy that you try to use his language, sad that you use it to give him such a disappointing command.

“No touching,” you repeat and open your eyes, finding his hazy figure hovering above you. You barely discern the gulf of sadness in his eyes, but it is there: undisguised, trying to reach out and join with yours. Gods… How strangely appropriate it is that you are both so very alive, wanting to be devoured by each other’s hunger and lust, only to find yourselves on the brink of tears and hollow loss.

“No... No touching…”

“Verstanden.” 

He takes his hand away from you and turns, not even joining you under the fur tonight.

…

The next morning, you wake up attached to him.

Somehow you’ve managed to wriggle under his furs and, on top of that, crawled to hug his side like this. You blame the spring cold for it, of course. Your heart bangs against your ribs as you notice how tightly you’re squeezing him, breasts pressed flush against his hard middle, belly fluttering against his hip. You’ve even draped your leg across his so that your poor, lonely cunt is resting right there over his thigh. 

You swear in your mind with all the words and terms you know and can think of.

How the hell are you supposed to detach from a giant without waking him up? His arm is around you, holding you loosely in a warm, pleasing shackle. He feels so, so good - blazing, big and safe, so incredibly nice. You never knew sleeping next to a man could feel so nice. You’re half asleep still, mainly because his body and scent make you feel like you’ve had too much wine again.

You allow yourself a few more moments before you rip yourself off him. Or at least, try to: the arm snares you the instant you attempt to move. It prevents you from leaving him, and you end up hovering awkwardly there, almost on top of him, tits pointing straight at his face, panicked, doe-eyed stare guided to his unwavering blue eyes, open, and regarding you with warm love.

And the damned man smirks again.

“No touching?” He inquires with silly, completely feigned shyness.

“Shut up,” you breathe and try to get off of him, but his other hand comes to brush your cheek next, and you freeze.

“Schön… Pretty,” he tries, and you nearly whimper at the sound of your native tongue in his mouth. 

Pretty… Is that what the word means, the odd ugly word he has repeated ever since he stole you?

His eyes are warm and his hand is gentle as he caresses your cheek, and the snare around your waist tightens. Softly… Invitingly.

“Stop it,” you whisper, on the brink of tears again, because this time, your shields and armour and weapons are gone. You just woke up to a feeling of odd contentment, fulfilment, even joy. 

And it’s not right. 

He has no right to be this gentle with you.

You sniffle and sigh, and cast your eyes down to the chest that belongs to a giant. But you can’t deny that there must be a heart under there. A human heart under your palm. Your hand is right there over the strong beat because you’ve tried to push yourself away, and he won’t let you go. Another tear falls somewhere in the hair of his chest, and he rumbles with such compassion that you want to slap him again, hit his chest with your tiny little fists and bawl.

What you do instead is break down and let the ocean take you. You cry and sob and wail, right there in front of him, until he turns you on your stomach and comes to rest halfway on top of you. Through your tears, you understand that he’s trying to soothe you with his weight. It’s pure insanity how well it works. It releases a whole well of grief, and you start to shake with the cries; your whole body shudders with the sorrow as you retch it all out while König continues to caress you like a pet. He strokes your hair, pets your back, he even pats your ass as if you’re just a baby.

You cry long and hard, so long that he eventually lets out a long, deep sigh. When you’ve calmed down a bit and remain still, sniffling occasionally while squeezing the furs in your fist, trying to remember what it is to be an animal with feelings other than just sorrow, he leaves you.

He simply rises, and gets dressed, and leaves.

That is very much what you don’t need right now, much to your surprise. He was good at consoling you, as odd as it sounds.

Cold starts to creep in when there is no warm body next to you, and your skin misses the calloused gentleness of his palms. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to hum that song to you now. But the darned bastard had to leave just when you were about to turn and cup his hooded face in return...

König comes back after a short while, but he’s not alone. You gather the furs against your chest, horrified and angry when you notice he returns to the tent with a short old man, vigorous and busy, but so tiny in stature that you doubt he was ever a warrior. You wonder if this is another foreigner or if you have the dubious pleasure of meeting your first genuine Roman.

They both stare at you, quite nonchalantly, while you sit there on the bed and try to cover your nakedness with animal skins while having red eyes and a pair of uninviting, quivering, puffed-up lips. 

The short fellow looks you up and down, then turns to talk to König in what appears to be this giant’s mother tongue. It’s a curt suggestion, muttered under his breath, and you realize König must’ve fetched a translator for you.

Oh, good Mother... Great Mother.

You watch these two men before you in a state of stunned shock, as König looks at you, then back at the old man, and nods. The Roman looks slightly vexed as if he just got up too. Then he starts to speak.

“Excuse our manners... We are men at war. If you wish to get dressed, we will wait outside.”

You blink at your own language being spoken to you, perfectly discernable but accompanied by a thick accent. You nod, and the men leave, returning only after you’ve dressed and cleared your throat in the tent.

“He asks if he killed your husband,” the translator starts immediately while König goes to sit on his favourite Roman bench. You’re wide awake now, and the nauseating feeling of being suddenly in the middle of an interrogation rises to your throat with a clot.

“He… What? No,” your eyes dart to König, who is looking at you with his undying ardour. For a man with so much sadness in his soul, he’s surprisingly carefree when he wants to.

“Do you have a husband?”

You gulp at the questions levelled at you. König keeps watching you intently, and you choose to look at the old translator instead, shaking your head slowly. The men exchange a few words, and the Roman turns to scold you with his stare.

“Master reminds you that it is wrong to lie,” he says, putting a lot more weight on his words this time. Roman or not, he calls this giant master, which means that he is just another slave in this camp. You swallow again and try to think, think, think; all the while König’s stare strips you of all your pretences, garments and words.

He thinks you’re trying to hide some imaginary husband, you understand and consider whether you should say that you have a husband: if there is any benefit you could gain from such a lie. König would only probably try to hunt him down… But what if he found out you were telling him tales? Would he feed you to his horny war dogs then?

“I’m not lying,” you say through slightly gritted teeth.

There is another exchange of words before the translator turns to you again.

“Are you untouched?”

“What…?”

“Master asks if you are a virgin.”

The translator is utterly unfazed, and mainly looks like he has better things to do than get to the bottom of whether there has been a cock inside you yet.

“That’s none of his business,” you hiss. The old man turns and starts to translate your words with a dull look.

“Wait—don’t tell him that,” you take a panicked step forward. 

Oh good Father in the Sky… Strike these men down so that I may be freed from them.

They pay you no attention; a few sentences pass from mouth to mouth, and the old man nods.

“Master says you are clearly a maiden,” he declares. You peek a glance at König, who is looking at you with hunger, and not the kind of hunger people look at their breakfasts with. Your breathing is getting out of hand, and when he opens his legs wider, clearly making more room for a rising cock, you decide to throw caution in the wind.

“You know what? Your master can go fuck himself with a stick for all I care…!”

The old man turns. He doesn’t even care to sigh; he merely opens his mouth to give your words to König.

“Don’t you dare translate that!” 

Finally, the old man sighs. He looks at the ceiling as if begging his gods to take him away from this tent. König’s stare flashes between you two, and he is evidently curious. Clearly, this is the most exciting conversation he’s ever had.

“Was sagt sie?”

“Tell him that I want to be freed,” you hurry to say before the translator can tell your insults to König. After a brief conversation, König leans forward in his chair to see the effect his words have on you.

“He says he can’t do that,” the Roman informs. “His soldiers will find you and take you.”

You close your mouth and try to even your breaths. No one says, You don’t want that. Everybody in this tent knows you don’t want that.

“He asks if he killed your brother or your father.”

You sniffle, quite involuntarily.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then why are you angry and sad?”

There is a hint of genuine interest in the man’s voice. Both of these men are confused as to why you would bawl your eyes out after the massacre of your people.

"Because… Because he…"

“He says it is a man’s duty to die in battle. You should be proud of your fallen ones, not cry and feel sorry for them.”

“Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” you shout, not giving a single shit anymore about whether he translates the words or not. 

To no one’s surprise, he does.

“He says he’d rather fuck you,” he returns to you with König’s message.

You can’t bear to look your captor’s way, and still, that’s exactly what you do. You look at the giant as he stares at you, keen and hard and patient. But you know his patience has its limits. It’s almost like a promise, the way he leans forward in that chair and looks at you from under the hood, shameless and challenging.

“Never,” you guide your words to König now. It’s a brave little whisper, but you know that it’s a lie. Even the Great Mother knows you’re lying. You almost hear the cackle of the old woman rising from the earthen ground, from the chthonic depths, to mock you and your vows.

You hear the old man’s words from somewhere far away, from underwater, as König’s stare wrestles you down and takes away your little knife. He subdues you even when he’s sitting, and shares a string of words: a harsh promise. You hold your breath as his cock gives a pulse under that tunic, and your eyes fall, fall, fall onto it, because there’s no escape…

“He says he can make you feel good,” the voice says, and you can’t even hear who speaks. Your mouth is full of water, but you swallow it down, then shoot your way up to the surface, up, up, up into the sunlight, until you can breathe again.

You rip your eyes from König and look at the Roman translator with loathing and contempt.

“You can leave now. This conversation is over.”

Then you turn, trying not to pay any attention to the hushed conversation that proceeds behind your back. The man leaves the tent: you can hear it, and you can also hear how König rises from the chair and walks right behind you.

“No… afraid,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, but you don’t even flinch. You knew he was going to touch you again. Perhaps you were even looking forward to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you start to argue, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“You like trees?”

He speaks your words, not good, but he speaks them. You wonder if he has known parts of your tongue all along and has simply concealed it. Has he understood what you’ve said to him…? All the slurs and stupid things? Mother, grant mercy…

“Why would I like—What kind of question is that?”

“Climbed a tree,” he explains cheerfully behind you. You turn and look up, yet again rendered weak. Giants are supposed to be stupid. They’re not supposed to know the language of faeries…

“Nosy,” he brushes your cheek with a smile in his eyes.

“Nosy?” 

You huff - as if you wanted to be there and witness him.

As if you had a choice after the seer pushed you on this insane, cruel path.

“Wanted to see me so bad?” König tilts his head playfully.

Gods… You can only look at him with brows curling with helpless frustration, lip trembling from how he seems to know your every little secret. He nods when you don’t say yes or no. He’s perfectly happy to read all the answers from your eyes.

“Ich wusste, dass es so war,” he changes into his own language, and you don’t need to understand the words he says.

You know he knows. He knows you, he knows you to your core, and it doesn’t really matter in which circumstances you two met. He knows far more than you, something about souls and how they’re supposed to meet, how little squirrels and giants belong together, as crazy as it is. That there is no chance in life: no, it was meant that you two meet. To him, it was no coincidence that you practically dropped into his lap from that tree.

“Did you like what you see?”

He holds your shoulders gently as you quiver and shake inside.

“No,” you peep.

“I like what I see,” he declares; a benevolent god.

…

A/N:. Thank you so much for your love and interest in this fic! As you may have noticed the fic now has 4 parts, which is because the 3rd chapter got too chunky and I had to split it 😇 Next part might take a while because I'm moving soon, but let me tell you... These guys will be put into *situations*. Oh, and a reminder that I don't have a taglist for this so please check any future updates from my pinned masterlist post 🩷

Translations:

Gut geschlafen? - Sleep well?

Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige. - Yes, I know. I killed your people. I deserve a slap.

Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg. - It is lovely to talk to you. But now I have to go.

Du. Bleibst. - You. Stay.

Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden? - Do you like being petted?

Ich glaube das tust du. - I think you do.

Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…? - Have you ever been touched…?

Verstanden. - Understood. 

Was sagt sie? - What does she say?

Ich wusste dass es so war - I knew it was so.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not having time to read my mutual's writing?

Met a mutual on here, bonded through fanfic, have been tight with them for a few years with pretty much no bumps in the relationship, just overall had a really good time hanging around them when I could. We both write a lot and share our writing, and occasionally we talk about that writing/workshop it in passing.

In the past few years I've gone through a ton of life changes. Most notably I went from a multi-person household to a single-person one, and I've been living alone in a prohibitively costly city for a while now working 40 hour weeks and barely scraping by. As soon as the transition started I spent the last of my free income on a shitty little laptop so I could still write, putting down words on my bus/train commutes in the morning and quite literally writing on my breaks at work because I feel insane when I can't create. I bring this up to really stress that I don't have the time for the hobby, I force myself to make the time and even then it never feels like enough.

The only thing I can really stand to do with my 3 hours of free time at night is hang out with my moots online. I'm an extrovert so being around people recharges me. If I don't have designated social time I get super depressed and can pretty much feel my soul withering away. I also feel like I should probably mention that I kinda have a slew of mental issues, personality disorders and PTSD and AuDHD and the works. Point being, shit is rough my dude, but I am a person who likes to work hard and face challenges head on and even though we strugglin, we doing it with a positive outlook.

But! I am an incredibly solution-oriented person and I have found what I personally believe to be a good balance. No one should have to live like this, but I do, and I have found a way to be happy. My writing and my social time is all load-bearing. It is not something I just choose to do on a whim, it's all planned and scheduled and I adhere to those routines very strictly because, I cannot stress this enough, I will go fucking bonkers if I don't.

I'm mutuals with a lot of writers obv, and I sadly don't have time to read their work anymore, unless I get some extra time on my days off or something gets cancelled or like, I end up taking a vacation. I carry a great amount of guilt for this, though, even though I logically know it's reasonable. I try to support them where I can, cheer them on when I see them writing and tell them how cool their ideas sound, hype them up even when I can't actually read & review.

One of the things I do is sometimes I leave a kudos on fic I haven't read. I'm not trying to be ingenuine, and if they asked me I'd tell them like 'Oh I didn't read it yet, just wanted to show support!' but to me it's kinda like ripping a paper tab off a poster so that other's feel inclined to do the same. Plus my pals get a little email and a hit of serotonin.

Except one of my acquaintances, the one I mentioned at the start here, saw that I left kudos on a couple pieces another mutual of mine wrote this year. They more or less blew up my DMs with a ton of accusatory (like, literally presented like a 'GOTCHA!') stuff about how I was selective in who's fic I read, more or less implying that I secretly held some sort of grudge or negative feeling toward them and was making the conscious decision not to read or interact with their writing because of. Something, I don't actually know what they were trying to say. They also told me they vented to their friends about this MULTIPLE times, but they never once approached me to let me know they were feeling paranoid or neglected, they literally just took the most bad faith reading of it possible and then presented that to me like it was something I intentionally did, while the whole time I was unaware.

I tried to explain to them the kudos thing, that I didn't do it to every story, just ones I caught/noticed in my busy schedule. And I laid all this out and asked, multiple times, what free time am I supposed to read with? They didn't answer, and doubled down, kept trying to show me 'proof' that I was shorting them and no one else. Once they started to realize how wrong they were they backed down, but they didn't really apologize, or admit they were wrong, and they tried to end our relationship and left every single server we were in together. Because of some other unrelated stuff going on in my life, I didn't really consider them to be a close friend, but they were someone I really held dear and would've walked through hell for if they'd asked.

I still feel like there is something I'm missing here, and that's why I wanted to ask if I'm TA. I'm a pretty good communicator but one of the things I told myself when talking down my disordered thoughts (guilt about this prior) was "no one in their right mind would use reading fanfic as a metric for friendship." Now that I've had that exact thing happen, I'm starting to think maybe those thoughts weren't so disordered. Maybe this IS a big deal, and I should think about it more, but I don't even know what the solution to that would be. I just. Don't have time to read something lovingly crafted and appreciate it for what it is. All the hours in my week are used up, I'd have to lose sleep for this and with my mental health the way it is that is not an option.

Feel free to be a brutal, my skin is thick. Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

[kookygranger]

Top five, most memorable kisses of all time

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Corroded Coffin move to Chicago and find their people. Eddie finds you behind the counter at Championship Records. He thinks you're cool. You think he's gorgeous. Life outside of Hawkins might just be worth fighting for.

Warnings: swearing, kissing (obvs), fluff, fem!reader, mostly Eddie's POV, our boy has no rizz, alcohol consumption, I don't think anything else, too many high fidelity references?

Word count: 4k

Author's note: This is a one-shot, that has been sitting in my drafts since last Halloween and thanks to a wip game has finally seen the light of day! Find the playlist that inspired the fic below.

Masterlist

One pill makes you larger,

And one pill makes you small

The bell above the door jingles as Eddie steps through the threshold, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth seeps back into him and he scans the racks of records before him. Perking up as he notices the music playing over the speakers, he was still getting used to how much cooler things were in Chicago than back home – and shit, how much cooler people were.

Eddie clocks you sitting on top of the counter with one leg crossed under you, the other swinging down the side as you sticker a stack of vinyl. You mouth along with the music, not even noticing him slip through the aisles as he stops in a random section with a perfect view of you across the small store.

He’d only come in here to kill some time between soundcheck and the gig tonight at a venue down the street. The rest of the band had gone to find some food, but Eddie wanted to check out the record store they passed on the drive in. And boy, was he glad he did.

He mindlessly flicks through the records in front of him, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. It wasn’t that often that he missed Steve Harrington, but he could sure use one of the boy’s famous pep talks right about now. Fuck, what was it about pretty girls that got him so tongue-tied? Probably the pretty part.

But you weren’t just pretty, you were obviously very cool, and he certainly wasn’t used to girls sharing the same interests as him – but he’d met a lot of them since he’d moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.

Just as he’s thinking about what albums he could pick out to impress you, the bell above the door jingles again. A guy around his age walks in, his short hair spiked, nose and ears pierced and tattoos peeking out from a crisp white t-shirt. He walks with confidence to where you sit and makes you jump slightly as he greets you boisterously.

“Shit, you scared me.”

He snickers and starts rummaging through a crate of cassettes by the counter.

“Yeah, you look like you were in the zone. Did you even notice you had a customer?”

You turn your head in Eddie’s direction just as he ducks his down, continuing to flick through the disco section. Wait, shit where’s the metal?

“Shit.” You whisper under your breath and turn your attention back to the other guy, not quite lowering your voice enough so Eddie couldn’t eavesdrop. “No, but in my defence this song is a banger.”

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly

Severin, down on your bended knee

“What the fuck are you listening to anyway?”

“I made a pre-Halloween mix. Music that led to goth before goth was a thing.” You frown as you try to unstick a bright red sticker from the price gun you’d been tapping on the pile of vinyl.

Eddie smiles to himself as he continues to pretend he’s browsing and not tuning into your conversation.

“Are you coming to The Allied tonight? There’s some new band from Indiana or something playing. Apparently, they do a sick cover of Master of Puppets.”

Eddie pauses in his faux perusing for a second as he awaits your reply.

“I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”

The guy huffs, “No? What was your plan, going home to sulk to The Velvet Underground?”

“I don’t sulk–“

“You do when you listen to The Velvet Underground.”

“What do you want me to do? Pogo to Heroin? Anyway, I was gonna work on an article actually.”

“Why don’t you write about this band tonight? Tim says they’re pretty good. He saw them a couple of weeks ago at the Metro.”

“Tim said that about that god-awful noise band that played at De Salle’s. It was the worst four hours of my life. I thought my ears were actually going to bleed.”

“Whatever, you say that like you’re not currently playing the most depressing German synth music that nobody in their right mind would listen to.” He points his hand in the air, drawing your attention to the new song playing from the speakers behind you.

“First of all, this is David Bowie’s Low. And if you knew as much about music as you claim to, you’d know that this was his seminal work in his Berlin era and an ambient soundscape masterpiece. Secondly–“

“I like it.”

Both of your heads shoot up at Eddie’s interruption. He blushes and clears his throat as you catch his eye and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry, I just–it’s a good mixtape. I like the theme.” He frowns and shakes his head at himself, he doesn’t know what came over him. Who is this guy that’s bothering you, anyway? You have amazing taste and he’s now sure you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. You gesture in his direction and look back at the guy that’s teasing you.

“The customer is always right, Simon.”

Eddie moves quickly to the B section and finds the album you were talking about before heading over to you.

“Did you find everything you need?” You smile at him sweetly as you hop off the counter and take the record from him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before. Customer service isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”

The guy, Simon, snorts. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the way your face lights up quietly when you realise what album he picked.

“What are your strongest skills?” That was such a weird question Munson, what the hell?

You look up at him a little taken aback, before a small smile creeps up on you.

“Talking about music…or” you shake your head in contemplation, “writing about it actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe it’s not so much a skill, more like an obsession.”

“She’s actually kind of good.” Simon butts in with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“Such a high compliment cuz.”

You were cousins. He still had a shot.

“You write for magazines?”

“Zines mostly,” you point to a stack of xeroxed pamphlets on the counter, “but I’ve published a few reviews with Spin and The Face.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That’s pretty cool.”

You breathe out a laugh and take the cash he hands you, collecting his change. “Thanks.”

“Wait, you're Eddie, right?” He turns to Simon, almost forgetting he was there. “Your band’s playing at The Allied tonight? I met your drummer Gareth at a show last week.”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. We’re called Corroded Coffin.”

“Cool name.” You smirk and hand him his record wrapped in paper. Eddie tucks it under his arm, his dimples showing as he smiles back at you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re from Indiana then?” You call back to Simon’s earlier statement, as Eddie doesn’t make a move to immediately leave.

He rubs the back of his neck as he nods, “Yeah. Just moved here a couple of months ago with my band.”

“Welcome to Chicago, Eddie.” You smile and introduce yourself, “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you…vinyl wise I mean.”

“Thanks,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw before stepping away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the show?” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of hope in there.

You bite your lip and shrug, “Yeah, maybe you will.”

Eddie nods and takes his queue to leave, the bell jingling again as he steps back out into the cold.

“Yeah, maybe you will.” Simon mocks you in a breathy imitation and you roll your eyes. “So now that you know the singer is cute are you coming?”

“Obviously! You better get me on the door list, or I swear to god I’m telling Aunt Carol about the stash in your underwear drawer.”

***

“Hey, Carlos.” You greet your friend at the door of The Allied, who waves you in without payment. “That Darondo record came in, I put it aside for you.” You call back on your way in, hearing a muffled thanks as the music from inside hits your eardrums.

There’s a decent crowd tonight, and you have to push past a few people to reach the sticky top bar.

“Oh, she showed up! Surprise, surprise.” Simon makes his way over to you, ignoring the calls of indignance as he passes other customers. He slings a rag over his shoulder, which makes you bite your lip, attempting to hold in a laugh, remembering how he’d practised that move in the mirror when he turned twenty-one and landed the second most coveted job of your teenage selves.

You shrug nonchalantly, despite your cousin knowing the exact reason you’re here. “I ended up doing inventory ‘till late. Thought I may as well drop by before catching the L.”

Simon flicks your nose, your retaliating slap missing him as he moves to pour your drink. You thank him with a forced smile when he slides it across the bar, picking it up and turning to find a spot in the crowd.

“No tip?”

You call over your shoulder, “Yeah, take it easy on the cologne.” You smirk, not even having to turn around to know he’s probably sniffing his shirt.

You take your usual spot leaning against the wall, up the back and away from most of the crowd. Your rule was front row or back. None of that squished in the middle, view blocked by the tallest guy you’d ever seen crap. Either it was front and centre, immersed in the moment, or your own space with a view of it all.  

You’d never be up front for a band you didn’t know, and tonight was no exception, no matter how large the butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.

You don’t know what it was about Eddie, apart from the obvious fact that he was gorgeous. Maybe it was something in his presence. But when he walked up to the counter earlier with a record you’d just been talking about and a shy smile on his face – you were a goner.

The murmurs of the crowd quieten when the house lights are switched off, a yellow glow on the stage and above the bar now the only sources of light.

There are a few enthusiastic cheers when the band appear from a door behind the stage and a smattering of applause as they take their place. You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the feeling in your chest when Eddie steps up to the mic and adjusts his red Warlock guitar. He smiles and you duck your head, trying not to look too much like the girl who’s just fallen for a lead singer when he addresses the crowd.

“Evening. Hope you brought your earplugs, this one’s new.” The quiet, reservedness of his introduction and the boy you’d met earlier is undone with the first crashing of cymbals and thrash of power chords.

Stage Eddie isn’t what you were expecting, but still somehow makes total sense. He’s more comfortable, more himself up there as he thrashes back and forth, hair whipping wildly. And they’re good. Really good.

Maybe you’d write about them after all.

The band are almost through their set when he spots you. Your back straightens as his eyes lock onto yours. Normally you hate making eye contact with someone on stage, but you can’t seem to look away when his chocolate-brown gaze twinkles over the heads of the rest of the crowd. In between songs, he gives you a wave, and you nod, returning his small smile.

When they finish, you move back to the bar. Waiting for the lingering fans to clear over a rum and coke. You’re only on your second sip when you feel a burning hot presence behind you.

“You made it.”

You turn around, and Eddie leans an arm on the bar beside you, moving in closer as the growing line pushes him forward.

“I did.” You nod, taking another sip of your drink.

He clears his throat, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“So, uh, what did you think?”

You smile, “I think you’re going to fit in very well here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it is. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the dark side, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise, the ghost of a smirk kicking up when you’re interrupted by your cousin.

“Man, that was sick! What can I get ya?”

Eddie thanks Simon, then looks back at you, “What are you having?” He holds up two fingers when you answer, signalling for another round, then starts playing with a beermat while you wait. Your eyes are trained to the glint of silver on his fingers.

“How are you liking Chicago so far?”

Eddie looks back at you and puffs his cheeks up as he exhales. “Honestly?... I didn’t know life could be this good.”

You feel a sharp tingling in your nose as your eyes well up a little for the boy standing in front of you, his cheeks dusted with pink as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Trust me, things are only gonna get better from here.”

“Yeah?” He beams at you then and you inhale deeply as you fight the urge to reach out and wrap your arms around him.

“Yeah.”

***

Eddie had seen you a few times since the gig at The Allied. Dropping into the record store when he could. In small crowds at gigs in the city. You’d greet him with a hug or a squeeze to the arm that never failed to get his heart rate going.

Today, he’d gotten off early from his temporary new gig at the auto shop and he found himself parked outside the record store.

It was overcast, but there was no bite to the air. A balmy wind tousling his hair as he ran across the street to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, avoiding the fat drops of rain that had begun to fall sporadically.

He spots you through the window when he makes his back to the store, bobbing your head along to whatever’s playing as you fill the racks. The now familiar bell jingles and he smiles when he recognises Joy Division over the speakers. He’d seen you in their shirt on more than one occasion.

He meets you as you're walking back to the counter.

“Oh, hey Eddie.” You smile and do a double take, taking in his greasy coveralls, and suddenly he’s wishing he’d gone home and showered. Even if it was an hour out of his way.

“Hey.” He places a coffee on the counter along with a white paper bag. “Thought you might like a mid-afternoon pick me up. I’ve uh, I’ve seen you with one of those cinnamon things before.”

Your eyes light up as you inspect the inside of the bag. “Oh my god, you’re my hero! Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

He shrugs, taking a step back from the counter, his own black coffee still clutched in his hands.

“So, this is the day job then huh?” You gesture to his outfit.

He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah for now. Until the music starts paying off. If the music starts paying off.”

You nod, taking a bite of your cinnamon scroll and he can’t help but smirk at the way your eyes quickly roll to the back of your head. “It will.”

His free hand goes to his pocket, face hidden slightly by his hair as he tucks into himself at your confident statement.

“Thanks.” He turns around to start perusing the aisles.

“Oh, we will be getting the new Metallica album on the day of release by the way. I’ll put a tape aside for you.”

“Thank you.” He offers you a smile over his shoulder, and you tip your coffee to him.

He takes his time flicking through the rows, a few customers coming and going as he does, although he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once the store is quiet again, he walks back over to you, selection in hand.

“Lee Hazelwood?” You take the record from him with a look of surprise.

He nods, “Yeah, I liked that song on that pre-goth mixtape you gave me. It’s like the kind of thing my uncle would listen to but…”

“Sinister.”

“Yeah.”

You smile, “It’s cool isn’t it? You know he actually wrote These Boots Are Made For Walkin’. Helped save Nancy Sinatra’s career after the teeny-bopper thing didn’t work out. They made a couple of albums together actually, and you know the first time he retired from the music industry was because the success of The Beatles’ made him depressed.”

He leans his arms on the counter as you talk. “Wow, you really are a wealth of knowledge for this stuff huh?”

You shrug, “What else is there?”

“Apart from books.”

You nod, “Good movies.”

He smiles, “Pizza.”

“Dumplings.”

“DnD”

You frown, “That nerdy board game?”

“No, uh d–dumplings like you said, and uh– dough–doughnuts?”

You scrunch up your face, “Okay,” and giggle at Eddie’s strained smile.

“So uh, what–would you–“ Not screwing this up at all Munson. “Would you maybe wanna do that together sometime? The pizza and dumplings, or probably one or the other I guess, and a movie, good music–“ he blows out a puff of air, scrunching up his face.

“Are you asking if I wanna go see a movie?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, “that and dinner. If you want.”

“I do like both those things.” You smile. “How about Thursday? I finish closing up at six.”

“Yeah. Cool. Thursday sounds good.” The guys and their weekly standing appointment for band practice would not agree.

***

Thursday rolls around faster than Eddie’s prepared for. Predictably, his bandmates all made fun of him for cancelling practice for you. But he just ignored the high-pitched ooohs and went to make sure his lucky Sabbath shirt was washed before he needed it.

He’s wearing it now as he paces outside the movie theatre, twisting his rings, oblivious to you sneaking up behind him until it’s too late.

“Boo!”

“Jesus Christ.” He jumps and twists around, your hands that had reached out to scare him still on his hips, his arms float in the air for a second before landing on your shoulders.

“You’re on edge,” you tease before your face sets a little more seriously. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, just uh, you wanna head in? It starts in like five minutes.”

You nod, your hands leaving his waist as his fall back to his sides. “What are we seeing anyway?” You look up at the black lettering above you, smiling just as Eddie reveals your viewing choice for the night.

“Thought we could see Young Frankenstein. Saw they were doing an old-school horror weekend here in the paper.”

“That sounds great.”

He lets out a breath of relief when you bump his shoulder affectionately, and you begin walking into the theatre side by side.

“Now the real important question Eddie Munson. What are your go-to movie snacks?”

His hand twitches when it accidentally brushes the back of yours.

“Well, popcorn obviously.”

“Obviously.” You nod.

“Sour Patch Kids and you gotta add a packet of Reese’s Pieces in there too.”

“Wait, in there as in–?”

“In the popcorn bucket. All of it. Like a good version of a trail mix.”

You grin, “Very interesting.”

“Just wait till you try it, sweetheart, you’ll never do it any other way.”

You laugh, “Okay, lead the way.”

He bows, gesturing his hand towards the confection stand. “After you m’lady.”

Your giggle, Eddie quickly finds out is his new favourite sound. When it appears again in the movie theatre, he can’t seem to keep his eyes on Gene Wilder, only watching you light up with laughter.

He can’t quite believe how well it’s all going. That is until you’re sharing a large pepperoni, on the bench outside the place you insisted served the best “pies” in all of Chicago, and your confusion stops his heart for a second.

He groans when he takes the first bite of cheesy dough.

“Good right?”

He nods, chewing and swallowing quickly. “My uncle told me pizza wasn’t a first date kind of meal, but we don’t have anything like this back in Hawkins.”

You’re sitting so close that he notices you still right away.

“Wait, this is a date?”

“Oh,” he swears his heart drops to his stomach as he sees the surprise on your face. “Oh well, yeah I thought it was but I guess I–it doesn’t have to be, sorry.”

You reach out to grab his arm when he instinctively moves away, “No! I just didn’t realise you were asking me out, out. You kinda just kept listing food.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “I want it to be a date.”

He bites his lip, looking back at you with eyebrows raised, “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, squeezing the arm still in your hold. “Of course. I would love to…be on a date with you right now.”

He beams, “Well, it’s your lucky night sweetheart.”

***

The date (once it’s established as one), goes so well Eddie finds himself back at your apartment, admiring your wall lined with records while you find the both of you a drink.

His eyebrows marry together when he notices Dusty Springfield next to the Sex Pistols.

“What’s the system here?” You hand him a beer when you reappear by his side. “Not by genre?”

“No. Autobiographical.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How–?”

“Well,” you step forward, reaching out to pick a plastic sleeve as if from memory, “if I want to find the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, I have to remember that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 but didn’t give it to them…for personal reasons.” You show him the white cover of the album.

“That sounds…”

“Comforting.”

He nods slowly, “Yes.”

“It is.”

God, you’re weird. And cute. And cool. And, shit he was going for it, you said you wanted to be on a date with him. You invited him back to your place. No one’s ever done that before. He should go for it. He’s going for it–

Your lips feel even softer than he imagined, and he can’t help but give himself a mental high-five when you immediately move closer to him, face melting into the hand that cradles your cheek. You taste almost vanilla-y with the combo of rum and coke still sitting on your tongue when his meets yours. He places his beer down on the coffee table, and your lips follow him when he has to dip down slightly before his free hand comes to sit on your waist.

You part for a breath, “Didn’t realise vinyl categorisation would get you so hot.” You tease him, lips plump and eyes slightly glazed over, and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to keep you looking at him like this.

“Yeah uh, really love that Dewey Decimal system.” He leans close to capture your lips again, but you pull back, leaving him to chase you.

“The Dewey Decimal system is for books.” You shake your head.

Eddie huffs, “I really don’t care.” He finally finds your lips again and he swears they taste even sweeter the second time, despite being tainted by his own.

You guide him back to slowly sit on the couch, bodies falling a little clumsily together before you situate yourself in his lap, legs straddling his. You both stay like that for what could be hours for all Eddie cares, lips clicking in the silence.

“Fuck, I could kiss you all night.” He leans his forehead against yours, heavy breathing synced with your own, as you finally come up for air.

You shake your head, eyes soft and reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie.”

God dammit, is he glad he left Hawkins.

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi (I hope you like the coffee shop across from the record store 😉), @bettyfrommars (I finished it!)

[dollfacefantasy]

Cool Rider

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon gets you ready for a ride on his motorcycle

word count: 1.4k

a/n: just a little fluff drabble i've been thinking about while i go back and forth on my other longer fics. imagine this to be a little bit after vendetta when leon's starting to get better. hope everyone enjoys, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

“Quit joking around or you’re not going anywhere,” Leon grunts as he continues to mess around with the tire pressure on the rear wheel of his motorcycle.

“I’m just saying-” you chime before being cut off.

“You’re saying nothing more or I’m changing my mind,” he says and gives you a warning look.

Despite his attempt at being stern with you, affection clouds his eyes. You play along for him and mime zipping your lips. With a sharp exhale and shake of his head at your antics, he returns his focus to fidgeting with the pressure gauge hooked to his bike. But you’re happy just because you saw him smile.

You’d been begging him for months to take you for a ride on his bike. Every time you’d asked, you were met with “no” or “in your dreams.” You’d always ask him why, and he’d just brush it off. Too dangerous. It’s something he does alone. You eventually just gave up. He deserved his space, and you knew he’d seen so much pain and death in his life that he was probably a little overprotective by nature. It came as an absolute shock to you when he approached you last week and asked if you’d wanna go for a ride this weekend. He’d said it so casually, like he hadn’t shot you down time after time before. You weren’t sure what had changed, but a win is a win, right?

Now sitting on the stool by the bench where he kept all his motorcycle stuff, you swing your feet back and forth. As much as you’d been teasing him for the last thirty minutes about taking forever and a half, it was fun seeing him so locked in on his task. You studied his face, the way his brows furrowed and his eyes hardened, his lips curling a little with dedication.

“Hey stalker girl, instead of staring me down, maybe you should finish getting ready,” he teases as he finishes up and starts putting the tools away.

“I am ready,” you say.

“No you’re not. Where’s your helmet?” he asks while walking to you.

“Mmmm… you don’t wear a helmet,” you playfully point out.

You were just being difficult because he was so easy to mess with. You weren’t dumb, and you had no desire for your brains to splatter across some pavement. In general, motorcycles kind of scare you to be honest. If anyone but Leon was driving it, you wouldn’t even consider hopping on the back. So there was absolutely no way you were gonna get on that thing without a helmet strapped on.

“I didn’t ask you if I wear one. Where’s yours?” he says.

He stands between your thighs and looks down at you, taking in your pretty eyes, pouty lips, the face he couldn’t get enough of. His fingers run along your jaw, his thumb stroking over your chin. Every detail had him enraptured. He made fun of you for staring, but truth be told, he was just as guilty. The only difference was he hid it much better than you did.

“I’ll get it in two seconds. You were just taking so long, I figured I had some time to relax,” you joke with a quick peck to his lips, hopping off your seat.

“You better get it. I want your pretty little head kept in one piece,” he murmurs and lays a kiss on your hairline. He lightly swats your ass as you walk away, drawing that laugh from you that he loved to hear. He’s smiling while grabbing the keys, not that you could see it with your back to him. You were easy to mess with too.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that I have to wear one if you don’t,” you say as you lift the helmet up and inspect the one he’d bought for you.

“Too bad. I know what I’m doing. You don’t. God forbid I actually let you do this, and you end up with a concussion or something,” he grumbles while grabbing the keys.

“If we get in a crash though, your experience won’t matter. We’ll both go flying all the same. Then you’ll be the one with the concussion or worse, and I’ll be flat outta luck having to take care of you,” you explain while fidgeting with the straps on the helmet.

“Here, gimme that,” he says, taking it from you. He fixes the straps and gets them where they should be. Yeah, you’re being intentionally stubborn, but you had a good point and he knew it. “If it’s so important to you, I can wear one too.”

“It is important to me. I always want you safe,” you say, taking a moment to be genuine between all your teasing.

“I know, baby,” he says softly. It’s all he could say. Obviously, with the life he had, he couldn’t “be safe” all the time. But god, you made him want to try.

He gives you one last kiss before putting the helmet on you. He fastens it into place, making sure it’s nice and tight. Tilting your head around, he inspects it thoroughly. Has to be certain this shell of hard plastic is gonna do its job and protect his precious girl. 

After he’s done examining the efficacy of the helmet, he pulls back to give you a once over. Really look at you.

“Does it look good?” you ask, voice slightly muffled.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah, it looks good. Pretty cool,” he confirms.

Of course you looked more than good. The sight of you completely melted his heart. He just didn’t know how to say it. He’d never been too good with words when you were involved. You made everything foggy, hard to think.

He couldn’t see the grin on your face right now, but he could just about feel the excitement radiating off of you as you pulled him into a hug, the shiny dome covering your head resting over his heartbeat. His palm runs up and down your back before you pull away and head to the motorcycle.

“Are we ready to go?” you ask.

He could hear the anticipation in your voice too. It was infectious, made him want to get on and speed off without looking back. But he still had a little hesitation left. Rationally, he knew he’d done everything he could to make sure this would go smoothly. In all likelihood, you would just have some fun and then come back home and everything would be fine. The irrational part of him just wanted that to be 100% guaranteed. He’d lost so many people. He couldn’t survive losing you, especially to something as trivial as a motorcycle accident.

But he was stalling now, and he knew it. You deserved this. Deserved to have the fun he’d offered you. You’d been so good to him for the last several months, putting up with him when it would’ve been reasonable to leave him in your rearview mirror. He swallows his doubt and nods.

But as he sees you start to look at it like you’re gonna get on, he stops you.

“Wait a second,” he says, starting to shrug off his jacket, “It’s cold out, and with the wind and everything. Just put this on.”

He can’t see how you lovingly roll your eyes at this which is probably for the best anyways. Knowing him, he’d probably get all huffy and defensive about it. Argue the practicality of his decision rather than just admitting he’d gone soft for you.

Regardless, you let him wrap the leather around you, sliding your arms into the sleeves. You give him a thumbs up, and he pulls you close to him, thoughtlessly planting a smooch on the cool helmet like he’d normally do to your head.

“You better hold on tight. This isn’t a video game. You don’t get extra points for riding with no hands,” he teases before grabbing the extra helmet he had and putting it on.

This time you give a mock salute and watch him swing his leg over the seat. He waves you over and you gladly get on behind him. The warmth of your front presses against his back. He looks down, admiring the way your hands lock around his waist, your arms adorned in the white stripes of his jacket.

He wheels the bike out of the garage, taking a deep breath as checks to see that the street is clear. One more sigh and mental reassurance later, he’s speeding out onto the road. He knows it’s all worth it as soon as he hears your laughter and feels you clinging to him even harder.

[hyunniesgirl]

Another Love | part 3

Summary: you've been hopelessly in love with Han since you were children. One night you confess your feelings to him.

Words count: 5,082

Warnings: do I even have to warn you guys about angst at this point?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

A/N: this is not proofread because I'm sleepy, tomorrow I'll probably come back and fix the things that should be fixed.

I'm planning two or three more parts for this fic.

Seungmin got home after work and awkwardly told you he found a new roommate, it's a friend from his highschool time.

“That's great”, you tell him, even though you're worried, because that means you have to go back home and you just don't know if you're ready yet.

“I asked him for two weeks, so I could settle everything, so take your time”, he says and you nod.

That is a good amount of time, Jeongho is coming to see you in two days and you're really looking forward to seeing him. You find yourself already missing the man even though it's barely two weeks since you last saw him last.

Things with Jeongho are going slowly but great, he's sweet and makes sure you're comfortable with every advance he makes. You can't deny, being the object of affection of such a handsome and interesting person is flattering.

“Do you wanna go out before I move out? We can go watch a movie or eat something nice, it's on me”, you ask while watching him walk to his room.

“That would be nice, I'll check my schedule and we can set the date”, he tells you before closing the door to his bedroom.

You're so grateful to Seungmin, if it wasn't for him you would have been forced to stay living with Jisung after he rejected you, or you would have had to rent a crap apartment on short notice so you could have a place to stay without bothering anyone.

Speaking of the devil, it's the first time in a few days you're thinking about Jisung and you realize how relieved you are. It makes you believe things are finally looking up for you.

Living in Japan, Jeongho can only come to see you on weekends when he's not working. So you basically spend two weekends a month with him, it's not perfect but at the same time you two decided to take things slowly so you're taking your time to actually develop your feelings for him. What doesn't take very long.

You're not sure if it's because you were deprived of an actual romantic relationship for quite some time or if it happens to be like that because Jeongho is such a warm person to be around, but you just know you like him.

You are at the airport, waiting for him to arrive. When people start coming out of the gate, you tiptoe trying to find him in the crowd.

He's doing the same as you, but being taller it's not so difficult for him to find you. You jump and wave with your arms even though you know he already saw you, but you're just too excited to see him.

“And here I thought it would be difficult finding you”, he stops in front of you while you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him into your embrace.

“I missed you”, you tell him. He chuckles, bringing his hands up and cupping your face, lightly brushing his lips on yours before landing the most sweet kiss.

“I missed you too”, he tells you, connecting your foreheads. You smile brightly, feeling warm.

You really like Jeongho, and that makes you wonder how your life would have been if you had said yes to him in middle school.

“Let's go”, you say, intertwining you fingers with him, “you have to rest because I have lots of fun planned for us”

He nods, paying attention to every word you say while you tell him some of the things you want to do during the weekend.

You stay in his hotel since you can't take him to sleep on Seungmin's sofa. You two ask for room service and talk about everything—his life in Japan, his work, your major, your tutoring and how things are going now that you will have to go back to live with Jisung.

“How are you feeling about that?” He asks, while you eat.

“Honestly, I don't know”, you tell him. “But I'm pretty confident, things are different now, I even have a hot boyfriend”, you joke, making him choke on his food.

“I don't remember being asked out”, he says, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I thought it was a giving”, you shrug, biting on your burger, “since you're down bad for me”

He laughs out loud, throwing his head back.

“I'm not saying you're wrong, but you could be a little more humble”, he tells you, grabbing a napkin and whipping the ketchup off of the corner of your lips.

“Don't you think I've been humble enough for like a decade?”

“You got a point”

You soon finish your dinner and turn on the TV so you can watch a movie. It's just comfortable being with Jeongho, he makes the storm that usually is your mind become a light rain.

The next day is packed, you wake him up at 9 a.m. knowing it's going to be difficult to take him out of bed, especially when he keeps holding you and trying to make you stay in his warm embrace.

“We have to go”, you tell him, trying to escape from his heavy arm around your waist.

“Just more five minutes”, he asks, snuggling his head in the crock of your neck.

You really do want to stay like this with him, but you can't be swayed, you two have a full schedule that must be fulfilled.

“Jeongho, we must go or we are going to lose my first surprise”, you pout.

“Surprise?” He asks, backing away to look at you.

“Yes, I prepared a lot of things for us to do this weekend”, you give him a smug smile, “I didn't tell you half of it yesterday”

“Hm, that does sound interesting”, the hold on your waist tightens, making your body press even more against his. Jeongho lands a kiss on your cheek, then on your neck, going slower, “but you'll have to give me more than that to convince me that anything you planned is better than this”, you gasp feeling his hot breath hitting on your skin.

“I-”, you're not sure if you want to go out anymore, after feeling his soft lips again. “Babe”, you whisper, almost giving up when he flinches, backing away again. He is blushing.

“Did you just call me ‘babe’?” He asks flustered and you nod, smiling sheepishly.

“I mean, if you don't like it-”

“Of course I like it”, he answers fast, sitting on the bed. “Let's go, if you keep this up I won't let you get out of this bed for the whole weekend”, he tells you, getting up.

That offer does sound tempting, you sigh, but you two really do have lots to do.

Jeongho is not your first boyfriend, you didn't spend years pining over Jisung just waiting. Trying to get over him one way or another, you had your fair share of relationships, they just quite never made you feel like it was enough.

Until now. Jeongho easily swept you off your feet, liking him is just natural.

“Say cheese”, he asks while taking a selfie of you two, you're resting in a cafe after walking for hours.

“You really do like taking pictures”, you say and he nods.

“I do, especially when I'm with the second prettiest woman in the world”, he tells you.

You chuckle.

“May I presume that the number one is your mother?”

“Of course, dear. Who else could compete with you?”, he jokes, making you roll your eyes.

Jeongho’s name is called and he excuses himself to go to the counter to get your orders. This cafe you're visiting just opened, it is pretty popular and always crowded. You were only able to secure a table for your date because Hanna has a friend who works at the cafe and they were able to reserve it for you.

You hear the noise from the bell on the door and lift your eyes out of your phone to look at it, meeting Jisung's eyes.

What is he doing here?

“I didn't want to say it, but I think the cake you make is prettier than this one”, you hear Jeongho's voice, making you turn away to look at him, praying that your best friend won't try to talk to you.

Jeongho is much more sensible than you think, he picks up on your sudden stiffness and the awkwardness on your face, looking around to find out what happened. He sees Jisung coming in your direction hand in hand with a girl.

His right hand moves fast to the hand you have on the table, and his left one lands on your back, giving you reassurance.

“Jisung, it's been a while”, Jeongho says, voice more stern than you're used to, making you look at his face again, to see him almost glaring at your friend.

“Jeongho”, Han smiles, glancing at the hand your boyfriend has over yours and noticing how close you're from each other, “I thought you lived in Japan”, he points out.

“I do, but I come often to visit my girlfriend”, Jeongho smiles pretentiously.

“Your what now?” Han asks him, but he's looking at you, “last time I checked you haven't seen each other for almost ten years”

You turn your hand around, interlacing your fingers with Jeongho.

“Well, it has been a while since you last checked”, you answer, confidently.

Jisung's stand falters and the frown in his face is just priceless but you feel bad that he had to find out this way.

“Why are you being so awkward”, Lia says, glaring at him, “you should be happy for them”

She smiles at you.

“I'm happy for you, y/n, please take good care of her”, she tells Jeongho and he smiles kindly at her. “We will be on our way, then”

You have known Lia for a few months now. She was always nice to you, going to the apartment all the time and you thought her and Jisung to be just friends until you saw him smiling when he picked up her call, the same smile you have coveted for so long, wishing you were the one in the receiving end of that smile.

But you never were.

There's no reason for you to dislike her just because she is with him, now you have your own love and you don't need to wish for the affection of someone that doesn't have it in them to give it to you.

“Well, that was awkward”, Jeongho's voice takes you out of your daze. “Are you alright?”, he asks, bending down to be closer to you.

You smile at him, giving him a peck on the lips.

“I'm good, I have you”, you tell him. The man smiles brightly, tilting his head while looking at you lovingly.

“Now I'm thinking you're the one who's down bad for me”, he scoffs playfully, standing up and sitting in front of you.

“I can't confirm nor deny”, you say, winking at him. “What I can confirm is that the cake I bake is prettier than this one”, you bring back what he told you before.

“That's what I'm telling you!” He says excitedly, forgetting about Jisung, and honestly, you do too.

Why is she laughing so much? Is he even that funny? Or is she just trying to win his favor? Those are the thoughts Jisung has in his head while waiting for his order to get ready, he can't stop stealing glances at you, he misses your smiles and your laugh, there was a time he was the main reason for that beautiful sound to come out of your mouth.

“They look good together”, Lia's voice never sounded so annoying to him, what is she even talking about? You and Jeongho don't look good at all.

He gets up when his name is called, going to the counter to pick up his order and walking outside to meet Lia after. He can't stop thinking about you, if you hadn't gone away he would be the first person to know about you and Jeongho. It's just weird for him not being the first person you tell things to, that's what is bothering him he's sure of it.

The fact that he couldn't listen to anything Lia said throughout their whole date honestly worries him, Jisung has no idea what's happening to him and why he's acting this way towards the girl he was so into a few months ago.

He tries to bury himself in work, doing everything to stop thinking. He's afraid of what he's going to find out if he dig any deeper trying to understand his feelings.

You're in front of your apartment, you know the passcode and you know Jisung is not there at that moment but you just can't move. You have your huge bag hanging on your shoulder and another one on the floor, the only thing you have to do is go inside, so why is it so terrifying? The other time you went there to pick your books and some clothes, you didn't feel this way.

Was it because you knew you were not staying? Or was it because you and your best friend were on better terms at the time? Maybe you should just rent a crap apartment and go live alone. But how are you going to explain that to your parents? You can’t run away from Jisung your whole life, he is your best friend.

“Oh dear, were you traveling?” You hear the voice of the old lady who lives right next door.

You turn around, putting the sweetest smile you have on your lips.

“Hello, Mrs. Park, I was visiting a friend”, you half lie.

“Oh, that sounds like fun”, she giggles, “are you having trouble going inside?”

“Actually, Jisung changed the password and forgot to tell me”, you smile, lying through your teeth now, “I'm waiting for him to answer my texts”

She nods.

“Oh, your generation don't like to call, right? If I were you, I would call him until he picked up”, she jokes, “would you like to come inside to wait? You're going to get tired by just standing there”

You breathe, relieved, you know it's just a temporary measure but you'll take any opportunity not to enter your apartment yet.

“I would love to”, you answer her, grabbing the bag from the floor and following her inside.

Her apartment has pretty much the same layout as yours, but the decoration couldn't be any more different. She has lots of trinkets, frames and a clock hanging on the wall. There are a lot of pictures of her children and grandchildren.

“What about your husband?” You ask, sitting on the sofa while watching her going through the kitchen and putting some water to boil.

“He's visiting his brother in the countryside”, she answers. Your eyes wander around the room, landing on a frame with a beautiful couple. The picture looks old as it has a lot of aging marks.

“Oh, it's me and my husband”, Mrs. Park says, making you flinch to hear her so close to you. She has a proud smile on her lips. “Quite a handsome couple, weren't we?” She points out and you nod.

“Yes, a very charming couple”

She sighs, putting the tray with the teacups on the table in the center of the room.

“You know, he was my best friend”, she sits on the sofa, pointing to the other side for you to do the same, “I didn't always see him as a man, you know? I was in love with someone else at the time he confessed”

You stare at her, not sure what she's trying to say.

“But that guy broke my heart and he was there to pick it up and I fell in love”, she completes, with loving eyes.

“I'm not sure if I understand”, you say, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

“I'm telling you that the person you like may take a bit of time to understand his feelings”, she smiles kindly, “but I'm sure he will come to his senses”

You drop your eyes to your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. You're sure the old lady is only telling you that so you can feel better, but you don't feel like that at all. You don't want Jisung to like you now, you are exhausted from waiting for him.

“Your story is amazing, Mrs. Park”, you tell her, “but I already have someone who's absolutely sure of his feelings for me”, you stand, “I don't think I'll have to wait for another love”

She stares at you for a moment, analyzing you, trying to guess if you're being serious. Then, she smiles, standing too.

“I'm glad you came to that conclusion, honey”, she gets closer, patting you on the back. “Did Jisung send you the password?”, she asks, seeing you collect your bags.

“Yes, I have everything I need to go back home”, you say, thanking her for the hospitality.

You take a few deep breaths before pressing the password on the lock of your door. The house is the same as it was when you last went there.

You put your things in your room, unpacking your belongings and putting everything in place. You go to the living room, opening the glass door to the balcony so some air can circulate inside, you're sure Jisung spent his days out and didn't worry about opening the house a bit.

You go to the kitchen, there's nothing in the freezer, you already knew that you'd find it empty so it's time to go grocery shopping.

You're in the middle of the vegetables section when your phone buzzes. Looking at the device, you see Jeongho's name lightening the screen.

“Hey”, you answer, smiling.

“Hello, my love”, he says, you hear heavy breathing in the back of the call.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah, I was hitting the gym and they called me from the office saying they needed me”, he sighs, rustling at the other side of the line.

“If you're in a hurry why are you calling me?” You ask, frowning.

“Of course, it's because I told you I would call you in the afternoon”, he tells you like it's the most obvious thing in the world and you giggle, feeling the happiest at that moment, warmth growing on your chest.

“You could have just texted me”, you tell him.

“Then I wouldn't be able to hear your sweet voice”, you're sure he has that flirty playful smile on his lips while saying that.

You sigh, leaning on a shelf from the store.

“I miss you”, you tell him.

On the other side of the line Jeongho stops on his tracks, smiling to himself while fidgeting.

“Me too, I can't wait to see you next weekend”, he says, “I was thinking maybe we could have dinner with all your friends so I can be officially introduced?”

“Yeah, that would be great”, you say, “I'll talk to them”

“Okay, I have to go now but I'll text you later”

It's great having someone who actually reciprocates your feelings, much better, someone you're so into as Jeongho.

You walk out of the elevator struggling to carry the groceries, finding a feminine figure hovering over your door. When she turns around, you recognize Lia.

“Hey”, you frown, did Jisung not tell her he was out?

“Y/N, hey!” She says, smiling at you. “Here, let me help you”, she says, grabbing two bags out of your hands.

“Thank you!” You say, “Jisung is not home right now, but come inside to wait for him, I don't think he's going to take long”

You open the door, giving space for her to walk in and then close the door.

“I'm sorry about showing up unannounced”, she smiles sheepishly, putting the bags on the table in the kitchen. “I texted Jisung but he didn't see my texts, I just wanted to give this to him”, she says, taking a pot out of her bag.

“Oh, okay”, you take it from her hands and turn around, putting it in the fridge.

“You can have some, I made a lot”, she says awkwardly and you smile at her.

“Thank you, Lia. Are you sure you don't want to wait?” You ask, looking at the mirror, you're sure he will be home soon and if she stays it's less of an opportunity for you to speak to him.

“I have class”, she sighs, “can you tell him to call me?”

“Sure, I'll tell him”, you nod. She starts walking to the door and you accompany her, saying goodbye and watching her enter the elevator, waving goodbye to you while the doors are closing.

You're sure you could have been friends if things were different. You sigh, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt while going back inside.

You brought a lot of vegetables, they all need to be washed before being put in the fridge, so you start taking them out of the bags to organize everything.

You have the sink’s tap running and some music playing on your phone, so when the door is opened and a tired Jisung enters the house you don't seem to notice.

He stares at you as if you're a mirage, happiness overflowing in his chest with your presence back home. He watches as you hum to the song playing, a few strands of your hair falling on your face.

With a bowl of vegetables ready to be stored, you turn around bumping into your best friend, making you jump.

“When did you get here?” You ask, with your hand on your chest, heart beating fast, not sure if it's because of the surprise or because you're finally facing him.

“I just got here”, he lies, he can't tell you it's been minutes he's there watching you.

You nod, opening the fridge to store the vegetables, trying to avoid his gaze. Not sure of how to act now that you're back.

“Oh, Lia stopped by and left you this”, you point to the pot.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know she was going to come here”, he starts explaining and you frown.

“There's no reason for you to apologize, she's your girlfriend”, you answer nonchalantly and he steps back, feeling a sudden ache in his chest. You're not even looking at him while saying that, but why is it that you look so unbothered? Are you really over him? That's what he wanted, so why doesn't he feel relieved?

“She's not my girlfriend”, he tells you, frowning. You finally look at him, he's staring at you like he expects something from you. You don't know what he wants and you sure don't have the energy to try and find out.

“Anyway”, you say, closing the fridge, “I'm sure she'll be your girlfriend soon, you can bring her anytime you want don't mind me”

“Won't you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Not at all”, you grab your phone and put it in your pocket, ready to go take a shower. “I plan on bringing my boyfriend a lot here, so it won't be fair to you if you can't do the same”

You flash him a smile before heading to your room. You're acting the same as you did before your confession, so why does it make him so miserable now?

“So, does he want to ask for your hand in marriage or something like that?” Felix asks, making you and Hannah choke on your drinks, while Hyunjin and Minho laugh at your reaction. “I'm just asking!”

“No, why would you even think that?”, you chuckle.

“It's such a formal thing to have dinner like this”, Seungmin points out, “normal people just arrange a meeting at a cafe or something like that”

“He likes y/n, he must not be right in the head”, Jeongin says and you smack him in the head, making him pout.

“I think it's cute that he wants to meet you all formally”, you say.

“I think it's nice too”, Hannah supports you, “if you guys don't wanna go just say it”

“Now, we didn't say that”, Minho says. “It's just a bit weird to finally meet a boyfriend you actually like. Especially since we all thought Hannie would fall in love with you eventually”

You nod, sighing and feeling a bit upset with his comment, but you know it's impossible for people to forget you were in love with Jisung for more than a decade.

“Yeah, I get where you're coming from, but I'm happy with Jeongho and I want you all to meet him and know how great he is”

Minho nods.

“Yeah, okay. Then, I guess I'll have to give him the ‘dad talk’”, he says seriously and everyone laughs at your terrified face.

“Please don't”, you beg him.

You get home earlier than expected, Jisung is not home yet so you have the house to yourself for a bit. A long, hot shower is everything you need to relax. It's been a long week with awkward interactions between you and Jisung, you kept trying to avoid him, at least until you feel comfortable like you used to.

You spend too much time organizing your wardrobe, when you look at the time you realize how late it is. So you grab a towel and hurry to the bathroom, trying to get back to your room before Jisung gets home.

The hot water does wonders to you, even though you have to take a quick shower, it helps a lot with your sore muscles from stress.

When you wrap yourself in the towel and your clothes are nowhere to be found, you know you fucked up. It's even worse when you hear the beeps at the door, fucking hell. Things are already awkward, if you walk out of this bathroom in only a piece of fabric, things will be even worse.

You can tell Jisung is in the kitchen because you can hear him walking around, opening the cabinets and humming to some music while setting the table. You're sure you can just run to your room and he'll never know this happened.

That would be a great plan, actually, if Han wasn't knocking on your room's door exactly when you got out of the bathroom.

He turns around, with a big smile on his face that automatically dies down the moment he sees you. Your life is so fucked up, really. You have been living together for three years, of course he had seen you in only a towel before but things were inevitably different now. Maybe he thinks you did this on purpose?

"Ahm-", you're trying to explain yourself, you can tell he's speechless, "I was trying to shower before you arrived and happened to forget to take my clothes with me", you say, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah", he answers, stepping aside so you can enter your room. "You can come eat when you're done, I brought pizza", he says and you nod, walking fast into your room and locking the door.

From now on you'll have a checklist of things you have to take to the bathroom when showering so your dumbass doesn't forget about the most important thing: clothes.

Han feels his ears getting warmer, you look somehow different, he just can't tell exactly what changed. Every other time you saw him in a towel or the other way around, you both would brush it off and laugh about it, why does he feel so embarrassed now?

"Did you change your hair?" He asks, your mouth is full so you can't answer him right away.

"No? Maybe it grew a bit"

"That must be it", he nods.

Yeah, it's definitely her hair that's different, he thinks.

"I'll do the dishes, you must be tired after practicing all day", you say, gathering the plates.

Han nods, getting up and telling you he's going to take a shower.

The image of the drops of water running from your hair through your neck and chest and disappearing in the soft fabric is the first thing that comes to Jisung's mind when the hot water hits his skin.

Where you always like that? Your skin looked so soft, he felt the urge to caress it, what would your reaction be if he touched you?

Han frowns, why the hell is he thinking about that? He must be crazy, it's the only reasonable answer.

The fact that another date with Lia went by and Jisung couldn't pay attention to a word she said makes it clear to him that things are not the same between them and that he doesn't want to keep things going as they are.

“I think we shouldn't see each other anymore”, he says, when they arrive at her apartment. Lia's hands stop before she can open the door and she turns around slowly, looking at Jisung.

“What are you talking about?” She asks, leaning on the door, staring at the guy she likes. He sighs, trying to come up with a good explanation for the reason he wants to end things.

“I just, don't feel the same anymore”, he looks at his feet, not able to look her in the eyes yet.

She is staring at him, crossed arms in front of her chest, trying to hold the tears, trying not to break.

“You have been acting indifferent to me for quite some time now”, she points out, with a bitter smile on her lips. “I should have ended things when I first noticed it, I guess I just like you that much, huh”, she completes, taking a deep breath.

“I'm sorry”, Han sighs, finally looking at her, “I didn't mean to hurt you”

“Yeah”, she scoffs, “Is it because of y/n?”

Jisung's eyes widen.

“It was always quite clear that she liked you”, she completes, before he can say anything. “I just didn't pay any mind to it because you guys have been friends for such a long time”

“It's not like that-”, he tries to argue.

“That day at the cafe you couldn't take your eyes out of her and that guy”, she points out, “she liked you for so long and right when she finds someone else you start liking her?” Lia scoffs, feeling the tears brimming in her eyes.

“I don't like her like that”, he says and the girl rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that”, she says before turning around and entering her apartment, closing the door in his face.

A/N: If you like what I write please reblog or let me know in the comments, feedback give me motivation to keep writing. Also, you can buy me a coffee.

Taglist: if the tag didn't work please check your settings and let me know(I won't be tagging people with no age visible on their profiles or blank blogs)

@hhwangsmoon @weareapackofstrays @shycreationdreamland @adestayskz @skizmee @ca11me3mily @realviviboss @sofix-hc7 @seungminsapuppy @starsandrqindrops @its-hannjisung @redstayrosie @mae-is-cute98 @blithevix @astro-doll-the-star @vlctorriaa @captainchrisstan @rag-iii @notastraykid @hanoobinie @jisunghannie @applepie-macaroon @stayingdelulu @sundayysunshine @kidrauhlschik @wolfennracha @meloncremesoda @hanschimpmunk @realrintaro @teejisung @maexc @gyustarzzi @ellebasiyx @ivaneedssleep @chaeryred @daemon-bunny @broken-glowsticks @ch4nniebang @sleepyleeji @seukijeuxq

[chrollohearttags]

With AOTs last episode… Imagine if rumors spread that musician!Eren and Mikasa had something going on in the past. Then reader gets wind of it and they breakup!! I couldn’t imagine what was going through Eren’s head when the media hears about this shit!!!!!

ayooo! I swear, y’all are geniuses fr. I was thinking of something like this. And here I was needing a little drama (I’ll definitely have to do this as a full fic in the future but I gotta talk about thisss sksksjs!!)

content + themes: infidelity(?), angsty vibes, lots of drama, mentions of sex, alcohol mentions

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ── ･

“Let’s get into this tea, honey. Cause it’s HOT! So boom, (influencer name) this girl right here..is engaged to this man, EJ The Don. This lady here is Mikasa Ackerman, or formerly known as MikaASH. Who is also the manager for both of them. Welllll, girl. Allegedly, she was over here hunching on Mr. EJ behind Miss (y/n)’s back! Mind you, miss girl got a whole HUSBAND herself—“

“Y’all already know what we’re gonna talk about so just buckle in. I could not believe this when I heard it. So word is going around that EJ the Don, Mr. Underground God, the Living Dead Boy..whatever the fuck his name is has been cheating on his girl. And if you don’t know who she is, this is (y/n) (l/n), leader of the Pole Assassins. Gorgeous, gorgeous woman..but this asshole decided to not only fuck around on her but with their manager nonetheless!—“

it was inescapable..every other scroll through TikTok’s feed was some person with a pair of earbuds, speaking over the static wafting through the microphone as they stood before and floated in front of a green screen..pictures and articles of the story plastered behind them. What was the latest topic of discussion and juiciest gossip for the masses; a sure fire way to get themselves circulating in the algorithm was your sad reality. A reality that you wish was all made up.

two people you loved and cared for deeply betraying you in an indescribable way. The woman who’d all but given you your start in this industry. Acting as that of a sister rather than a manager as she helped you navigate fame. And the man..you loved more than life itself. Who showed you what it meant to be happy for the first time in your life. Sleeping together behind your back…you had never felt pain quite like this. There were physical pangs in your chest, your stomach in knots and all of the air feeling as if they had dissipated from your lungs. At that moment, you wanted to disappear into nothing..fade away and never be seen again. But life went on!..you had obligations, business affairs, everything you’d work so hard to achieve. Meanwhile, your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Missed calls and texts from them both, constantly sounding off back to back because lord knows if you answered, you’d only end up saying or doing something you’d regret. Much like you had hours ago when you stormed out of you and Eren’s home, bags packed with him running after you..tears in his eyes and the promise that nothing had ever happened. But there was proof. Pictures of them all over each other; Mikasa sporting her leather clad, skimpy attire she would wear on stage and him happily grabbing her hips as she bent over. It made you sick to your stomach. Physically ill even..it was too much for you to bare. Apologies, no matter how frequently and loud they were, would never absolve that hurt. The thought of them touching, kissing and doing god knows what behind your back..in your bed!

“Please (y/n)! I know what this seems like but that was from years ago. We were drunk, probably even high. Somebody took those of us, thinking they had something they could sell off to TMZ but you’ve gotta believe me when I tell you..nothing ever happened. I would never come between what you and Eren have—“

“Girl, please. Spare me the tears. If you wanna fuck him, he’s all yours. I’ll be damned if I ever compete for my spot. You got it.”

as much as you were trying to wear the brave face, you were torn apart and seeing her in full blown hysterics, trying to plead their case. But you were having none of it. As for Eren, he was in no better shape. He was devastated..heartbroken. More so than anyone could imagine. He wasn’t even going to bother heading to social media to clear his name as other accused cheaters had done so in the past. Rather, he downed the various bottles of liquor, stowed away in the studio’s cabinets. Angry and frustrated. More so importantly confused.

“Aren’t you going to go get her back, Mr. Jaeger? She can’t possibly believe that’s true. You guys would never..”

“Well she does and when she gets her mind set on something, there’s no changing it…”

how in the hell had a rumor like this started anyway?! Who was so bored as to drudge up old photos and post them, claiming that they had slept together. And most of all?….

how could he face you again..not knowing if it was true himself?

[gutterfuuck]

bro bro hear me out

you’re like the only mark writer out there so i NEED THIS TO HAPPEN PLS.

frat boy mark x sorority girl reader.

PLLLLLEAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEEE.

enough — !

this idea was so good, i had to start writing before i lost my mind and forgot!! you are such genius. this is probably a little off topic(?) as what you were thinking!! sorry if it is not what you expected, however, i will be using this idea in future so if you do not enjoy this, i will be writing another that is more enjoyable to you!! (with credit to you of course as the original anon!!) the frat name is an abbreviation because i couldn’t come up with one 😭😭

cw: reader is like 2 years older than mark? idk they’re both in their 20s, no superheroes/abilities au!!, william is in here for a bit i love william #williamforpresident2024, alcohol, typical college frat/sorority type parties, the start is quite long sorry i got carried away 😭, dubcon(?), reader is a bitch lowkey, mark gets mean, smut, headlock, piv, degradation, mark gets really mean ouh, creampie hehe, typical sparkie fic it’s evil and hiding under your bed like the babadook or something, aftercare at the end cuz i got soft

a/n: i was supposed to release this yesterday night though have had to edit and spellcheck this myself!! i am quite proud as this is probably the longest fic i have written without any editing from my friend!! if you notice small mistakes no you didn’t

he’s had it with you.

it’s only been a few months since he’s started college and he’s already way behind everyone else. you didn’t have a care in the world, you’d already completed college!! yet you still stay in your old dorm room, bunking with someone who had gotten lucky and left without a roommate, you payed whatever rent you felt like. you just enjoyed the college scenery, the lifestyle, you never wanted it to end… most of all, you loved your sorority. you were well aware that you might’ve looked a little bit like a loser, still hanging out with the sorority with ever changing members. you didn’t care, you were practically in charge, their leader - the queen bee. and that’s what got on his nerves.

you see, you’ve been handed life on a silver platter. a sweet 16th birthday party with a car bought just for you, spoiled absolutely rotten. mark couldn’t really talk, but at least his family came from humble beginnings, you’ve always had your money and status. you’ve always gotten what you want, even if you had to play the long game. the long, hard, boring game... which people could only stand for five minutes or less, what with your constant whining sounds and your foot stomping on the ground, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest. whatever you wanted, people just gave to you. handed themselves on a silver platter… not him. never him.

mark had a love-hate relationship with you. on one hand, you were hot, stunning… he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about you some nights, just like the other guys he hung around with.. on the other hand, you were nothing but a spoiled brat. he remembered the first time you’d come bolting at him as he stood at the doorstep of your sorority house, confusing it with the other one he’d supposed to have showed up at on his first day. you threw your arms around him as your head pounded from last night’s heavy drinking, your only sober thought being “i hope the other girls don’t get to him first.”

“fresh meat huhhh… i *hic* always like the newer ones… you like to party..?” you ask, swaying around with your arm around his like you’d known him for years let alone five seconds. mark tensed, expression shifting to slight annoyance as you almost crumpled over, dragging you back up by your shoulder gently. “no. do you know where house 242 is?” you pout at him, wavy finger pressing to his cheek and wobbling a line down his face before he smacked your hand away, tutting at you and looking around the front porch of your sorority house. bingo. mark shook you away, trudging towards the folded up lawn chair he had spotted, bringing it back and unfolding it for you. you’d annoyed him, sure, but his mother had taught him to be nice to girls.

actually, he pitied you. mark thought he could read between the lines, thought you being drunk at 11am on a wednesday morning must’ve been because you were hurting about something, someone, someplace… debbie’s words before she dropped him off in the car two days prior played in his head, ‘you never know what people could be going through, so be kind.’ as much as you’d bothered him so far, he was still inclined to make sure you were at least sat down to minimize risking an injury. you flopped down into the chair, groaning when you bumped your spine against the metal frame of it, tilting your head back to look up at him. he stared down at you with tired brown eyes, stoic expression not registering to you in your drunken state. at least you were pretty.

he clears his throat before he talks again, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, “house 242. do you know how to get there?” your eyes widen, mouth falling open with an excited gasp, “shut up! you are not in OOA!” you slur loudly, attempting to get up from your seat but dropping back into it as your socked feet slipped on the grassy ground below. mark gave a sideways smile and nodded slowly, he hadn’t been given the frat name yet, only the house number. mark didn’t want to have to walk around campus with a drunk sorority girl, you were only dressed in a night dress and a loose jacket, people would get the wrong idea! but, if he had no choice (and he didn’t really feel like walking around campus and looking for the house for the third time today) he’d have to have you as his temporary guide of sorts. this was so embarrassing, he really hoped nobody would think of him as a scumbag.

after watching you flap your arms and get all excited about his frat, you wobble towards the house, rushing to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, slipping your feet into your fluffy pink slippers, a staple. because of you, no other girls apart from your sorority would wear pink shoes around campus. and you wondered why people had branded you, and your little minions who wanted to be like you, as a bully of sorts. actually, if you thought for more than twenty seconds about it, you’d know people’d rather stay on your good side: you were rich, pretty, stole people’s boyfriends on the regular, confronted those who you thought were competition and you were allowed to basically do as you wanted. because daddykins’ best friends with the dean and the dean makes wayyyy less than your dear old dad and your father bends over backwards for you so if you wanted to waste your degree you fucked and paid yourself to, then you absolutely could.

when you both start walking, you attempt to interlock your arm with his, twisting your face up in disbelief when he rejected your advances. nobody had ever, ever, in the history of ever, done that to you. you want to stamp your foot on the ground but you resist, awkwardly crossing your arms over your chest. maybe he was just shy, you’d met guys like this before. new, shy, never had a pretty girl at his side like this… you got it, you really did. you’d take this as a loss, you’d soften him down later, OOA liked to party and you hadn’t seen a new member who hadn’t drank on their first night yet. you’d know, you’d been doing this same routine for almost three years. fresh meat, lost little lamb, needs the drunk pretty girl’s help ‘cause OOA was pretty hidden away, slipping your arm into theirs to tease them, walking them to their new hangout… coming back before seven on the evening and flirting your way into the new guy’s pants, blocking them when they try to contact you before moving on to the next one… one step had already gone south in your plan. you’d take it on the chin this time. he was cute and you’d already claimed him as yours, the other girls would know as soon as they saw him.

the path you both walked on faded into the concrete, a grassy path appearing as you spotted some guys outside of the house, a keg of beer already being set up this early in the day. mark thought maybe he’d made a mistake jointing the same frat his father had during his own college days, the promise of the frat being quite calm and collected faded away from almost three decades ago, the newer generation of young adults poisoning the good name his father had gone on and on about. sure, nolan had drank during his college years but parties and alcohol were never kept at OOA.

you see, mark wasn’t the average frat guy type: not loud, not obnoxious, actually wanted to learn and grow from his college experience and make some new friends. good friends, not meatheads who didn’t know their asses from their elbows. he hoped at least one person in that house was capable, sighing quietly to himself as he unenthusiastically approached the house with you. a guy waved at you, you waved back with a giggle as another set his drink down, announcing to the other guys that “y/n was here”. oh, so you were just a slut then. you don’t know what people could be going through, so be nice. he rolled his eyes internally, feeling slightly guilty with his thoughts as a red plastic cup is thrust into his chest by someone he’d found familiar, looking up to meet william’s eyes, his stone face cracking into a smile. he hadn’t even noticed the way you’d slipped away from him, chatting with some guy who stood shirtless with a concoction of different liquors that made him blink too slowly, constantly shifting from foot to foot to maintain his balance.

“what happened to not wanting to join us?” his friend asks as mark takes the cup into his hand, smelling the contents of the drink before he decides not to put it to his lips. it was way too early to day drink, he hadn’t even put his backpack down yet, “changed my mind, dad was on my ass about it, i just didn’t want the headache when i go visit.” he shrugged, eyes wondering over to you, watching as you let that guy hug you from behind, a strange feeling bubbling up in his gut. he wasn’t sure if he felt shame or disappointment that you hadn’t stayed with him, no longer worried about how weird it would have looked to walk around with you intoxicated. he looks away before your eyes meet his again, attention shifting back to william and whatever he had been babbling on about before he’d started daydreaming. “…and that’s why- mark? are you listening?” william snapped his fingers at him, shaking him out of his absent looking gaze. william looks behind him, in the direction mark had been staring in, slowly nodding his head with an eyebrow lifted when he looks back at mark again, “oh, right. i get it.” he smirks, mark’s red tinted cheeks being confirmation. “shut up, she only bought me here ‘cause you weren’t answering your texts.” he retorts, shaking his head when william gives him a knowing look.

that was the first day he’d met you. mark didn’t go to the party that night, much to your disappointment. instead, you spent the night in the lap of one of the jocks you’d settled on as a compromise, swigging back shots of vodka and rejecting his advances. he had a tiny cock anyway, you’d seen it before when one of the girls in your sorority received a picture of his dick and squealed about how gross the foreskin looked. you weren’t gonna fuck this guy, partly because you didn’t feel like it and partly because you were disappointed that you hadn’t gotten to see more of mark. you’d see him around campus, catch him staring at you outside sometimes. every interaction was short lived, always being shut down by him. hard to get was by far your least favourite game and there was no way mark would be able to resist someone like you! this had to be the twilight zone or something.

you’d tried everything at this point, low cut shirts with short skirts that exposed the bottom of your butt, shorts that should class as panties with how they barely classed as shorts, bikinis, standing outside his frat house while he was in it and being sprayed by beer in a wet t shirt contest, the works!! you had never been so offended, he just acted as if he didn’t even see you! it’s been four months now, four months of being basically celibate due to your petty “if he cant take me, nobody will have me” mentality. god, you were acting desperate. it embarrassed you, you hated working hard for things that should come as easy as one, two and three. while you thought your attention seeking streak was getting you nowhere, mark’s brain was going into overdrive.

“i just don’t get why you’re so… worked up about it.” william says as he sips from his mug that held coffee - the irish kind since he had a migraine from yesterday’s party and felt the only way to recover was to drink more - sitting with his leg crossed over the other on the sofa with mark who typed away on his laptop, “worked up? worked up?” mark repeated, never looking up from his screen, “come on. i’m sure she didn’t mean it-“ william began, sentence cut short by mark slamming his laptop down, getting up from the couch to put it on the kitchen isle, eyebrows furrowed. he was talking about how you’d ‘accidentally’ taken his jacket instead of yours and when he’d asked for it the morning after, you’d sent one of your sorority minions outside to tell him that they had no clue where the jacket or you was- only to see you walking around campus in it like it belonged to you a minute later, returning to the sorority house with drinks in a little black plastic bag. he had to walk back in the rain, his shirt soaked and blood boiling. yes, the jacket wasn’t a big deal. what william didn’t know was that he was mad because for the last few weeks, you’d been at the parties he’d been at. not only that but you’d always have a different guy all over you, always looking over to him, almost like you were doing it on purpose.

“yeah sure, i’m sure she didn’t mean to spill her drink all over me last week and steal my jacket yesterday, y’know, the one i needed to get home in the rain… oh, i’m sure she didn’t mean to break the fucking tv- the only one we have, when she came over for beer-pong.” mark spits back, pinching the space between his eyes with his index and thumb. william rolls his eyes, sipping away at his coffee without a care in the world. “and i’m sure she didn’t mean to make me miss nearly all of my classes.” he finishes, which makes william turn his head towards him with a smile, “oh, i’m sure y/n physically kept you from going to class.” william tuts, standing up and walking out of the room, “last time i checked, she doesn’t even go here…!” he said as he walked off, refusing to argue with mark. william was right, you hadn’t stopped him from attending classes. he’d just become a little obsessed maybe, wanted to keep an eye on you just in case. mark could only think back to the first day he’d met you, how you’d been drunk from before noon and how you looked like you needed help, how his mother’s words buzzed around in his head… he still hung onto that, taking himself up as your personal guardian angel without your knowledge.

you open your phone when you leave the shower, whatever music that had been playing through it stopping as you pressed pause to focus on the words on your screen:

william🤞

prty @ 242 6pm. bring back his jacket 🙄

you tilt your head slightly before you remember what he’s talking about. you dry your hands, opening your phone to respond,

y/n

omw ❤️

is all you type, not bothering to look at the notification that made your phone buzz before you rush to your little vanity, ready to doll yourself up for the evening and throw on some clothes, pairing them with the jacket you’d now have to return. you get an influx of messages on your phone suddenly, the group chat of the girls in your sorority letting you know that they’d also be attending, emojis and gifs and reaction images galore as you scroll through your phone. the girls wanted to go colour coordinated, all in the same pink miniskirts and black tank tops. you, however, wore a black miniskirt with a pink tank top, just to differentiate yourself from the rest of your hive. you didn’t remember exactly when you’d gotten william’s number but he was useful at times. plus, you thought he was pretty fun to hang around with! that, and the fact that he was mark’s best friend.

when you get to the OOA house music is already blaring and some of the boys are already sat out on the porch, some members of your sorority had shown up a few minutes prior. probably the new girls, you think, knowing the other girls wouldn’t make a mistake as grave as showing up earlier than you. for once, you’re gonna let it go. you were in a good mood today, felt like you were finally going to get your hands all over that slippery prick. you didn’t know why you had your sights set on him, you could be with literally anyone else. you told yourself it was pride, he’d offended you by rejecting you. pretty girls never knew when to quit, especially the rich and spoiled ones like yourself. you made heads turn towards you, as per usual. compliments flooded into your ears, dry “thank you”’s and “aww you’re so cute”’s leaving your mouth, hiding the scowl you had plastered under your perfect demeanour.

you scanned the room, looking for one person in particular, pushing away drinks that had been offered to you before you decided to just give up, plopping yourself down on the same sofa mark had been typing his essay on hours prior, finally giving in when william approaches you, swaying a little as he walked, already wasted by the looks of it. you put on a fake smile, trying to stop yourself from having a full on temper tantrum over not being able to find the guy you’d gotten all dressed up for, wearing his jacket, having no fun at the party his frat house was throwing. william opens his mouth before closing it again like a fish, trying to find his words, “y-you came..!” he speaks loudly, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of you, already littered with other people’s drinks as he throws his arms around you in a hug, “duh, it’s not a party til i’m here.” you say, your friendly tone threatening to falter as you looked down at your nails, observing them as if they had better things going on. you return his drunken embrace, giggling when he accidentally spills his drink on himself.

“you bought it, good..! you wouldn’t believe his b-..b-bitching- earlier-“ he covers his mouth with his hand to stop himself from burping at the last part of his sentence, gesturing towards the jacket you had draped over your shoulders to which you nod and smile, patience wearing thin. if william was here then where the fuck was mark? you wanted to ask him where the rest of him was, though didn’t think he’d understand as fast in his drunken state. tipsy wasn’t even the word. “it just looked so similar to mine, ha!” you lied, finally taking one of the empty cups out of the plastic sleeve and helping yourself to the bottle of vodka that stood in the middle, pouring orange juice straight into it afterwards to try and mask the sharp taste. william laughs, you drink.

“actually- he’s upstairs. studying or whate-ever.” william points to the ceiling, brushing some of his hair out of his face, “i can go give it to him if you like-“ and just like his conversation with mark earlier, he’s cut off short again by you springing up with a no, forgetting about your drink as it spilled over the rim, the whole thing splashing over your shirt. you gasp and squeak, william tries to stifle a loud laugh that would’ve bought all of the attention to you. even while drunk he knew not to put his reputation on the line, and his reputation he did kind of value. nobody wanted to draw unnecessary attention to you, the last person who had done that had been trashed so badly they had to move out of the state after a few months of non stop rumours. you sigh, defeated as you pick up someone’s jumper - they shouldn’t have left it out in the first place if they didn’t want you to use it as a cloth - and trying to soak all of the alcohol out of the black fabric. “bathroom upstairs- mark’s in the room to the r-right— ugh, i’m gonna throw up,” william says as he retches, cheeks puffing out before he takes his leave, sprinting into the back garden to puke in a plant pot. a few more compliments, you’re flirted with by a guy for like five minutes, you take a few more swigs of someone else’s drink and you’re headed upstairs, looking for the bathroom and hoping nobody had started fucking in there so you could act out your ever developing plan.

your eyes lit up when you successfully pushed the door and it wasn’t locked, closing it behind you and twisting the latch so nobody would intrude on you. lifting your shirt over your head, you’re careful to not let the fabric ruin your makeup. the next thing that’s discarded is your bra, winking at yourself in the mirror and jiggling your boobs experimentally, making sure your girls looked their best. you then put mark’s jacket on, sleeves coming past your hands as the hem just barely missed your knees. you didn’t hang out or interact with him often, you never get the chance and it’s frustrating, but you’re reminded of the potential size difference between you and him when you put on his jacket. showtime. if this didn’t get you laid tonight, you’d have to get a new name and move out of the COUNTRY out of embarrassment of coming off as desperate. to the right, a door that had large posters on the surface, some stickers peeled away and faded from years of being piled up on the door. a sock on the handle. no fucking way.

this had never happened before. nobody had ever wanted to fuck someone else before sticking it in you. you wanted to scream, rip your hair out and stomp your feet until you fell through the fucking ceiling. this wasn’t fucking happening, the boy you’d had your eyes on was not fucking another girl in this room. you saw red, the reality of not getting your way this time hitting you hard, your hand flying to the handle to twist it open, ready to have a cat fight if necessary. you felt like a steaming bull, felt like steam was coming out of your nose and ears cartoonishly. you didn’t even know what you were gonna do when you saw him and whoever the fuck that stupid bitch was, all you knew was that you hadn’t gotten what you wanted and it was time to let everyone know that.

you’re ready to bite his head off, both of them, blind rage taking over before you lay your eyes on the sight in front of you. he sat with his legs open, pants at his ankles with his head thrown back momentarily, hand going up and down between his thighs with his other hand holding up his shirt before he’s shuffling to cover himself, wide eyed and cursing with his cute face all beet red. “o-out..! get out-!” he stutters, voice cracking as he rushes to close the door, traping you behind it again. you’re stunned, never seen anything so… erotic before. you wished he wore shorts, the way his toned thighs flinched and tensed made you want to slide yourself up and down them, the small snippet of his abs you wished you’d had a longer look at before being blocked from entering… why’d he hide his body away for so long you’d never know. oh how you wished you’d seen his dick, imagining it made your mouth water. you shake your head, clearing your mind to prevent it from clouding with thoughts of lust, you couldn’t have your pussy leaking just yet. were you really so desperate for dick that you’d get wet without even seeing it? just the mental image of him, lip tugged between his teeth, pleasured expression barely visible? get your act together, you thought, breathing heavily before steadying yourself, standing up straight and knocking on his door.

“maaaarrrrkk…” you whine loudly, fist slamming against the posters, “i didn’t see anything, i swear..! but… i also won’t tell anyone if you let me in.” you offer teasingly, smiling wide when you heard a loud groan from the other side, followed by loud footsteps, followed by the door swinging open, mark avoiding your gaze with gritted teeth. he also wasn’t stupid, also had a reputation to keep squeaky clean. he’d had enough of you. for real, this time. he had enough of how you were the bitch who could make or break him if he ever slighted you in any way, had enough of the way you taunted him from afar, had enough of your complete and utter rudeness - who the hell even barges in when there’s a sock on the door? - he’d just had enough. he stood there, arms crossed as you took in your surroundings, blue and yellow scheme familiar to the clothes he wore... then it hit you, this was mark’s room. it wasn’t weird to have people living at a frat house, some people owned them. you wondered how he felt having to listen to music and people yelling and drinking all night, though that thought was quickly brushed away by mark’s voice,

“that’s mine.” he says bluntly, cheeks still pink as he points to his jacket that you wore, still standing at the door like some sort of bouncer. you nod, closing the door behind you and ignoring his words, “nice room y’got… seance dog? how old are you?” you joke, helping yourself to the shelf where stacked comic books stood, picking one up and flicking through it. mark walked towards you, snatching it out of your hands and putting it back, “again, that’s mine. i want my jacket back, y/n. then you should leave.” he spoke matter-of-factly, glaring at you for a second as you rolled your eyes, sitting on his bed and making yourself at home. “ugh, you’re still mad about it? i’m sorry we have the same jacket. i was drunk! fuck, man.” you shoot a glare back, yours with a grin. he’s had enough. he was at his boiling point, red hot rage was about to start bubbling over and you were the person he didn’t really want to take it out on. “y/n, i’m not gonna tell you again.” he warns, scowling at you as he approaches, fists balled up into his hands. this was probably the part of him people could most see his father in, his expression when he got angry. it didn’t scare you, it made you want to tease him more. so he thought he could intimidate you? he had another thing coming.

“you can’t make me. i’ll scream, you want everyone to come rushing up here?” you wouldn’t, you were only teasing. like a bolt of lightning, he’s tugging the zip of his jacket down, attempting to take it off of you and kick you out himself. you grabbed onto the zipper, trying to block his hands away from zipping it down any further, “taking back my shit and you can get the fuck out of here-“ he muttered, ignoring your sounds of protest, “mark— stop it, i’ll go i just-“ he doesn’t care, he’s trying to force your hands away, slapping at them and trying to restrain them to your sides, “shut up, shut the fuck up, give me back my fucking jacket, now—! you’re a liar, your jacket is hot-fucking-pink!” he’s more violent, grabbing the front and damn near shaking you around, your legs trying to kick him away, “m-mark, please-! stop, stop it!” there’s almost tears in your ears as you try to fight him off, remembering how you’d taken off your shirt and left it in the bathroom, with your bra.

mark couldn’t care less about his jacket or if it would be ruined, it was about the principle. more pulling, more trying to hold your hands away, more grabbing the jacket and trying to pull it off before— schzzzzt. fuck. the zipper popped, your protests stopped and mark’s huffs calmed down, eyes settling on your bare chest. tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked up at him, not expecting to have his eyes meet yours. he looks pissed, he’s had enough of you. right now, mark didn’t give a shit about what you were going through, didn’t care about being nice. you’d tipped him over, now he’s really annoyed with you. “mark,” you shuffle away, jumping with a surprised gasp when you feel his hands wrap around your ankles and pull you back to your place, the action making your skirt and his duvet catch on each other, hiking your skirt up to expose your underwear. it was like he wasn’t even looking at your body, keeping his eyes on yours at all times. you open your mouth again and his hand flies to your face, covering your mouth to prevent you from talking at all. now you’re scared, now you’re intimidated. so scared, yet your stomach flipped and your cunt fluttered around nothing when he silenced you with his palm.

“shut up, you bitch.” he snarled, tightening his grip on your face by pushing your cheeks together. it almost hurt, almost. mark shook his head, “what’s wrong with you? you wanna make me mad? for fucks sake—“ his words make your clit throb, your thighs slowly shifting to meet each other so you could move your hips around and get yourself off a little. this was hot, mark was serious. “you’re gonna scream? what the fuck, y/n, what the fuck is your problem!?” you’re wet. fuck, you’re wet and you’re being yelled at. this was the shit you’d see in porn, but for real. no acting, just a coincidence. when he lets you go to get off of you, he finally lets himself catch a glimpse of the wet spot that’s forming in your panties. he should’ve never looked, now he’s caught a sneak of your tits. the noise he makes is halfway between a groan and a sarcastic chuckle, pushing his hair back with the same hand he used to cover your mouth, “now you’re gonna go and leak all over my bed? after trying to go through my stuff?” mark can’t ignore the way his cock strains in his pants, the way it twitches as he glances over you again. any normal person would’ve ran out of his room, trying to cover themselves with the broken jacket and probably never speak to him again. then again, you weren’t a normal person, you were rich. hadn’t ever been told no or been scolded like this before or at all for that matter. you were truly stunned, felt like a deer in headlights.

“m’sorry, sorry..” you finally peep, sniffing as tears dripped down your face. he groaned, clearly annoyed by your antics now, “now you’re gonna cry? now you’re crying, you did this. stop crying, they’re not real tears.” he spits and you obey, quickly wiping your face, black streaks of mascara on your hands as well as your face. fuck, you looked gorgeous like this. you clearly wanted it. you didn’t look like you did, if anyone had burst through like you had earlier they’d definitely get the wrong idea - the worst idea - the kind of idea that stops you from getting a job in your desired field in the future if interpreted the wrong way. mark swallowed thickly. “y’gonna scream?” he asks and you shake your head no without even processing the question, looking up at him with big wide eyes.

you’re on your stomach, clawing at the bedsheets and messing up the way he’d made his bed this morning, face being pressed into a pillow by a heavy hand, mark’s hand. he’s thrusting into you, hips crashing violently against yours over and over again, got your legs trapped between his as he’s using you like you’re a toy, his other hand gripping onto the fat of your ass to help the momentum of his thrusts. your moans are muffled, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and onto his pillow as you kept your head pressed into the soft cotton pillow, taking in his scent. god, he was jabbing right against your cervix and you let out a particularly loud whine which makes the brute above you lean in to you, his chest pressing against your back so he could talk into your ear meanly, “what’s that? i can’t. fucking. understand. you.” he punctuated each word with a sharp jab into your g-spot, your wrists aching from how hard you were grabbing around at the sheets. he knew you hadn’t said anything, just wanted to tease you like you’d teased him. he’d stripped you naked before you were taking his cock so deliciously right now, tearing your panties off and shaking you out of his jacket which laid beside you. now this was worth playing the hard to get game.

“hey, y/n? you wanna scream?” mark said, sweat beading at his temples as he moaned when he felt your gummy walls close in on him with his words. you shake your head, an almost inaudible ‘no’ coming from the pillow before his arm is hooked around your neck, lifting you up. this new position made you arch your back, leaving you in a dreamy daze as your eyes adjusted to the light of the room again after having your head forced down for so long, “i said, you wanna scream?” he repeats, you shake your head, “n-no-! no, m’m-sorry fuck, mark, i’m sorry—!” you squeal, voice hoarse as he tightens his arm, putting you in a headlock and moving his other hand to your stomach to hold you in place. he was moving so fast, his fat dick throbbed and stretched and rubbed against allll the right places. no other boy had fucked you til your head spun, made you feel so defenceless and inferior… you’d never been filled up this good, you’d been choked, sure - but a headlock? your cunt gripped him tightly, vision dotting as your body shook violently in his grasp, his fingers now swiping over your hard little clit, making you try to stifle the loud half scream of his name somehow, biting your lip with your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“that’s fucking nasty.” he moaned, watching as you sprayed all over his sheets with your body convulsing, hissing when your pussy started to milk him vigorously as you came. he didn’t stop, only let go of you and watched as you thumped onto the bed weakly, trying to lift yourself up before he’s drilling you with his cock again. you’re hardly responsive, body still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, not even noticing how you’d laid in your own release until you blinked a few times, the feeling finally coming back into your body that mark had knocked numb for a second, “p-please-“ you gasped out, hand reaching down to tap at his thigh. he swiped it away, grabbing your wrist and jerking your body back to meet his, obsessed with the way your bodies made smacking sounds when he snapped his pelvis into your rear. “you gonna bother me again after this? look at you, you’re lying in your own mess- oh fuck, keep tightening like that—“ he growls into your ear, balls slapping against your sensitive clit from behind. you couldn’t think, your thoughts being fucked out of your brain with every rough jab to your cervix, words forming and failing to put them together into understandable sentences. he’s just as blissed out, his anger had faded forever ago, replaced by a carnal urge to just fuck, keep plunging himself in and out of your weeping cunt.

you whine when he pulls out with a pop, lines of your slick coating his cockhead and sticking to it before they snapped and dribbled down onto the soaked sheets below you, his hands grabbing your waist so he could flip you onto your back this time, taking you by surprise and finally waking you up out of whatever dreamy daze you’d been in. this is just how you felt earlier but better, you were scared of him sure but you’ve never been so turned on, you’d never had someone defy you before, you asked for a pony when you were younger and threatened a tantrum which got you your pony, your parents would rather give you whatever you wanted instead of saying a simple no. you stare up at him, he stares down at you. call you crazy, maybe you were finally being put in your place, but having someone hover over you like this, possessive and firm, made you feel as if you had no power at all. mark didn’t care about who you were or what you could do to ruin him anymore, especially since he’d already ruined you. mascara streaked down the sides and front of your face which made tracks in your foundation, your lipstick had been smudged from having your face pressed into the pillow for so long and you were pretty sure you were missing an eyelash (which you were; stuck to the bedsheets and twisted and ruined, you’d have to buy another pair).

mark grabs one of your legs with his hands, pulling you close to him as he leaned in, body pushing your knee up to your shoulder albeit a little painfully, eliciting an uncomfortable mewl from you in the process. you felt as if you couldn’t talk, if you opened your mouth you’d die or something. you’d taken mark for a virgin what with the way he awkwardly shuffled his feet when you spoke to him, the way he never picked up on or wanted to pursue your advances. “don’t look at me like that.” he grits, eyebrows furrowing at the way you pouted at him. you hadn’t even noticed but now you’ve made him mad so now he’s pushing into you again, spearing you open on his dick wet with your slick, your expression changing as you raised your brows, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth hanging open like you were trying to catch flies. he moves his hands, hooking them under your knees so he could pull you back and forth against himself, cock throbbing and begging for release when you start tightening again, lewd gasps and moans coming from your spit slicked and ruined lipstick lips. he can’t stand you, can’t stand the way you’re moaning and trying to say his name while having all knowledge knocked out of you over and over again with stabs repeatedly hitting that same sensitive spot with brutal thrusts, hoping your hips didn’t break every time his crashed into yours.

then, a moment of weakness, “am i pretty?” you ask between whines, small and timid like a rabbit. he’s broken out of his current demeanour, tilting his head. mark feared he’d falter, he’d already given you what you wanted by using you like you were nothing but a warm crevice to slide his cock into. you already knew you were pretty, you just needed to hear it from him. needed to hear it from the guy you’d been chasing for months since you’d stumbled upon him, needed to have confirmation that he was attracted to you. his thrusts almost slow down - almost - before he nods, biting his lip to stop the groan that wanted to respond, “y-yeah, pretty..” mark finally mumbles, hips stuttering as the warm coil that tightened in his stomach threatened to snap. you could feel it too, you could feel the way his cock throbbed, the way the head twitched when it pressed against your cervix every time mark canted his hips up into yours, stretching your pussy around him, churning up your insides so they could only think of him. “pretty, really pretty…” he babbles as he tries to keep his thrusts steady, “also p-pretty fucking mean, stupid…” he continues, trying to ignore the way a pleasured shock creeped up his spine and made his legs shake like yours had before.

you were going to cum again, you could feel it. familiar tingles and twinges picking at you before you felt it fully, the mind numbing sensation of an orgasm being fucked out of you again. mark isn’t any better, chasing his own pleasure with his head tilted back steady “hah, hah, hah”’s slipping out of his mouth. working for stuff really was fun sometimes, even if you had to wait a while to get it. you’re lost, back arching up off of the bed with your waist subtly moving in time with his, catching small hazy blinks of him before his face is closer to yours, not even waiting to kiss you. his tongue is bigger than yours, as with the rest of him, completely pushing your tongue away as he kisses into your mouth, muffling both of your sounds as his thrusts became more and more uneven. he’s cumming, hard and fast and with no consideration whether you were on birth control or not, painting your pink walls with his white cum and leaving his mark deep inside you, seeping into your womb with thick globs. you came as soon as he did, dry this time, arms flailing to grab onto his back to anchor yourself. your cunt squeezed around him, trying to milk all of his release into you. you weren’t on the pill but you didn’t care, you could always get that sorted later.

mark didn’t pull out, huffing slightly as he came back to, blinking at your shaking form below him. if it had been porn, he’d feel bad, close the tab and ignore his post nut clarity. this time, even with all of the thoughts in his head telling him that he’d just broken you down, used you like you were disposable, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished. you might’ve won by getting him to fuck you but he’s won the ice cold heart of the mean bitch that’s now laying in her own squirt on his bed, twitching every now and again to show how much you’d enjoyed it. he sighs, shaking his head and pulls out of you, watching for a second as his cum slowly starts to spill out of your aching pussy, ruining his bedsheets even further, “you still here..?” he asks, looking over at you before he’s headed back over to where he’d stripped off all of his clothes, quickly dressing himself back up as he puts his boxers back on, sliding his jeans back up his legs and looking over at your limp body on his bed. you don’t respond with words, only a faint nod, your body still swimming in the warmth that you’d been pushed into by mark. you could feel the way his cum dribbled out of you messily, leaking down your lower half and soaking up the sheets even further.

you’re pulled from your bliss with mark’s words, unexpected and apologetic, “want me to clean you up?” and you melt, nodded with a small ‘uh-huh’ as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him and knocking the sock off in the process. he’d return a moment later, towel in hand with one corner wet with warm water, patting you down gently, stark contrast to how he was just a minute ago. mark wasn’t mean but he’d tried to be nice and nice just wasn’t working for him - wasn’t working for you - so he had to show you how mean he could really be, had to counteract you somehow. you flinched when he started wiping your cunt, hissing when he bumped against your overly sensitive clit with the towel. he muttered a small sorry, drying you up and leaving once more, the sounds of the music from downstairs louder for a second before the door is closed, louder again and then muffled when he comes back with your shirt and bra, tossing it to your side. he avoided your gaze, absently fiddling around with something in the corner of his room, waiting for you to put your clothes back on. you get the memo, pulling your shirt over your head and reaching out for his jacket before you backed away from it, remembering that you’d come here to return the thing.

as you stood up to look around for your underwear and skirt, your thighs twitch as you feel his cum leaking between your legs, trickling down slowly. you could clean up properly later, sliding your panties and the skirt back to where they had left. “look,” he started, turning your attention towards him, “you can have it. just.. bring it back on saturday. there’s another party or something, ask william.” mark turns to you, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. you perk up as you clasp the strap to your heels back on, legs feeling like jelly as you moved to face him. you nod with a smile, eyes bright and sparkling like he’d just told you you’d won a billion dollars, “saturday, same time?” you ask, walking towards the door and resting your hand on the doorknob. mark hums at you, a silent yes. you take your leave, his broken jacket draped over your shoulders again as you make your way to the front door, ready to leave so you could go back to the dorm room you weren’t supposed to live in and sleep the next few days away. you couldn’t wait to party at house 242 again.

mark watched you walk away from the porch, your hands in his jacket’s pockets, the material swallowing you up to keep you warm. he shook his head, once again pinching the skin between his eyes, grabbing himself a clean towel so he could shower and fall asleep to the music that blared underneath him. mark thought he’d had enough of you.

now, he couldn’t get enough.

[hippiepowrs]

patchwork

eddie munson x (implied) metalhead!reader

eddie wants to add a new patch to his vest but hates sewing.

a/n: thank you for the love on my first fic!!! this one is based on the fact that i think eddie would be bad at sewing. like he could be good at it but it's funnier to think that he's not. also you will probably see a lot of metalhead!reader from me bc it's self indulgent and there's just not enough of it.

warnings: fluff. gn!reader. sewing needles (obviously). one mention of blood/vague mentions of eddie stabbing himself with sewing needles. established relationship. no reader pronouns. no use of y/n. use of "babe," "baby," and "sweetheart" as nicknames from both. playful bickering. eddie is a biter and impatient as fuck. swearing. sort of eddie's pov i guess?

wc: 877

Eddie is good with his hands. It’s undeniable. Between chords, riffs, strumming, and picking, his calloused fingers know how to move, and they know it well.

But the one thing he always struggled with was sewing.

To him, sewing was like the devil. A necessary evil in his life, but evil nonetheless.

There’s a reason his vest has always stayed so empty. Well, a few, but the main one is the fact that his fingers can never get the needle to move quite how he wants it to. He’s always stabbing himself so hard it draws blood, somehow. One time the needle went clean through. He was able to crack it for long enough to get his back patch on, and one or two more, but then he decided he’d be able to live with it like that. At least for a while.

But now he has you. You, the beautiful thing laying on the floor of his bedroom. You, the one with a cooler vest than him. He can’t let that slide for much longer, can he? He finds himself trying to sew on a new patch he got up in Indy, but he’s already giving up.

“Babe,” He calls from atop his bed, “can you sew this for me?” He gives you that look. The one where he tilts his chin down and looks up at you with his big, wet eyes and bats his eyelashes when he wants something.

“You can’t finish it yourself?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice that he’s keen to pick up on. 

“It’s–ugh… it’s just not going well.” He sighs, frustration showing. 

You stand up from your place on the floor and snake into the spot next to him on the mattress, getting as close as you can without sitting on top of him. 

“Baby, you have like… five stitches done.” You say, looking up at him with a sarcastically annoyed glare.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, though.” He pouts, playing it up like he always does.

You hesitate for a moment, not sure whether to argue or just accept it.

“Ugh, fine. Give it to me.” You pretend to be annoyed, but in all honesty, you can’t help but adore that he relies on you for things like this. It’s weirdly sweet, just like him. You’re able to quickly get into the groove of stitching the patch on, up and down, out and in. It’s relaxingly repetitive, but Eddie is looming next to you. He’s leaning over, a little too close, mesmerized by the way your hands work.

“Ed, can you get out of my fucking face?” You say playfully. He leans back a little to watch from a distance for a minute before leaning in and sinking his teeth into your shoulder. “Ow, you dick.”

He’s as impatient as ever. You can feel the way he’s practically vibrating beside you as he waits for you to finish with the stitching. 

“Go do something,” You tell him, knowing you’re only halfway done, and he won’t last at this rate. 

“But I wanna watch.” He pouts again.

“Put some music on at least, please?” You ask, putting on a softer tone so you know he’ll get up and do it. 

When he reaches his tape deck, he starts shuffling through his collection, trying to find the one that calls out to him. The previous album you were listening to finished a while ago, and neither of you were bothered enough to get up and change it. Eddie finds the cassette he was looking for, and pops it in with a grin. 

It’s the mixtape he made for you for your third date. A little corny, he knows. But, he’d never really gone out with anyone before he went out with you, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. Especially not when he found the coolest person to ever grace this horrible town. 

Your third date was a night that he’ll never forget. He picked flowers out of the rich neighborhoods’ front gardens, made a glorious mixtape out of all the music you guys talked about loving, and showed up to your house on time. That’s big for him. 

He took you out to a real dinner. It might’ve just been the little Italian place on Main Street, but Eddie made sure to save extra cash for the week leading up so that he had enough to pay for you. 

And now here you are, sitting on his bed, sewing for him. It’s so domestic that he thinks he’s going to explode. The way you’re so comfortable in his space, and you’re so comfortable around him. 

“I’m done, babe.” You softly call to him, holding up his prized possession to show your handiwork. 

His eyes widen when he sees you, the giant smile on your face, so proud of yourself—and an even bigger grin breaks out on his own. He almost tackles you onto the bed, engulfing you in one of the most aggressive, warmest hugs he’s ever given you. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” His voice is muffled in the hug, but he makes his point clear by littering your cheek with kisses. With one big smack of his lips on your skin, he mumbles, “God, I love you.”

reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!

[radioisntdead]

can we get op reader just beating the absolute SHIT out of valentino while vox and velvette watch on in horror? :3 perhaps others too, like perchance we somehow stutmbled upon valentino's set while angel was there and are just *appalled* and therefore decide his second living privileges need to be taken away <3

- snake

Good evening my dear!

When I tell you I audibly screamed when I read this request I mean it my dear! I despise Valentino and I adore this request! I did change some things because it didn't make much sense for the reader to just pop into the studio randomly and start going ham, so I went with some light backstory and causally gave the reader the found family treatment, anyways enjoy!

The Forgotten one

Reader fic,

Warnings!!

Mild torture {I say mild but limbs are getting ripped off, I don't go into detail and there isn't much of it but be warned!!} I'm imagining reader as an eldritch horror, This is literally just the reader murdering the grape guy horrendously, Reader ended up in eternal damnation for a reason! Also I'm imagining the reader to be British??? I don't know why, that was accidental but if you get British vibes that's why.

You died centuries ago, your generation laid long forgotten, you could barely remember your life before the black death had claimed it, you could just barely recall the high fever, hurling over in your cot and spitting out the blood that had gathered in your mouth.

You probably weren't the best person since you ended up here, maybe you were a tyrannical peasant? A murderer? A person of the night? A thief?

Maybe you had a family, maybe you were wedded, maybe you had kids, maybe you didn't.

Who knows, you certainly didn't.

You wondered if you will ever be able to recall those forgotten memories about your life.

All you knew is that you climbed the ranks quickly once you ended up in the underworld, gaining many souls, and power one could only dream of, becoming a feared overlord.

You've gone through many names, The dark one, the Wicked, The witch, the Warlock, A child of darkness, the devil's child, {That one didn't age well},

Most recently though you were deemed as the forgotten one, always lurking, watching, never coming out into the spotlight unless necessary, sending one of the souls you kept in your place while you hid in your castle.

However decades of solitude gets rather boring,

So you decided to go out, see what was new, after all when was the last time you were out and about? The 70's? Oh you adored the results of that decade.

Well venturing out turned out to be such treat! Turns out that fellow who adored ducks's charming daughter opened a hotel to redeem sinners! Oh how darling it was!

You popped in to visit it, finding the residents quite lovely, you simply adored how Charlie thought that you of all sinners could be redeemed! It was quite a foolish thought

But you liked that hotel along with it's lovely little residents,and if playing along with the Princess's delusions of you getting redeemed after so, so many harsh years, would let you stay in that hotel and cure your boredom then it wouldn't hurt to entertain that foolish thought now would it?

And so you stayed as one of the residents on the path of so-called redemption!

you got along well enough with the others, although Vaggie and Alastor were suspicious of you at first, although you and Alastor got along well after bonding over how the noisy picture box was overrated, it had wow'd you at first but that quickly faded as it progressed,

It took Vaggie awhile to trust you, but after you had taught her some of the skills you had picked up in your lifetime you became like a parental figure to the woman, which played out well as Charlie was already quite fond of you,

You had practically proclaimed them both as your daughter and daughter in law, you adored them both, baking them treats, gifting Vaggie a pair of some type weapon, giving Charlie something related to unicorns, or a joint gift for them,

You quite liked their reactions upon receiving something they liked,

You liked seeing them happy a little too much, so much that you started giving the others things you thought they might like, expensive alcohol for Husk, shiny sharp knifes to hunt bugs down with for dear niffty, vintage radios for Alastor, tools and things for inventing for Sir Pentious, and matching clothes for Fat nuggets and Angel for Angel dust,

You liked seeing their expressions when they liked something, it gave a warm, bubbly feeling in your stomach,

You liked spending time with everyone too.

Chatting at the bar with husk, Angel dust explaining things to you that you don't know, watching your fellow residents sleep with Sir Pentious, sparring with Vaggie, scrapbooking with Charlie, watching one of Niffty's roach puppet shows, taking a trip to cannibal town with Alastor to visit Rosie,

You slowly began seeing the hotel residents like family, you didn't have a family, or at least you didn't anymore so you don't know exactly how they worked but you thought that this was good enough,

They were your beloved family now, formed from delusional hope,

and you were their family reborn from a forgotten era, burned to ashes and thrown to the dark pits filled with brimstone, sin and death.

You'd do anything for them, you'd die for them, you'd live for them, and you'd kill for them, they most definitely were your family now.

And you typically protect family, right?

Right?

You heard about what happened in Valentino's studio with Angel dust, the bruises.

You were displeased,

More then displeased you were upset, you were angry, how long has it been since you were this angry how dare someone lay a hand on your dear family member?

You waited until the majority of the hotel were asleep, most notably Angel,

You made up an excuse to go out, saying you had to check up on your castle after all you had unfortunate sinners working there and they're headless chickens without you!

Charlie told you to stay safe before she went up to bed with Vaggie.

You would be safe!

fortunately though, a certain Vee, would not be safe.

You did stop by your castle, to grab a spear with Angelic steel, you mentally thanked yourself for grabbing it a several extermination days ago,

You twirled it in your hand before a large sinister grin over took your face.

It had been awhile since you were out for blood.

Getting into the Vee's tower was disappointingly easy! Scaling up the wall and breaking a window? Child's play!

What wasn't easy was finding Valentino, the bald pimp moth guy, you had to look through several rooms, why did they have so many rooms? Did they even need these???

Nevermind all that, after searching for an inconvenient amount of time,

you finally found the one that had dared to harm your dear family member, you tilted your head as Valentino squinted to see who you were, unraveling his wings once he didn't recognize you.

He didn't look like much, he was tall, red eyes, and he looked like a grape with wings, the grimaced, oh poor Angel Dust, he had to look at this everytime he went to work!

Thankfully after this he didn't need too, you twitched, transforming into a more demonic form.

"Who the fu-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence as you swiftly kicked him in the kneecap causing him to fall, cursing you and wincing at the sudden pain in his knee, taking that moment you kicked him again, this time on his side, pushing him properly on the ground, placing your shoe on his ribcage you began to slowly crush his rib, grinning at the beginnings of a cracking noise

Unfortunately the little grape screamed out for the TV fucker to appear,

You could hear the sound of cables getting ripped out and the sound of footsteps.

"Val, what is it this time? Is it about angel dust again, I- ShIT VaL, wHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?''

And the TV man makes an entrance shouting, how annoying, well you could always deal with him later, raising your hand pitch black inky tentrals came out from beside you, wrapping the TV headed man and attaching him onto the couch.

Returning your focus to the soon to be deceased, again, grape

You bent down to wrap a claw onto his wing,

It was soft, maybe you could make something for Niffty with it, a blanket perhaps? Or maybe a coat?

You pulled out the wing as Valentino screamed out in pain, blood splattering onto you, the floor and the walls,

a door swung open behind you before quickly being closed, just barely leaving a gap for a phone camera to sneak though, the owner of the phone looked on in horror.

You kicked Valentino over causing him to hiss and groan as he now laid on his stomach, how unfortunate for him, who knew that if you horrendously abused your employees an centuries old overlord would be out for your blood!

You grinned at how helpless he was now, how pitiful!

You grabbed one of his arms and pulled, nerves and muscles separated and blood leaked out.

Vox looked on in complete and utter horror, he couldn't do anything,

Would he be next?

The Vee's floor was destroyed, Valentino was shredded and separated, stabbed in the head with the angelic steel you had brought along as to ensure he would NOT be coming back.

Both of his wings were folded and set neatly on the counter away from the carnage, after all if you were to make Dear Niffty something with them they had to be clean, mostly, you'd have to clean them again, who knows what diseases that man was carrying, Yuck!

You took some of the carnage and place them into containers before putting them in a bag to carry with you, you tucked the detached wings under your arm, dusting yourself off you checked the digital clock on the wall,

You should get back quickly, they'll be up soon.

Moving around the broken glass and furniture that had gotten caught up in the downfall of Valentino you made your way out the door,

You let Vox free from your tendrils, hearing him move to possibly inspect the remains of his business partner and whatever else.

You wonder if the third one was still recording?

Oh well, that's none of your concern,

You knocked things over, shattered, torn and destroyed anything you could get your hands on as you went down the Vee's tower, destroying what you could.

At the bottom floor a box of fireworks caught your eye, you supposed it was for one of the Vee's something, maybe Velvette's fashion thing or one of the skinned grape's filthy films,

Well either way, you were going to borrow the fireworks, set them up on the ground floor and light em' up,

The fireworks boomed onto the floor, sparkling and bursting into flames, burning and sizzling anything it could get it's clutches on.

You left swiftly after, getting bored, and you were practically done anyways.

You should head home now, and stop by your castle to dispose of that spear.

You hummed as you moved around the kitchen swinging a spatula around on your finger before checking on the meat that was beginning to brown in the pan,

"Good Morning [Name!]"

Charlie popped into the kitchen, turning your head to her, you smiled at her,

"Morning Dear Charlie, I'm preparing breakfast for everyone, French toast for the majority and I picked up some fresh demon meat to make something else for Dear Alastor since he doesn't like sweet things,"

"Really? That's so sweet of you!''

"Mhm, It's nothing, But be a dear and call everyone to the dining room so they can feast?"

You ask tilting your head as Charlie nodded with a 'Yes!' before hopping off to gather everyone for breakfast.

You turn back to the stove, poking your spatula into the simmering remains of Valentino, hopefully the peppers and seasons make him taste decent, you would hate for everyone else to enjoy their food and Alastor be the only one to not enjoy the meal.

Hopefully they didn't suspect you when the news covers Valentino's demise and the destroyed tower.

You are not a good person by any means, you were condemned for a reason, this all started to sooth your boredom, you can NEVER be redeemed....

Or could you?

Maybe this little makeshift family that you desperately want to protect could change you, make you a better person.

It was a foolish thought, but as long as you can make them a mildly concerning breakfast, spend time with them, give them trinkets you think they would like, you were willing to entertain that foolish thought, more then willingly.

Thank you for tuning in folks! I'm working on those Susan requests and the other WIPS I have in my pocket so look forward to those!

[jennifer-jeong]

[Angst + Fluff] [Ryomen Sukuna x Reader] Next time

hehehe see what I did with the header picture, they're leaning on each other (you'll get it if you read)

SUMMARY Sukuna promises you he’ll be better for you in your next lives.

CONTENT NOT SPOILER FREE, suggestive, angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, it’s supposed to be a happy ending if you pretend that things don’t go according to canon LOL, very OC Sukuna so he actually has emotions, near death experiences, injuries, blood, death, suicide, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES I can’t write canon Sukuna because he doesn’t even like humans 💀 Basically this is pookie Sukuna LOL There’s a lot of deviation from canon in this fic. I'm probably going to make a smut portion to this in a separate fic so stay tuned hehe, I'll link it here if I finish it!

Word Count: 2244 why did this turn out so long... maybe I actually do like him

Back in the Heian period (a millenia ago), Ryomen Sukuna, “the king of curses,” peaked in power. At the same time, you were just getting started with your adult life. Unfortunately at this moment, however, it seemed that it would be cut short. A strong, locust-like, curse manifested in your village and you’ve been trying your best to stop it but to no avail. In fact, it’s currently pinning your body to the ground, trying to bite your head off. You imagine that the curse came to be due to the fear of famine in your farms, but you didn’t think it’d be this strong. You struggle but the curse is much larger than you are. You don’t even know what your last words should be, your mind going blank in panic. Your life starting to flash before your eyes-

“I suggest you fuck off my turf,” says a dangerously domineering voice. The curse looks up down the road and sees something you can’t in your current position. You barely need to look to figure out who it is though. The curse above you freezes in pure fear and eases up on crushing your body in a jolt. You hear the same voice “tsk” at the curse’s “disrespectful” hesitation and suddenly the giant bug flies in a seemingly random direction before essentially exploding due to the force. You sit up slightly with shock evident on your face, you turn around to finally see your unfortunate savior. He takes your silent shock as confusion and explains “the area is mine… filthy curses have no right to do as they please around here.” Your body feels heavy from the sheer aura of power he gives off but you can’t help but still make a mildly disgusted face at him for what he’s saying. You’ve heard he treats humans like livestock and you have always despised him for having power like that and choosing to do this instead of something good. He makes an angered face back saying “hah?” and just when you start to regret your choice of facial expression, he rolls his eyes and walks away. You pause for a few seconds before taking a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You mutter a “thanks” that you don’t think he hears before heading back to your home to tend your wounds.

Sukuna had been watching you recently. It was no coincidence that he appeared in front of you that night. He first noticed you when you were able to kill any of the curses that attacked your village. He watched, quite amused, that you continued to struggle with no fear against these monsters while the rest of your idiotic village sat back and watched, some even calling you insane despite you saving their lives. Sukuna doesn’t understand why you don’t just beat up the humans that don’t listen. You let them take advantage of your kindness even though you could wipe them all out with an arm tied behind your back. You’re overly kind but you still have the guts to stand up to someone like him. He heard your small mutter of gratitude while he walked away and smiled slightly. He’s never met someone he actually felt bad for in this way. He’s found something he feels pity for, and it’s enough to make him want to protect it, treat it like it’s special.

So now you’re here, a few days later in his temple, bowing 90 degrees in front of him with an offering in your hand. You came here to show him respect for not killing you or the other villagers. He’s impressed you even found him and more impressed that you made the trek here. He walks towards you and reaches for your chin with his hand to make you look at him and stand up. His eyes inspect your slightly flustered face while his thumb very slightly caresses your chin. He releases his hold on your face and takes the offering. You stand there, still on guard and weary of the man. But you know he hasn’t done anything to your village in the time that you’ve been alive, you just know he’s the “disgraced one” and that it can’t be good.

For the next few weeks, your time is spent half at the village and half at Sukuna’s temple. He decided to help you with the journey by just teleporting you with a “simple” technique that you couldn’t comprehend. You slowly discover that Sukuna is actually just so strong he’s bored, no one really stands on equal ground with him. Even if all the sorcerers in the world fought him, he’s confident he’d win, and you don’t doubt it (canon).

He thinks it’s cute that you still go back to the village to help out here and there. He’s only okay with it now because he can watch over you and intervene if anyone wants to be rude. Many of the villagers are kind to you from a distance, only some actually approach you to thank you from time to time. A small group of the villagers unfortunately highly suspect you to be a curse of some sort though and don’t trust you because you’re so powerful. You’ve only ever done good with your power and you know that for a fact, so you ignore them. Sukuna, however, sits in his temple absolutely fuming whenever they interact with you, he’d maim them if you told him to, but you specifically told him he can’t hurt any humans unless they attack first.

Sukuna enjoys watching your little daily endeavors, smiling whenever you’re clumsy while cleaning or when you accomplish hunting down and killing some curses. It brings a sense of innocent joy to his life that he hasn’t ever really had. He’s had violent, murderous joy in his life, but nothing like this before. Some might say it made him soft, but really it made him stronger in a sense, he finally had something to protect.

As time goes on and seasons change, you and Sukuna only grow closer. You can’t explain why you’re still here with someone you used to hate with every fiber of your being. You think it might have something to do with how he actually sees you. He sees your struggle and your kindness and properly appreciates you for it. No one else in your life has done that for you. No one protects you and cares for you like he does. You also learned that he’s always been pretty good or at least neutral in using his power too. Only killing humans when attacked, beating up strong sorcerers but not killing them, and killing curses that bother him in his land. He was never actually as bad as the rumors made him out to be. Basically, Sukuna fell first and fell harder before you realized that you had fallen all the same.

Sukuna can’t help but be a little obsessive over you. You’re the only one he has eyes for afterall. He always checks in to make sure you’re safe when you aren’t at the temple and actually learns how to cook new dishes so he can feed you. His touches always linger on you: his hands on the small of your back, fingers brushing through your hair, lips ghosting over your skin. When you spend nights together, he’s essentially worshiping your body, telling you how beautiful you are and how he’s all yours. You make sure to return the favor and make him feel loved, it makes his heart feel so full and only deepens his love for you.

You’ve discovered overtime that Sukuna is actually human, he’s just so unbelievably strong and feared that people think he’s a curse. It was strange, you could almost draw a parallel between Sukuna and yourself. Both of you were feared by some because they just didn’t understand you or your intentions. It was an unfortunate part of this reality, but as long as you could live happily together, you didn’t really mind.

Another unfortunate part of this reality, though, was that things never go according to plan. Your plans of living happily together with Sukuna quickly fell apart soon after your 3 year anniversary. The sorcerers knew that they could use you to bait Sukuna and have a much better chance at defeating him. So that’s exactly what they did. They caught you when you were out in the village in the late summer. You were strong, but there were too many of them.

It was doomed before it even started.

In the end, Sukuna is out of energy, being forced to fight offensively instead of defensively if he wanted to save you. You managed to escape to return to him and help, but you were both quickly overwhelmed since the sorcerers decided to play dirty like this. You were both sitting outside of the temple, having teleported away to buy some time. You both just sit and talk. “Have we even killed anything other than curses recently?” you question. He chuckles at your seemingly lighthearted question in this situation, “not that I can think of… I think this was always coming for me though.” You look up at him with concern, he can only smile back even though you can see the clear sorrow in his eyes. “Humans are always scared of what they don’t understand. It’s just how it is” he says as he closes his eyes and enjoys the sun. The warmth drying the blood on both of you, some of it belonging to you both, most of it belonging to your attackers. You’re silent, not sure of what to say in what seems to be your last few moments. He leans on you and you turn your head to touch foreheads. He sighs and says “I’m glad I met you at all though… You showed me what being loved is like. It was something I never thought I’d find or deserve.” You start to tear up and reach a hand to caress his cheek. “You always deserved love, darling. I’m sorry the world was so horrible to you,” you say to him in a gentle voice. “Don’t apologize, love” he says as he kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around you.

“Maybe if we can get them to hate us enough, they’ll curse us together and we can live on like that” you say jokingly. He chuckles and says “wow you really do like me, huh?” You both laugh and hold each other.

A group of sorcerers are within view and are approaching fast. You give him one last kiss and speak your last words to him: “maybe we’ll reincarnate together someday. Maybe as curses, maybe as humans.” His eyes soften with sadness written all over his face “if that happens, I promise our lives won’t be like this one… I want to be a good man for you next time… I’d give all this power up if I could just live a long and happy life with you.” You close your eyes as tears fall. Your eyebrows scrunch as the pain washes over you, physically and emotionally. You see him tear up ever so slightly and whisper “I’m sorry for all the trouble, my love.” “Just make it up to me next time,” you giggle. He knows you never blamed him. He smiles.

You always knew what you were getting into when you approached Sukuna. It was dangerous, delusional, and stupid. But you know you would’ve never had it any other way.

You both still sat side by side, foreheads touching, holding each other. You quickly charged two shots of cursed energy. One piercing his skull, the other, yours.

You eventually become a small part mentioned by people when they retell the tale of the king of curses. Many described you as a traitor or as a curse. But some could see that you prevented Sukuna from spiraling deeper into his distaste for humans. Without you, he might have become a sadistic psychopath as time went on since no one would have any way to kill him. They praised you for that, thinking you did it on purpose to save the nearby villages. Both these ideas were lost in history though. In modern times it’s only written in some books at jujutsu high as hypotheses. No one truly knew what happened.

Sukuna’s powers sealed into his fingers upon death. A technique he used on himself before he met you and one he long forgot about. The sorcerers, out of fear, scattered his indestructible fingers to prevent anyone getting their hands on them and reincarnating the king of curses. Hoping to keep the man dead.

Again, reality makes sure things don’t go to plan, and it’s Yuji’s first day meeting some of his classmates. Sukuna has been wondering what to do since he’s been reincarnated into Yuji’s body. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet in Yuji’s mind and it makes everyone question if Sukuna is really the evil being they all thought he was.

Sukuna is barely paying attention until he feels a familiar warmth walk into the room, not even needing to see you to know who you were. He couldn’t believe it, he almost laughed, thinking that the universe really brought you two back together after more than a thousand years. But he paused, suddenly serious because he realized he had a chance to make things, not right, but different.

After class, Sukuna switches with Yuji, and lo and behold, you show him the exact same disgusted face you made to him centuries ago when he came to greet you in Yuji’s body. It made him smile as he let out a whisper,

“I missed you.”

Thank you for reading!

|| MASTERLIST <3 ||

[youunravelme]

okay but how does mat propose??? (like a pt. 2 follow up to the wedding cake fic)

omg omg omg a proposal request!! let it be known, i have never been engaged, BUT all my friends got engaged/married last year so i think i'm uniquely qualified (edit: this was started in 2023, you know, when this request was sent. once again, my b). (though this might just turn into my dream proposal bc i'm in love with him).

for those of you who wanna check the part 1 of the wedding cake fic, here it is!

another edit: i wrote this to distract myself from my absolute disdain at scott mayfield.

carry on.

his hands were sweating all day.

which was weird, considering it was february.

but it wasn't weird, given what he had planned. he didn't know if he wanted to scream or throw up. the idea of you becoming his wife surely made him giddy, but it was soured with the slight chance that you might say no. he was supposed to propose before the season started up again, but he was plagued with anxious thoughts.

it's not the right time.

i'm not ready yet.

or the worst one: i don't think i'm that serious about you.

which, in hindsight, wouldn't make sense considering you were already living together and have been for quite some time. you wore his jersey to games, you had conversations about starting a family, you texted his mom and sister more than he did. there was no reason for you to say no.

right?

right?

after he chickened out back in september, mat's new plan was to wait until the bye week to propose. he was going to take you on a vacation to conil de la frontera, spain. he had everything booked and ready.

but then he was drafted for the 2024 all star games.

he could see it in your eyes, you were ecstatic for him to be recognized, but when you took a week and a half off of work, you were planning on packing your bathing suit, not taking a short flight to toronto.

you bore the slight disappointment well, smiling and kissing him and hugging him tightly when he got the news. he beamed when he saw you post about it on your instagram.

he couldn't wait any longer to ask you. your reaction to a change in your vacation plans from something warm to canada in the winter solidified what he was anxious about for months.

you loved him, there as no doubt about it.

you were the most selfless human being he knew.

his teammates had been crucial in the planning process, well, at least their wives were. bo, marty, anders, brock, and clutterbuck had been chirping him since the start of the season when they noticed that your left hand was still devoid of a ring.

"what're you waiting for, barzy?" bo asked after a practice one day. "you found a good one, she'd probably wait forever for you, but why're you making her wait?"

mat shrugged at the time, too embarrassed to admit that despite being one of the best players in the league and having millions to his name, he was terrified that it still wouldn't be enough for you. not that you'd ever demanded more from him, you'd taken him as he was and cheered for him even when he was having the shittiest time of his life.

he could give you the moon and still wouldn't feel like it was enough.

so when mat finally told his teammates about his plan in toronto, they immediately communicated to the wives who were closest to you. sydney, grace, and holly took you out to get your nails done while marty, anders, bo, and mat started researching the most romantic places in toronto on anders' laptop just in case you spontaneously went through mat's search history.

the day was planned, the photographer and necessary tickets were booked, he'd propose at the evergreen brick works after texting auston matthews about cool places to visit while he was in town, (he had to clarify that he didn't care about cool bars, and was looking to bring you along).

you'd been talking nonstop on the plane ride to toronto that you didn't even notice mat was quietly stewing. everything had to be perfect.

it was the very least that you deserved.

the first day in toronto, both of you explored the city by going to coffee shops and restaurants recommended by players and their significant others. when you made it back to your hotel room, your feet were aching.

you fell face first into the bed, whining into the comforter. "my feet hurt," you groaned.

mat laughed from his position leaning against the wall. "i told you to wear better shoes," he said.

"i didn't anticipate you dragging me all over toronto today."

"well, that's what we'll be doing tomorrow too, so prepare yourself."

"mat," you whined, finally flipping over so he could see your pretty face again. you had a cute pout on your lips that he wanted to kiss away. "we're on vacation."

"and you've never been in this city before, you should get to see it." he walked over to where you were and grabbed your hands. "c'mon, let's go take a bath and then we can order room service and spend the rest of the night in bed."

you were quick to agree.

the following day was pretty mundane. but wednesday was the cause of mat's stress.

his phone lit up with texts from his teammates, his parents, liana, tito, and ethan, all wishing him a good luck. the two of you woke up early enough to go to a local cafe and grab breakfast before taking the bus to evergreen brick work.

"you okay?" you asked, placing your hand on his knee to keep it from bouncing anymore.

he thanked whatever possessed him to keep the ring box in his coat pocket on the side that wasn't pressed up against you.

"yeah," he smiled. "just ready to get there."

when the two of you hopped off the bus, you slid your hand into his almost immediately. out of habit, mat tucked you into his side, happy to just have you close. it was a little cold outside, but it was like he couldn't feel it because of your proximity.

"mat!" you tugged on his arm and pointed at one of the signs. "they have ice skating here!" you grinned widely up at him and he couldn't help but smile right back. "we should go!"

"we will," he said. "i wanna do this trail first."

you looked at him funny. "you wanna go on a walk?"

he shrugged, tearing his eyes away from you to focus on the signs in front of him. "auston suggested this place."

"you're asking for a lot of suggestions from auston. it's unlike you..."

"there's no need to be suspcious, babe. i know that you wanted to be in a tropical place for vacation, that was the plan and everything, but since we're here, thought we'd make the most of it."

you scrutinized his face for a moment longer before nodding and pulling yourself closer to him.

after you secured another hot coffee to combat the cold, mat started leading you on the trail. while you were ordering, he was coordinating with the photographer to make sure she was in position.

the trail itself wasn't that long, thankfully because mat couldn't get a word out and if it was any longer, he feared you would've caught on that he was incapable of speaking.

you were still talking about work drama when you got to the lookout point. your voice was taken away by the sight of toronto in the background.

you hadn't always been the most observant person ever, you didn't even know he liked you until he told you verbatim when he couldn't take it anymore.

"oh my god, mat," you gasped. you pointed at the skyline in front of you with the hand that wasn't holding your coffee. "look how pretty it is!"

he swallowed and knelt down on one knee while your back was turned. mat took the ring box out of his jacket pocket, doing his best not to drop it despite how much his hands were shaking.

"have you ever seen anything that--" you whipped back around to look for him. he watched as confusion filled your face when you didn't see him standing behind you, but kneeling in front of you.

"oh my god," you whispered, dropping your coffee on the ground so you could cover your mouth with both hands. "mat what--"

"i love you," he said. "i love the way you squeal at every cute baby that comes across your for you page or the way you cry at the drop of a hat. i love how you celebrate everyone around you. you are the brightest thing in my life and if i quit my job tomorrow, i know my life would still be fucking amazing because i'd have you.

"i know that my schedule is hectic, and you could probably find a man better than me, who was more consistent, who wasn't going to play games or have practices on your birthday, who could take you out of the country for a vacation to somewhere warm instead of dragging you with me to an all star game. but i promise you, i will do whatever it takes to give you the best life possible if you'd let me. i wanna grow old and crinkly with you, i want our kids to have the same last name as both of us. i want to be able to point you out in crowds and tell strangers that i somehow managed to convince you to marry me.

"i have never been more terrified in my life than i am right now," he admitted. "but i have never been more certain of anything i want more in my life than you. so will you have me? will you marry me?"

in the middle of his speech, mat didn't realize when he'd started crying, didn't even notice that you were all but sobbing. he just recognized the scent of your perfume when you lunged towards him and kissed him hard on the mouth, your tears mixing with his.

"yes," you mumbled into his mouth. "oh my god, yes."

mat let out a watery laugh and managed to slip the ring on your finger even though his hands were shaking. you pulled him up to stand and immediately wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him close.

you were sniffling as he pulled you in for another kiss.

"i love you,' he whispered against your lips.

"love you more," you smiled back.

[spectersgirl]

heyyy!! so i just started s5 of suits and (spoiler if you haven’t seen it!!!!) harvey’s panic attacks were introduced after donna left and IM HURTING FOR HIM. but i think that’s such great angst material lol so if you’re still taking requests maybe something with that?

Hiiiii friends!

I know I've been gone for... quite a while... but I'm hoping to start writing more frequently again! I've undergone some massive life changes over the last few months and the stress of that basically caused me to completely burn out creatively. That being said, I have a TONNN of requests in my inbox and a few of them are generally in this same realm, so I will be using all of them for this piece, I hope that's okay with you all <3

The other requests were

"soft harvey just around his girl in a tense moment?!"

"hiii! i love your writing! i was wondering if you could write a fic where harvey had like a bad day at work and he just goes home and collapses onto the reader. like just hugs and softness and cuddles galore!"

I referenced actual events and lines from the show but changed up the context a little bit, obviously.

I appreciate you all for reading my work and liking it enough to request anything from me. I've never had such a positive response to anything I've created before, so this all means the world to me. Truly, thank you :')

Be With You

Harvey Specter x Reader

--------

It was nearly 11pm and you were teetering on sleep, having worked all day and come home to do a much-needed cleaning of your apartment followed by a glass of wine, when your phone loudly pinged on the nightstand. You fumbled for it and turned on the small bedside lamp next to you. You smiled when you saw it was your boyfriend, probably just saying goodnight, you'd assumed.

"Hey, can I come over? Please? I really need to see you right now."

A pit formed in your stomach reading the words on your screen. Though you hadn't been dating Harvey all that long, you'd spent a lot of time together, but he'd never sent a message like that.

"Of course, is everything okay?"

You couldn't help but worry, it was simply in your nature. You stared at the bubbles that indicated he was typing, which seemed to take an eternity.

"Not really, it's been a rough day and I just really need you."

Your heart lurched, Harvey had rough days all the time as a lawyer, but none had caused this response from him. You wondered what could've possibly happened. You got up, going back out into the living room and took a seat on the couch as you lit your electric fireplace with a remote.

"I'm sorry :( come over whenever, I'll unlock the door for you."

You did just that and looked down at the pajamas you'd chosen, just some shorts and a tank top. You decided they were fine enough for Harvey to see you in. You busied yourself with some TV to pass the time until he arrived. He was there in 20 minutes, and you immediately clocked the visible exhaustion on his face as he walked inside.

He dropped his jacket onto the couch without saying a word. You opened your arms for him as he walked to you and wrapped himself around you in a hug that felt like he was clinging to you for dear life. You stroked the hair at the back of his neck as he breathed you in, and you felt that he had been sweating.

"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" You asked hesitantly, still cradled in his strong arms.

He shook his head before pulling back, allowing you to really look at him now. His eyes looked like he'd been crying, and his cheeks were flushed. Your heart plummeted into your stomach.

"Not right now, I just need to be with you." He said, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nodded and sat with him on the couch, laying your head on his chest while you listened to his heartbeat. He absentmindedly stroked your hair while staring into the fireplace, debating on whether he wanted to fully open up about everything that was on his mind.

When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with nerves, and you sat up at full attention.

"I... A while back, right before I met you, Donna had left my desk to go and work for Louis. When that happened, I started having panic attacks. It felt like I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, it just completely took over my entire body until it passed. She came back to work for me, and then I met you, and I think that combination helped me tremendously."

You nodded, listening as he continued.

"I didn't want to tell you about it because I didn't want you to worry or make you think I was weak, and since I stopped having them, I didn't think it was important anymore, but today... I had another one."

"Harvey, I would never think you were weak for being honest about your feelings or your struggles. I'd like to think you'd be understanding and supportive of me if I was going through the same thing."

"Of course I would!" He said definitively.

"Exactly. So, do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to sit some more?"

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair.

"Donna told me she didn't want to be on my desk anymore, she said she wanted more. I get that, but I just don't know how I'm going to do what I do without her help."

"Did she say what she meant by 'more'?" You asked softly.

"She said she didn't know."

Harvey hung his head slightly, looking down at the floor. You could tell how much this was affecting him, normally he had all the answers and didn't sweat about getting what he wanted, but this time felt different. You knew how much he and Donna had been through for them to get to this point, so it never occurred to you that someday she might want to leave her position. You idly rubbed circles on his back.

"Maybe you can still give her more and keep her at the firm with you?" You suggested, desperately trying to come up with a solution to soothe the pain you knew he was in.

"I'd love that, but ultimately if she wants to go, I have no choice but to let her."

You sighed and laid your head on his shoulder, you yawned and briefly closed your eyes as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

"You tired?" Harvey asked softly, suddenly noticing that it was long past the time you normally went to bed.

You nodded, sitting up again.

"Yeah, but I knew you needed me." You answered, looking up at him as you grabbed his hand, kissing the back of it.

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to keep you up." He replied, feeling guiltier than he had when he walked in. The time hadn't even registered to him after the day he'd had.

"No, no. It's okay, this is what partners do. You should be able to lean on one another, it's a balance. I'm glad you trust me and our relationship enough to want me to be with you for this while you process. Now, are you sleeping here with me or are we going back to your place? Because I know you, and I know you won't admit you don't want to sleep alone tonight."

Harvey smiled weakly before he pulled you in for a soft kiss.

"I love you, Y/N. So much." He whispered against your lips when the kiss broke.

The admission made your heart skip a beat. Neither of you had said the L word yet, but you knew from the moment you saw him that he was it for you. Harvey had felt the same but didn't want to come off as some crazy boyfriend that knew you for all of five minutes, so he buried those feelings deep down for as long as he could bare.

"I love you too, Harvey." You said, a smile growing on your lips.

"Let's stay here tonight, I don't want to spend another second not in a bed with the wonderful, gorgeous, brilliant, selfless woman that I love." Harvey declared, standing and taking you with him.

"Uh oh, you're gonna make me cry." You warned, sensing the impending waterworks.

"I'm just getting started."

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[authorhjk1]

First of all, Happy New Year!

Second, holy fuck, Midnight..the idea of ending and starting a year with fucking arguably the 3 best milkers is just wild, and while a small part of me wishes you could've explore more into the foursome action and some gxg between them as well, overall it was still smoking hot, considering the timing as well releasing this right at the end of the year with the theme of fucking them 3 to end the year is quite a nice touch honestly..and that Karina sequence especially was so fucking amazing,really,thank you for such an amazing fic to close 2023 and welcome 2024..

Last but not least, looking forward for your next works too, but do take your time and no need to rush things,good luck too for all the things you do in life and i'll patiently wait for you to drop the next one whenever you have the time too,best of luck and take care!

Happy new year to you as well!

Hope you like this small scene:

You watch as Jihyo takes the condom out of your hand. Getting distracted for a moment by Karina's lips, which wrap around the tip of your cock, you almost miss out on the sight in front of you.

Standing in the door to the bathroom, you can see Jihyo walking into the shower. Eunbi is inside, sitting in a pool of warm water and her own juices. And probably Karina's as well. Her eyes are only half open, her wet hair sticking to her face, shoulders and the tiles of the wall behind her.

Too tired to react, Eunbi feels how Jihyo pulls at her jaw, forcing her mouth to open. Tilting the condom in her hand, she let's your cum fall onto the breathless Eunbi. A small puddle of cum lands on her lips and mouth, before Jihyo cheekily, changes the angle. The rest of your sperm lands on the older girl's tits.

"Oops. My bad."

Jihyo coos as she chuckles, Eunbi too drained to defend herself.

A groan escapes your lift as Karina keeps sucking you off. Her hand holds onto your base, slowly stroking it, while her lips run along your length.

By the way her eyes are closed, you can tell how much she enjoys the taste of Eunbi's slick on your cock.

"Are you getting him hard enough for me? That's so sweet of you."

Jihyo is standing behind the youngest, who's eyes are now open in surprise and anger.

"(Y/n) just wrecked your pussy again. It's my turn, greedy slut."

Karina pouts as you glance at the window. It used to be completely fogged, due to the steam of the hot water coming from the shower. But Karina's face, which is completely wet by now, cleaned the window nicely. You pressed her against it as you took her from behind. The puddle of her cum is still staining the floor and parts of the windowsill.

Jihyo pulls at Karina's hair, making the younger hiss in pain as she gets forced off your cock.

"You better fuck me good, baby boy."

Jihyo takes you hand and walks out of the bathroom, just like Karina did a few hours ago.

Jihyo's tits feel like heaven. They are tightly wrapped around your cock as she kneels in front of you, while you lie on the bed. Her soft mounds move up and down, sandwiching your cock in between.

Karina is lying next to you, Eunbi's head buried between her thighs. The youngest moans as the oldest fucks her pussy with her tongue. Eunbi was shy about it at first, but is now getting into it. Karina's hands try to hold onto something, until they find your body. Her nails dig painfully into the skin on your arm and chest.

"Are you gonna shoot your load all over mommy's tits, baby?"

You are barely able to nod. Jihyo has a good eye, you are already close.

She spits into her cleavage, enabling her to move up and down your length even faster.

"Good boys always cum on their mommy's boobs."

Jihyo's eyes are fixated on yours as she tries to predict the exact moment in which you're gonna cum.

Next to you, Karina's moans have reached another high and so does her body. Her thighs trap Eunbi's head in place as she cums on the older girl's face.

"Unnie!"

Her sweet voice makes the word sound lewd and erotic.

It slowly pushes you over the edge as well.

"Cum for us. Jizz all over my tits."

You finally follow Jihyo's order.

You start exploding, your load coating her chest with your cum. She moans in satisfaction, feeling the warm liquid on her skin.

"That's a good boy."

She sighs, letting your cock fall out of the space between her tits.

Eunbi was able to force her head out of Karina's pussy by now. She is now straddling you, impaling herself on your cock. The sudden penetration makes you groan.

"Please breed me, baby."

She moans loudly.

"Can you get me pregnant?"

That whispered question makes you hard immediately. You are suddenly aware that Eunbi is riding you. Raw.

_____

Thank you for always reading my stuff, I will make sure to keep writing as soon as possible.

Stay healthy!

[the-marshals-wife]

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have to answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.