#you can't see it that well but he has an eyebrow piercing

[devilsmamba]

hot as hell, 24 years old, makes 1 million bucks a day

[teddybeartoji]

suguru geto is unbelievably captivating.

he catches your eye immediately – standing tall, he's got one hand on the subway pole to keep his balance. his hair is tucked into his hoodie with only a few strands left out to frame his face. you can only see his side profile but it's enough; a sharp, prominent jawline and a beautiful nose, thin eyebrows, a pierced lip and a pair of tired eyes. you feel bad for thinking it but the dark bags under them leave you no other option.

afternoon sun peeks from the windows behind him, successfully making the scene before you seem like a painting. the colors move; the shades of green flashing by as trees wave you goodbye, the different hues of the tired grays, of the big buildings taking up space as the base of the canvas. splashes of black and white and silver and beige are thrown into the mix, too. his slacks, his big headphones, his jewellery, his totebag. but what truly brings it all together, is his deep, dark maroon hoodie; there's a hint of purple in it aswell, and you just think it's one of the best colors you've ever seen. you figure the thought is a bit silly, but you can't get it out of your head.

something so comforting about it, something so warm and welcoming. something a little murky about it. you can't look away.

you forget about everybody else around you. for you, it's just him in this moment. a total stranger. you don't know him and you probably never will; a pang of hurt hits right under your ribs at the thought. you wonder what his name is, you wonder how his voice sounds. how warm his hands are, and what's his favourite color. no, he doesn't seem like the type to have a favourite color. childish. you'd have to ask about a favourite drink or a book perhaps instead. you're fine with that.

you can spot a few rings on his fingers, a silver watch and a bracelet or two peering from under his sleeve. his hands are pretty. they look good. you also think that you can see a tattoo sprouting from under the collar of his hoodie but the dark lines are blending in with the strands of his hair, so you can't be sure. you want to be sure.

your foot taps against the floor or the cart, your body itching to scoot a little closer to him. you want to see his whole face. you need to. fidgeting with your own fingers, you continue observing the man in front of you. he might step out every second now, you can't waste any more time.

his shoulder seem very broad, his posture almost immaculate. handsome – you think he looks very handsome. well put together. his clothes aren't wrinkled, there isn't a single hair or a speck of dust anywhere on them as far as you can see; the only things that betray his true state of being are his eyes.

purple. glued to the window in front of him, he watches... nothing. he seems a little out of it. he's not focused on the trees or the buildings, the people aside him. you think about what kind of music he might be listening to.

the subway doors open and you jolt, head turning around to look at the platform behind the glass. people stand and leave, and a few come in, leaving an open space for you to take on the bench you're currently sitting on. and you do take it.

there he is.

you can see his eyes a little better now. keen and sharp, he reminds you of a wolf. a malnourished one. the corners of his mouth are tilted down and he really does seem tired. but he's still utterly, utterly beautiful. his skin is almost perfect, his hair shiny and his lips a little glossy. but not too glossy though – no, he definitely uses something like shea butter. something that isn't too thick, something that doesn't smell or taste too strongly. it just seems right.

you've never been this captivated by a stranger before. it's weird. the effect this man has on you without ever even sparing you a glance. you think about asking for it. for a glance. for a second of his time. a fraction of it? anything. everything.

how would he greet you? would he be mad? would he think that you're bothering him? would he give you a smile? a scoff? an eyebrow raise? would he let you ask whatever your heart desires? or would he brush you off, never even removing his headphones when you try to speak to him? oh, it hurts. the blatantly fake heartbreak still hurts.

his trainers are clean - they're white with some accents on them. they match his hoodie. you wonder which he bought first. did he buy the other with the intent of wearing the two pieces together? you want to ask him. that's not his favourite color though, right? no, no – he wouldn't have one. this man reads books and watches movies that are mostly only shown at different festivals. you don't mind it.

films. foreign films. he knows names of the directors from the top of his head, he could probably name a few cinematographers, too. fancy. but that's not his main thing, definitely not. there's something missing, something you can't grasp with just your eyes. what is he passionate about? truly passionate. what does he pour his heart into? is that why he's exhausted? is he tired from loving something? is it starting to hurt now? is it overwhelming? does he want a break? does he want to rest? does he want to get away?

the sun finds your eye from behind his body, forcing you to tear your eyes from him. the cart stops again, the doors open. you try to rub out the slight burn, suddenly a bit frantical that you'll really lose him. you look up and—

he's not there.

he isn't there anymore.

people walk past you, plopping down beside you as you're still trying to find him. turning in your seat, you eye the station. maroon, maroon, maroon, maroon. c'mon, how fast does this man fucking walk?!

but he's just not there.

you think it's unbelievably unfair that it's the sun that made you lose him. isn't she supposed to be full of love? bullshit. with a huff, your shoulders slump and your eyes fall shut while sinking into the bench below you. the cart seems to rumble more now, the seat way more uncomfortable than it was a mere minute ago. you really are disappointed; in yourself and in the world. why didn't you get up? why didn't you speak to him? better to get a no than to drown in the million 'what if' questions in your head. stupid. you're stupid.

"hi."

as you listen to the voice recording of the station names, the very same ones you memorized years ago, you crack open your eyes. your own shoes stare back at you; they're dirtier than his were. you don't think too deeply about the comparison. sun dances on the ground before you, the various shapes entertaining your mind with the shadow play. but you don't stay for long; trailing up, you see the familiar paint and your heart skips a beat. white and maroon. black. maroon. silver.

purple.

[rxmye]

" 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 . . . "

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 / 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — Yoichi Mikami . . introduction | masterlist | requesting rules . . warnings : nsfw content / sixteen + content / gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / Yoichi is aimed at people with a savior complex tbh / yandere content / pathetic yandere / submissive(?) yandere /

a/n: this is just a character sheet of some general info alongside nsfw and sfw headcanons below . .

Appearance: Yoichi has fair skin and soft brown hair, which is slightly wavy and it reaches all the way down to the bottom of his neck; it's well kept as he has this obsession with his hair. He has light hazel coloured eyes and soft pink heart shaped lips. He has the inverted triangle body type, so a slim waist. He's toned but nothing over the top, his physique is mainly thanks to his close friend Lucas forcing him to join when working out. Yoichi has slim Vieny hands, and stands at a tall 6ft in height. Yoichi has many piercings, truly the embodiment of "You're not depressed, you just need to get your skin pierced", with 3 different ear piercings, a tongue piercing, and to top it all off a eyebrow piercing. (He has yet to get a lip piercing, but let's be honest, he's one melt down away from getting one).

Character basic info: Yoichi's birthday is on June 12th, he is Pansexual, and emophilia which is a tendency to fall in love fast, he's a hopeless romantic as heart and is more of a obsessive and delusional type of yandere/stalker. His has many hobbies, which includes but is not limited to, cooking, drawing, writing, photography and etc . . Yoichi has a major sweet-tooth, and is not that picky with what he eats but hates peppers with a passion . .

backstory: Yoichi is currently attending university, he's in med school and plans on becoming a surgeon, currently completing his bachelors. Yoichi comes from a well-off family, he's old money and his family is pretty traditional but rather accepting when it comes to him as he is an only child. His parents have always been reserved with affection except when it came to each other and though he's aware they care and love him, he often times craves to fill the missing gap with his romantic entanglements, hoping for something similar to what he saw his parents having, . . which has led him to being a hopeless romantic. Yoichi has always struggled with sleep, but now has found a remedy that comes in the form of y/n . . and he does not intend on letting them go . . .

NSFW | 16 + CONTENT BELOW THE UNDERCUT . . .

Yoichi's love language is quality time and physical touch, the feeling of skin on skin, your touch, the smell of your hair, the scent of your sweat as your embrace him closely is something he wishes he could stitch into his brain. Yoichi is willing to die in the comfort of your touch, your embrace, to let you swallow him whole is his dream.

Despite that, Yoichi is a switch, he has no personal preference when it comes to who's taking the lead in bed and has a high libido, yet he wants nothing more than to feel as much of your skin as possible, he wants to swallow your breath—to become one. He'll take anything you give him, and expects the same in return.

Despises bondage for that very reason, restrainment will drive him insane—he'll whine, he'll cry. . if he can't feel you, if he can't reach out and let his hands touch your pretty hair, grip your thighs . . Same applies to blindfolding him, he needs to see! He needs to feel, see, touch, smell, taste you, he needs you to overwhelm his senses!! You can't do that to him!!

Cock-warming would be torture, it would be a punishment for him, he'll do his best to behave, but honestly he'll be a crying and pleading mess in no time, you mean you're going to let him stay inside you . . yet not let him move? You feel warm, wet, and amazing, he wants to feel more . . let him have more . .

He's more of a groaner then a grunter, he whines and has a habit of overstimulating himself, which leads him to overstimulating you. . He just needs more, thursting deeper into your walls, touching you, his mouth on your neck, fingers teasing your nipples, sharp teeth sinking its fangs into your flesh, he wont stop unless he himself is on the brink of passing out, fingers gripping ever so tightly on your waist, thighs, fucking into you sloppily and messily, he'll leave both you and himself a crying mess . . as drool drips down onto your chin.

Aftercare is usually something he has to prepare before hand, because with the way he goes, it'll be unlikely that either of you will have energy to move out of bed, most of the time he'll have snacks and drinks prepared for afterwards, and you both will spend the time cuddling.

He despises quickies or voyeurism, he doesn't mind fucking you against the window, or when someone is near, but he dislikes the idea of doing it outside of the bedroom harshly, sex is intimate . . and he wishes to keep it as such.

With that, he also dislikes degrading, other then the few small occasions. However, this man adores receiving and giving praise, he'll compliment everything, voicing how much he adores you—the way you taste, the way you moan his name, your fucked out expression when he goes a little bit faster then before.

On the other hand, Yoichi really really really likes being degraded, he'll never voice it—but go ahead! Call him a pervert while he kneels at your feet, worshipping your body as it should be!!! Call him sick and twisted, please call him names, choke him—Oh . . he also loves it when his partners get aggressive.

Also, bite him, scratch him, dig your nails into him, pull his hair, he loves anything with a sting or mark that's left behind . .

NON-NSFW HEADCANONS

Yoichi is a obsessive, delusional, and stalker type of yandere, he often writes down his fantasies in a book, and isn't afraid to get violent when needed, he'll defend himself by repeating a lie over and over till he believes it—till it erases any guilt or remorse he feels. He's willing to kill, he's willing to do all of that, because if it came down to it, he'll lie to himself, so much so, that even he himself will convince his mind to believe that yes, he did the right thing . .

He's skilled at stalking, yet he rarely risks breaking into your house—out of fear he may leave one thing misplaced and you'll catch on, his insomniac, sleep deprived mind is paranoid and anxiety ridden, and he cannot risk anything of that sort, he may watch you from outside your window, he'll move near you, he'll follow your around the neighborhood to satisfy his whims . . he'll stage coincidental meet-ups at class, clubs, etc, until he can come into your home as a friend lover!!

As he can't sleep without your scent, he often tries to satisfy his whims by buying similar perfume/cologne as you use, it does the job for awhile, and he's at least able to sleep a bit, he still prefers the smell of your old clothes, and the real thing more . . .

Yoichi often writes letters to his darling, that he refuses to send out of fear that they might call the authorities, despite knowing full well they'll do nothing about it, since he's not a 'huge threat' to them. He had done his research before this entire fiasco, and has taken to imitating traits of famed stalkers in movies and documentaries so no one catches him.

Also, he isn't the type to steal underwear or anything of the sort, he's much more above and mature then that. . instead he steals all the clothes you plan on donating, because what greater purpose can they have but being a part of his shrine, collection, horde. Same with any tangible items, why should he dig through the trash? No, he couldn't have dirty hands when he plans on touching his darling in the future (he's a germaphobe) rather, he'll offer to throw out that juice box, that piece of gum you have wrapped up in a tissue, yeah . . and then stuff it in his pocket.

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[mariasont]

can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist. 

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive.  Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug. 

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

[namfinessed]

ex-things - m.yg.

genre: angst (after breakup!) (4.8k)

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

masterlist

-

“scarf,” you say as soon as yoongi appears at the door, you fail to hide your smile when he throws his head back in exasperation and throws the door open.

you push past him and enter his apartment which looked…exactly the same.

but then again, you did just break up some ten minutes ago so, of course, it would be the same.

you don’t know why you expected the universe to shift just because your heart was broken.

and as you throw back the cushions on his sofa, push the things on his coffee table, look under the sofa and table, and walk past him to check the coat rack and then the kitchen, you feel his piercing gaze following your every step.

you knew where it was.

it was in your bedroom.

or well, his bedroom now.

“can you hurry the fuck up?” he groans and in that second, you eye the black plastic cover filled with two or three soju bottles sitting on his kitchen counter.

you swallow and yell back, “can you just let me look for my scarf in peace?”

another groan.

a stomp on the floor.

“fuck, i’ll mail it to you,” yoongi makes his way into the kitchen with loud steps and you arch your eyebrow at him, then look towards the green bottles shining on his counter, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and spits out, “i was going to drink today before anything ever happened, don’t feel too special.”

“really?” you muse, clinking them against each other, and in the next second, yoongi’s hand is wrapped around your wrist and he’s pulling you, gently, towards the door.

“i’ll send it when i find it,” he murmurs as he pushes your coat, your car keys, and your phone into your hands, and you don’t say anything for a while.

you clutch your belongings and stand by the door until you notice how yoongi's eyes are bloodshot, their usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. his shoulders rounded with an invisible weight, and you feel guilty for leaving.

“a-are you okay?” you ask, it feels stupid to ask because you know, you were the same as him.

he laughs bitterly and throws you a glare, you notice how his hands tremble beside his body, and you look away to save him and yourself from the pain of asking again.

“i just broke up with my girlfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” he breathes out, you wonder if it pains him like it’s paining you to hear his words, “now, can you leave?” yoongi gestures towards the door again.

you sigh, “wait a minute,” and enter your his home again.

“what now?” he throws his hands in the air and stomps after you.

he watches you grab the scarf from under his bed, he turns his eyes away when he sees your hands shaking while holding it, “did you know where it was?” yoongi breathes out, his face and voice in disbelief.

you don’t say anything again.

and when you leave, he pours himself glass over glass to forget the trembling of your jaw and how you paced around the apartment while knowing exactly where you kept the scarf.

he laughs again, the sound is strange, rough, and just wrong without your laugh chiming with him.

he pours himself a glass again.

-

it’s been a week.

“hi,” you say as yoongi walks into his house, he jumps a little, clutching his chest as his eyes widen to look for you.

you raise a hand to wiggle your fingers at him as a ‘hello, hi, ex-boyfriend, you’re back at your home and so am i!’ and yoongi blinks.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, i was loo-“

“wait wait, how did you even get in?” yoongi frantically marched to his front door and twisted the knob to check for any damages and you roll your eyes.

“i found your key under the potted plant. speaking of which, do you want to get robbed or something, why would you even put it there?” you throw your hands in the air as you sip tea, grimacing as the strange, bitter taste of yoongi’s favorite green tea spreads in your mouth.

“first of all, stop drinking my tea, you don’t even like it” you put the cup down with a sheepish smile and fold your hands on the table.

“and second of all, i didn’t think i had to worry about any ex-girlfriends breaking in, my bad,” yoongi complains loudly and you press your palms to your ears, shaking your head, “i’m not even here to see you, i’m here for…well, i’m here for,” you struggle to finish the sentence.

and yoongi glares at you.

“what is it?” as he moves his head to pin his glare on you, his soft, freshly straightened hair moves with him.

“straightener!” you say loudly, clapping your hands, and yoongi’s eyebrows narrow again, “you’re going to get wrinkles, yoongi.” you point at his eyebrows but he doesn’t let up, you’re sure that his eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“okay! i’ll be on my way once i get that,” you wander off into his bedroom and yoongi throws his head back in exasperation.

your straightener is easy to find because well, it’s not yours, it’s his and it’s just sitting on his vanity but yoongi doesn’t bat an eye at that.

he only watches you move around his home with his arms crossed on his chest and an unreadable satisfaction on his face.

and when you leave, you can’t help but notice that for all his annoyance, he never tells you to not come back, and he never tells you to find everything you own and leave at once.

with that knowledge, you leave his home with the biggest grin on your face.

-

“you need to get out before my booty call gets here,” you happily eat your ice cream on the kitchen counter as yoongi walks into your home as if he owned it.

did you mention that he was the one to bring you ice cream?

your favorite too, one scoop of hazelnut and one scoop of brownie.

“ha ha, very funny, you should start thinking of a career in stand-up” he responds with a roll of his eyes and you giggle even more, sliding down to catch up with his pace around your home.

“what are you here for?”

“t-shirt, you know the one you stole,” yoongi shrugs and glares again, walking right into your room and you follow with hands closed behind your back, “which one?” you muse as you remember all the (10) t-shirts you’ve stolen from him.

he looks back as he nears the closet, eyes narrowing at you, “how many do you have?”

“how many can you remember that i have?”

yoongi groaned in sheer frustration and you crawled on your bed, watching him pick apart your closet, and glaring at you whenever he found one of his t-shirts in there.

for a moment, it was amusing.

it was the funniest thing to watch yoongi get annoyed, you always enjoyed it.

but in the next moment, when he was around his fifth t-shirt, you felt this ache slowly develop in your chest and spread across your throat and then your mouth, then it was everywhere.

it was this dull throbbing that you couldn’t shake and your eyes dropped to fiddle with your fingers instead of looking at him, collecting his belongings from your home.

because, just two weeks ago, it had been your t-shirts too, hadn’t they? and it wasn’t just your home then, it was yours and his, wasn’t it? sure, you had separate apartments but it never felt like that, it felt like you had two homes and both homes belonged to both of you.

and now, you only had one.

you had wrapped your arms around his back when he was in your room two weeks ago, he was here now but you couldn’t even touch a hair on his head without feeling like you’ve crossed a line.

your head was starting to collect the ache and make a home for it so you ask, “are you almost done?”

you didn’t mean to ask him that, you actually very, very badly wanted yoongi never to leave so you could believe again, ‘i have two homes, i have two toothbrushes, two mugs, two keys, two doors, and two of everything’ but yoongi pauses, he collects the t-shirts he found and nods, “yeah, i’m done.”

when he walks out of your room, the ache finally takes over your head and you follow him with dazed eyes and stumbling feet.

at the door, yoongi stops, he turns around with concern brimming in his eyes and that is enough for your hands to shake again, “you good?”

“i just broke up with my boyfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” you deepen your voice to mimic his and yoongi shakes his head with a small laugh, “you better be okay,” he says at the end, and his voice is so soft, it feels like cotton pressed into your cheeks.

and you nod because if yoongi says you have to be okay, you’ll find a way to be okay.

but when he leaves, you are back to having just one home, with one toothbrush in the bathroom, one mug in the kitchen, one set of keys in your purse, one door, and one of everything else.

and you’re sorry to yoongi.

because you don’t know if you can be okay.

-

a couple days passed again.

you had an angry yoongi pacing in front of you as you watched.

“you’re being ridiculous,” yoongi shoves a hand through his hair, glaring at you as you sit with arms across your chest and refusing to look at him.

“i’m not,” you huff out and he rolls his eyes.

he did that a lot.

he did that a lot with you.

“i didn’t steal your plushie, are you fucking kidding me?” yoongi whines and walks away into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

you follow him and right at the doorway, you don’t enter, you just watch his even more sunken eyes and even more rounded shoulders with conflicted eyes.

a part of you wanted to hug him.

a part of you wouldn’t mind killing him.

a part of you wanted to kiss his shoulders to lift them.

a part of you wanted to leave a red mark on his face.

but all parts of you, you couldn’t trust or believe.

these past few days, you couldn’t trust or believe anything actually.

yoongi senses your eyes on him, he knows how you look at him and how you seem to show so much with just a gaze but he holds strong.

you were broken up.

you shouldn’t be here.

hell, he’s not sure if he should be here or not either.

but he betrays himself over and over again, he lets you into his house and you let him into yours, and he feels ridiculous every time he closes your door, he’s not sure what you feel when you close his.

“i threw it away,” he shrugs his shoulders, eye muscles tensing oddly, he’s not sure if you notice or not.

“what?” your whisper is so quiet, yoongi wouldn’t have known you were speaking if he didn’t see your lips moving.

“i threw it, okay? there was no use of it being around here anymore, so i fucking threw it away,” he didn’t mean for his voice to be loud, and he didn’t mean for his words to hurt but maybe he did, maybe he wanted to hurt you.

but he loves you?

but he’s also okay with hurting you.

to an extent.

yoongi had never understood why he couldn’t love properly, why his love for others and himself had to hold a touch of pain, a touch of misery, but it was always out of his control.

it had been different with you.

for a while, that is.

but he was back to his roots now, pain and misery and love and affection held his hands and danced around him.

and he had to dance with them too.

“i threw it,” he repeated, but your plushie was tucked into his pillows, into his sleep, and into his days and nights.

it was stained with salty tears now, it was stained with the ice cream he ate after he left your home, and he didn’t want you to see it.

for a moment, you both didn’t even twitch in the wrong direction, yoongi watched the dark liquid in his cup with growing intensity and you waited for him to tell you that your plushie was safe.

“fine,” you sniffled, grabbing your coat and stomping to the door and yoongi followed, he tried not to but his feet walked ahead of his mind.

at the door, you angrily shoved your feet into your sneakers and pushed your hair out of your face, as if to prove that you weren’t crying, that you weren’t affected and anyone else would believe you.

but yoongi knows you.

and he knows your red nose and cheeks can only mean one thing.

before you close his door, you say, “you’re a horrible person, yoongi.”

he thinks he knows what you feel when you close his door now.

hatred.

-

you swore to yourself that that would be the last time you turn up at his place, but you had genuinely forgotten something there and needed it this time, so you swallowed your pride and rang his doorbell.

you don’t greet him when he opens the door and yoongi feels like he could fall to his knees when you shove a bag with his favorite ice cream, matcha, and coffee (he’s a caffeine guy, he runs on it), into his hands and yoongi knows he’s forgiven.

“i forgot my trousers here,” you mumble afterward and head straight into his closet to dig through for the work trousers that you cannot live without.

yoongi doesn’t dare to utter a word, he looks through his closet beside you and apologizes when his skin touches yours in any little way.

you can’t believe there was a time when you would touch him as if his body was yours too and he would touch you the same. but his apologies just dug the truth deeper into your skin, which was that you didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you.

so, you nod, you bear your cheeks heating up and thighs going weak, and just look through his neatly organized piles of clothes too.

he used to organize your stuff too, he used to section them, fold them, and keep them neatly by his clothes.

that’s how you find your trousers, crisp folds, and fresh-smelling, right beside his work clothes.

and your heart squeezes as you pull it out.

the folds loosen, the trousers limp in your hands, and that small change in its structure, makes you think of yoongi and everything that fell apart with him.

when you leave that day, you pause at the door and whisper, “you’re not horrible, yoongi, but maybe i am, maybe i ruined everything, but please don’t hate me.”

before he can catch you and wipe your tears and tell you that you were right last time, he was the horrible one, he was the one who texted late, who came home late, who missed birthdays, but you were already running away and he was left with a lit cigarette burning his throat.

-

“i swear, it was here,” yoongi shifts the things around your closet, head buried deep in shelves and racks of clothes and shoes, you stand at the doorway with your arms crossed against your chest, trying not to roll your eyes.

“and you have a million other headphones, so i don’t understand why you would need to find this one,” you step into the room and lazily move things around to try and find it too, yoongi scoffs from a few feet away, “it was special to me,” he says and turns his back to you again.

“why?”

“my grandfather gave it to me,” yoongi huffs, and his hands stay busy.

but.

“your grandfather died when you were five,” there was no way his grandpa gave it to him and you know you’ve caught him.

he could’ve at least tried harder with his lies.

it was strange, seeing him here, standing in your bedroom, surrounded by things that no longer belonged to both of you.

you don’t think you’ll ever get over that feeling of loss.

the moisturizer you would’ve shared with him.

the cheap wig that he would wear to make you laugh.

the razor that you would hide to annoy him.

they only belonged to you now.

though you don’t bring up his grandfather to drive him away, you only say it because it was hard for you to understand why he was here, looking for headphones that he could buy tens of pairs of.

he pauses, you wait for him to say something else, or lie about a friend who didn’t exist who gave it to him, lie about his dad giving it to him.

but yoongi doesn’t say anything.

he keeps looking.

you refused to keep anything that touched you in the last three years.

well, except for some things.

“yoongi,” you call out, pointing towards the unopened box in your closet and he turns his head that way, quickly walking over to it and flipping it upside down.

the photo album that carried your first anniversary.

the promise ring that he gave you on your second anniversary.

the matching couple t-shirt which he cringed at but wore whenever he could.

the.

the.

the.

so many the’s and so many first’s and second’s of things that you kept, though ‘kept’ was the wrong word, you treasured these things, you loved them.

and all of them fell on the floor with noise that shook your ears and chest, not because of the volume but because it was like you were pouring your heart in front of him.

but you loved them in the past, you liked to think that you did and you were in the present now, watching yoongi eye the things you gathered without his knowledge.

and all of it was only yours now.

“when did you keep this here?” he asks, and you immediately know he’s asking about the simple diamond ring that everyone thought was your engagement ring.

but it was just a promise ring.

and you removed it when, “that day you didn’t come for my birthday,” you mumbled, picking up the things and putting them back where they belonged.

buried inside a box.

shoved into a closet.

but before, you pull out his headphones from the box and hang it over your head for him to take.

when he takes it, his fingers touch the smallest part of your palm and your eyes gather tears as if rivers were breaking a dam in them.

yoongi stands without saying a word for a long time but then he walks to the door, “you’re not going to close your door?”

you’re not coming to see me off?

you get up unwillingly and walk to the door without sneaking another glance at him and drop the ring into his palm, “bye, yoongi.”

his hands tighten around the band of platinum.

both of you look at the dangly, worn-out wires of his headphones that hang from his other hand.

you had given them to him for your first anniversary.

not his dead grandpa or dad or friend.

it was you.

and both of you refused to acknowledge that fact.

and when yoongi finally leaves, he leaves behind a space in the air that waits for him to come back and take his place again, in your life, in your home, in your space.

but he doesn’t turn back.

and you close the door, letting the space remain.

-

a few days went by again.

neither of you showed up at each other’s doors anymore.

neither of you had anything left to collect.

neither of you had anything that belonged to the other.

and it was strange, the quiet, the loneliness that crept on your back and it always hit at the most unexpected of times.

when you poured your cereal in the morning, you realized you were holding the box that you had bought while grocery shopping with yoongi, it was your favorite time of the month, the one time you could really feel that he was your person.

but the box was empty by the end of your breakfast and you kept it back in the cabinet.

when you arranged your clothes, you saw your messy folding and fell back on the pile of clothes that still needed folding.

how yoongi did this every day, you had no clue.

but as you lay in pieces of cotton, linens, satins, sequins, and many more materials that hugged and pinched you, you couldn’t help but think that surely, yoongi wouldn’t leave you like this, there has to be something of his that you still own.

there has to be something.

so, you got up and with renewed desperate energy, you started searching.

you pulled upon every desk, every closet door, every nook and cranny, you searched with shaking hands and watery eyes.

“there has to be something, there has to be,” you whispered to yourself, your voice choking as things fall over from the tall walls, they fall on your feet, and your toes, and a sharp pain hits you every single time, but you push through.

because.

there has to be something.

you can’t end it like this.

you and yoongi cannot end like this.

anyone else can.

but not you, not him and you.

and the closets you look through stay ajar, the desks you’ve emptied stay tipped over, and everything you own is on the floor.

but there is none of yoongi in any of it.

so, you sink.

you sink to your knees, sobbing and flipping over items as you reach them.

because goddamit, there has to be something.

when the bell first rings, you don’t register it, you are way too intent on the clutter in front of you.

but then it rings.

and rings.

and rings, again and again.

relentless.

and you push yourself up, hoping it’s no one you know because you don’t think you can explain the tears on your face.

but when you open the door, your mouth goes dry and you know you don’t have to explain anything.

because across from you, is a red-eyed yoongi and he’s carrying a box.

“can i come in?” is all he asks, his voice barely a whisper and you’re already opening the door and pulling him in.

but once he’s in your home, in your space again, the familiar soft and sharp scent of him, the sight of him, it was too much. you couldn’t breathe. your eyes never leave him, every breath he took, every shift of his fingers, every fall of his chest, all of it was dancing in your eyes and for the love of god, you couldn’t look away.

he sets the box down and stands there with his hands opening and closing around nothing, and you want to grab them, you want to spread them across your cheeks and feel his warmth, which was sometimes cold too but you didn’t mind, you never minded with yoongi.

but instead, you curl your hands behind your back and stop yourself because it still wasn’t right.

“i don’t have anything of yours,” you start, voice already breaking, “anymore,” you finish with hands tightening so hard around each other that you could feel the bruises blooming on their surface.

“i know,” he takes a sharp inhale of breath and looks away from you and you want to beg him to look at you.

for a second, it’s just you reliving every second you weren’t with him and it’s him looking at your apartment that was void of anything personal, anything that called it a home.

“i want all of it back,” he sniffs, looking at you finally, you want to take it back, you aren’t sure how you survived three years of his eyes only on you and you squeeze your door handle, “all of what?” you whisper, and he sniffs again, “your stuff, all of it, your stupid scarf, your straightener, everything, i want all of it back, in my place, in our place, where it belongs.” he says it so quietly, so earnestly and each word has you pulling your skin tighter.

“your plushie is in this, i never threw it away but i’m taking it back, my t-shirts and headphones are in this, i’m leaving them here,” he bends over the box and starts picking things apart, and each thing he pulls out, fills you with relief.

but.

“but that isn’t right, yoongi,” you try to defend, “we aren’t together anymore,” you hate the words as they surface out of you and yoongi shakes his head.

“but is this right?” he lifts his hands from the box, his jaw trembling again and you instinctively smooth your hand over it and yoongi pushes his face into your hands.

“is it right, both of us miserable?” he whispers and the world bottoms out from underneath you, suddenly gravity is nothing and you’re both floating towards each other.

“but i hurt you,” you grip his headphones and this time, his tears fall the same as yours do, “i hurt you too.” he places a hand on your knees and that cold warmth, that bare touch leaves you open.

“but i’m done, i don’t want to hurt you anymore,” yoongi begs, he shakes his head as he says it as if he can’t believe there was a time that he had hurt you but you’re the same, you can’t believe that you hurt him once.

“before you came here, i was looking for something, anything that was yours so i could come back,” you sniffed loudly, your voice falling and lifting and yoongi listens with eyes that have always looked at you, “but i didn’t find anything, yoongi and it killed me.” your voice fully gives up as you bury your face into your hands and immediately, you feel his arms pulling you into his chest and his hands running down your hair.

“you don’t have to do that anymore, i’m back see,” he tips your face towards him and his smile is so soft, so real that it makes you smile too, “i’m not going anywhere.” he assures you with a kiss on the top of your head and your watery eyes dry out.

“me too, i don’t want this anymore, i want us, i want two of everything, i want you and i want everything,” you utter back to him, the weight of the words floating between you too.

“and you have it, you have everything again, the ring is in there too but that is for whenever you’re ready.” he kisses you again and you snuggle into his embrace, feeling like you’ve lost centuries of holding him, the thought of the ring swells your chest into a balloon that could snap, “that will take time, but thank you,” you whisper, kissing where his shoulders met his neck.

“like i said, whenever you’re ready but it will always belong to you.” yoongi whispers back and you smile in pure delight, nodding along to his words.

“we were stupid for thinking that we could stay apart,” you laugh hesitantly into his chest, the idea of the two of you trying to be separate was ridiculous to you and yoongi laughs with you, which makes you melt into his body, because it was ridiculous, you were two parts of a whole, two houses in a home, two mugs in a kitchen, two keys in your purse, two toothbrushes in one bathroom and two of everything else that you could think of.

and that was how it should’ve been, that was how it was always meant to be.

somewhere in the night, yoongi crawls up your sheets and your plushie is between the two of you and you make fun of him for acting as if he threw it away, he rolls his eyes and shushes you with a kiss.

“by the way, that straightener is yours, not mine,” you whisper and he is aghast, “i fucking knew it,” he yells and sits up, and immediately starts to complain “you know how stupid i’ve been looking with hair that looks just like holly’s!”

and you remind him, playfully this time, that what was yours was his, and what was his was yours and he falls on the bed, grumbling under his breath and complaining until the sun comes up.

and it feels right, everything that belonged to you and him back in their place, back in their homes and yoongi, back in your life, your home, and your space.

just as it should be, just as it was meant to be.

[celiime]

୨ৎ — .ᐟ Him ‘n his stupid infinity! [Pt.2!]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁— Continuation to him ‘n his stupid infinity!

[Ps! I did this all in dark mode, so i’m not exactlyyy sure how it may look in light mode? hehe, so sorry if it looks super bad in light mode! it looks okay in dark—so if it bothers you in light mode, then please switch to dark mode for the best reading experience! mwah! thank you!]

╰┈➤ Gojo Satoru finds himself in a dilemma once he discovered that his cute underclassman hates him—without even knowing the reasons behind her hatred! How could he get himself out of this? Well, it seems like fate has it all played out for him…but he somehow manages to go against all odds and making it even worse.

Or in which, Gojo Satoru seems to only have his infinity activated around specifically you, his underclassman, even though you’re no threat and a student yourself! The longer you go without knowing why he does this, the stronger your dislike grows towards him. Why is he doing this? [This takes place in 2006!]

"She hates me, Suguru! Did you see how she glared at me when we passed her this morning?"

"You're being overdramatic, Satoru..."

Gojo Satoru was overdramatic at times, even he could admit that, but this time—he really wasn't being overdramatic! This was a serious problem!

All his underclassmen were supposed to like him, even Nanami (nevermind how the younger boy clearly can't seem to stand being around him, he's a different story.), so why is it that his cute little underclassman hates him this much?

You were too little for all that hatred to be in you body! Where do you even conjure it from?!

A groan left Gojo's mouth as he slumped over his desk, his cheek squishing against the wood as he wallowed in his agony—in the form of his underclassman hating him, despising him.

"Suguru, Shoko...do I smell bad? Is that why she doesn't wanna be near me?" A pout tugged down the corners of his lips as he tried to jump to any conclusion, anything that could pose a possible solution for this first world problem. “Be honest!”

But of course, his best friends would be here to appease his worries, right? As friends always do.

"Yeah." Ouch!

"You stink." Did he really?!

"You guys suck!" His shoulders slumped, narrowing his eyes at his friends from behind his round glasses, just how unsupportive were they?

This was serious!

As the chorus of laughter soon ceased, his pout deepened even more. What a man baby.

A hand rested on his shoulder—Suguru, he was always familiar with that touch—snapping him out of his sulking, prompting him to lift his head to shoot his best friend a curious look. "Hm?"

"Is it possible that you've done something to upset her?" He suggested, tilting his head to the side as he provided ample information for his friend to start questioning his interactions with said underclassman.

Suguru had to fight the twitch of his lips that threatened to tug up into a smile, he knew exactly why you 'hated' him. Hah.

"Yeah, Gojo. I heard from Haibara that she doesn't hold grudges, so you must've done something reaaaally bad for her to treat you like that!" Cue Shoko chiming in, a semblance of an innocent smile on her pink lips.

Oh, her intentions were anything but innocent.

Each suggestion and word was like an arrow—not even a cupid’s arrow!—shot into his heart, piercing his chest and forcing him to lament on their words. This is…extra bad, it’s only becoming worse by the minute!

“Wh—What! Haibara must be lying! You know how playful he is, heh—“ A nervous smile tugged up the corners of his lips, looking between his two friends for reassurance, “Right?…”

Silence.

“I’m done for!”

“What’s up with…him?” Shoko raised an eyebrow at Gojo, who had his head on his desk, neglecting the tray of food infront of him.

Gojo always had a huge appetite, why wasn’t he eating?

A fond smile tugged on the corners of Geto’s lips as he kept patting his friend’s back, “He talked to her.” He could barely conceal the chuckle he felt leaving his mouth.

Oh…well, isn’t that a good thing? They finally talked!

“So? What’s the idiot moping about?” Shoko crossed her arms, half-lidded eyes trailing over the sulking student, “Didn’t he want to talk to her?”

“You don’t get it!” Satoru’s loud voice boomed through the classroom, “She hates me even more now! Gahhh—I completely messed up!”

How?

Let’s go back a bit.

“These vending machines suck…seriously.” A small huff left Gojo’s lips as he stared down at the water bottle in his hand, having went through the trouble of literally almost tousling with the vending machine so he could acquire it, “Such a pain.”

Class had already started, but he was in no rush to even hasten his steps back to the classroom, after all—he’s Gojo Satoru, he can be late all he wants and he won’t even get scolded. Mhm!

That’s a lie. Yaga-sensei could and will give him punishment for this but, he just hates this current lesson, so he’s going to take his time strolling very slowly through the halls of the school.

Or at least, that was the plan. Until—

He heard a few noises coming from the first years’ classroom, and while it is technically normal to hear noises—it is an inhabited classroom after all—the first years were supposed to be on a mission, right? That’s what he heard from Yaga-sensei.

Or at least, that’s what he thought; he was starting to rethink if he had heard Yaga incorrectly because there were for sure some noises from behind the closed door of the classroom.

Look—Gojo isn’t nosy, he’s just…yeah, he’s nosy.

With that admission in mind, he slid the door open, curiously peeking his head in as he looked around, blinking as he found all chairs empty.

Huh. Maybe it was his imagination, after all.

Just as he was about to leave and slide the door shut once more, a small sniffle immediately halted all those thoughts.

He totally wasn’t imagining that!

He scanned the classroom once more, eyes narrowed in determined, before—lo and behold, the cause of his tantrum in the morning.

Slumped on a chair, and…crying?

!!

You were…crying, evidently so, if the tinted sight his glasses provided him with was real, then you definitely were crying.

Did…something happen in the mission?

Despite himself, his narrowed eyes softened, eyebrows furrowing in subtle worry as he found himself worrying for the safety of the first years, if the cause of your tears was anything related to them.

After all, it wasn’t uncommon to hear of a passing in the Jujutsu community, student or not.

“Hey…” He promptly called out, going against all his rational thoughts—he didn’t have any of those—and deciding to confront you, to figure out why you were shedding this many tears.

The underclassman he knew, though very polite and friendly with others, was a girl who held herself highly, one that he’d never seen shed this many tears. This was seriously worrying.

At his call, your head snapped up, eyes rounding in shock—

and oh—

Your wide eyes, glassy and glazed over with tears, rimmed red with the evidence of the intensity of your tears, nose attaining a red color on the very tip…

Satoru thinks this sight may have tugged something in his heart, just the slightest bit.

You are his underclassman, a younger student that he finds endearing, always trying to insert himself into your daily life just to see your worthwhile reactions, always wishing you a good morning when he passes by while going to his classes. And sure, while you don’t spare him the time of the day, he still finds himself doing it.

Satoru was not crushing on you, yet, he didn’t hold feelings for you, but he is unsure if this may be the same for the future. If anything will change.

If the sight he’s seeing right now is repeated more often, then he thinks something may just change.

A sniffle broke him out of his thoughts, finding you hastily wiping your eyes with the back of your hands, getting rid of the tears latching onto your long lashes— “What do you want?” Your tone still held the same harsh lilt, “Haibara and Nanami are not here.” but it bore a soft edge to it, a testament to your vulnerability.

“I’m—ah—I’m not looking for uh..Haibara, or Nanami…” He trailed off, finding it awkward when you were this close to tears once more, he didn’t know how to deal with people when they were this emotional—

especially when it was his underclassman who seemed to dislike him.

“Okay then. I’m not in the mood for you to annoy me, okay?” There it was, the little crack in your voice, “Go back to your lesson. Geto-senpai told me your attendance sucks.”

Agh—That Suguru! Does he only go badmouthing him off to you or something? You already disliked him enough!

“I attend all my classes! Suguru is just jealous of my astounding attendance!” He hurried to defend himself, a pout gracing his glossy lips once more. However—this moment wasn’t really for him, it was about you, why you were crying.

The reason he even entered the classroom at all.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on a mission? With the other two?” He struck the question, genuine curiosity in his glasses clad eyes.

Your eyes trailed down, narrowing in dismay.

Just the mere mention of the mission—how badly it went—was enough to bring that annoying burn in your nose once more, the sight of Gojo infront of you blurring as tears filled your eyes once more.

You were not going to cry infront of him. No. Why would you give him another reason to tease you?

“Hey hey. Easy.” His eyes widened with shock as he saw the tears collect in your eyes once more, “What happened? Is everyone okay?” His tone softened, the best he could manage at this situation, he was never good with emotions.

Gojo would never hold this against you in the future. He was sure of it. Emotions were very dear to him, he understood how important they were for someone and how painful it was to display them infront of others.

He would know, he never displays much emotion anyways. Despite the storm of emotions building up in his chest by the day.

However, you found yourself thinking the opposite.

You couldn’t cry infront of him. You just couldn’t. It was too embarrassing.

But the way his tone softened—

“The mission—“ Your breath hitched, feeling your throat closing up the second you tried to hold the tears back, “went well.” Why was your voice so thick with emotions?

“Haibara and Nanami did well.”

Gojo raised a questioning eyebrow.

Why did you not mention herself? Did you not go on this mission with them, too?

“And how did you like it? You seemed pretty excited before leaving.” He tilted his head, trying to find a way to worm around this without pressuring you too much.

Your eyes rounded with tears.

Gojo’s eyes rounded with panic. He didn’t mean to make you cry again!

Shit.

“I don’t—“ You paused to take a breath, raising your hand to wipe your eyes, “I don’t think I did well today.” The words slipped out of your lips before even getting to process them.

Just what effect did this idiot have on you?

“The curse…it was so…grotesque looking—“ red rimmed eyes looked up towards him, hands resting on your lap as you tried to hold back the tears, “I know that’s normal—but! It didn’t look like the usual curses…”

God, Gojo probably thought you were so lame now. Not that you care, especially when it came to him, but it just wasn’t a good look for your image.

Gojo’s breath, on the other hand, hitched.

God, You were so…endearing. Usually, Gojo would scoff or roll his eyes whenever hearing of someone who’s weak—he’s always been filled with a bit of arrogance—thinking that they shouldn’t be sorcerers. But, in his eyes…

You seemed like the most endearing thing ever.

The sight of you crying didn’t sit in his heart so well.

“I’m usually stronger than this.” You mumbled, gaze drifting down to your lap, “I barely managed to save Haibara…he would’ve been dead if I didn’t act sooner.”

Under the desk, your hands clutched your skirt tightly.

“You did a good thing. You saved him.” Gojo breathed out for the first time in a few minutes, internally grimacing at how awkward he sounded, “What’s up, then? You seemed to be…crying a lot.”

He didn’t like hearing you dismiss your efforts so easily, to cast aside the thought that you prevented a literal death from taking place. This—

This type of achievement was one that all Jujutsu Sorcerers always wished for after the loss of their teammate.

And oh…how his heart tightened in his chest as he saw you discreetly wiping the tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t—None of my efforts were enough!”

Satoru thinks that crack in your voice pulled at something in his heart, bypassing his infinity and going straight for his heart. Stronger than any curse.

“Haibara could’ve sustained less injuries if I acted sooner.” This was so humiliating, crying infront of your upperclassman that you supposedly didn’t stand. Yet, the only thing you could do right now is cry.

Cry at your failure, your dismay, at everything that went horribly today.

“Woah woah—easy there.” Gojo finally found his voice, startled upon seeing you actually crying this time, “You did your best. This is the best case scenario, yknow?” He tried to be comforting, even though he knew he positively sucked at it.

Ahh—he couldn’t just comfort you from a distance, it would look like he wasn’t even trying to put in effort or that he didn’t care. Which wasn’t true! He cared! Or else he wouldn’t be here.

Swallowing the lump in his throat—wow, since when was Gojo Satoru the nervous type?—as he approached you, taking slow, deliberate steps…almost as if carefully approaching a frightened kitten in fear of startling her.

He inwardly chuckled at the comparison, finding it incredibly fitting for his cute underclassman.

“Do you want some…water?” He gestured to the bottle in his hands, the one he spent almost half an hour trying to retrieve from the vending machine.

Yes, he was giving you the bottle he wasted oh so precious time trying to get. I mean—pshhhh, it was just water, right? He could get another bottle!

You raised a brow at his words, patting under your eyes with your uniform’s sleeve, “What? To share an indirect kiss with a creep like you? Hmph. No.” A huff.

Creep?! Gahh—you just called him a…a creep! He isn’t a creep! He’s your totally cool and dependable upperclassman! Come on, he was totally just looking out for you!

“No—! I didn’t even drink from this, wh—“ He flailed his hands, feeling an aching need to justify himself to you, “Come on! I don’t even share my water with anyone, anyways!” He felt a familiar pout on his glossy lips, pulling them down.

And oh…how you felt your eyes softening at the familiarity of this all, at how this was a stark contrast to the thoughts that were swarming your head just before he came. This was…a familiarity that comforted you.

Ew.

And well, your throat did feel like it was a bit dry after all. You silently cursed at yourself for forgetting your water back at the dorms.

“Fine. I guess I could drink some.” You gave in with a defeated sigh, after much contemplation.

Immediately, his face lit up.

Aha? Yes! Yay! Victory for Gojo Satoru!

A wide smile formed on his lips, feeling a prideful air surround him as you agreed to his request, he took a few steps towards your desk, finally getting the okay to come closer without feeling like he’s breaking boundaries.

And—huh? you blinked, noticing how he was approaching, with no…infinity. There wasn’t a distance of five feet between them now, he was…not that far. sure, he wasn’t super close either, but he was just a few steps infront of your desk.

!!!

His infinity wasn’t on! He didn’t consider you a threat anymore!

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged on your lips, eyes rounding with relief in them, feeling like you had achieved something that you’d been waiting for for so long.

Which would be, Gojo’s infinity being off around you. Pretty laughable, but it was serious to you!

Gojo felt himself inflate with pride at your acceptance to let him help you.

He was so your knight in shining armor! And—

hold on.

He paused, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat the second his gaze drifted over to you.

…Huh?

What’s with the look on your face, and…why did it suddenly make Gojo feel as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

This couldn’t be healthy!

But, he couldn’t help his breath from hitching, eyes widening the slightest bit behind his round sunglasses. Because, here you were, staring up at him with those glassy round eyes, the remnants of tears causing them to sparkle, the red tip of your nose adding this absolutely endearing color to your features and—

The look on your face, the awe struck look on your face. You were looking at him with that look on your face. And coupled with that little smile? That smile that you always flash at everyone but him?

He couldn’t help but feel his heart picking up it’s speed, granting him with the faux feeling of adrenaline that he couldn’t even achieve when fighting curses.

Gojo thinks this day is blessed.

Unbeknownst to both him and you, his heart picking up its pace had caused his infinity to activate. That was how it usually worked, it worked in response to the fast pacing of his heart, as this muscle only did this when he was in danger—ready to protect him from any danger or threat.

“Here…” He mumbled under his breath as he held out the water bottle towards you, standing a bit away from your desk, still afraid of potentially breaking boundaries.

“Oh—thank you..”, You also found herself trailing off, hand outstretched forwards to retrieve the bottle from his hand, before—

An invisible force caused you to stop, hand hovering awkwardly mid-air.

Oh.

“Thanks for nothing.” You grumbled, the smile on your face falling immediately as you snatched your hand back, crossing your arms, trying to hide the shock and disappointment that you felt.

What else did you expect?

Disappointing.

Was this idiot serious? Was he actually being serious?! Is he trying to pull some prank or something? Because if so, then he isn’t funny! In fact, he may be one of the unfunniest people you have ever known!

Did he think it was a good idea to humiliate you while you were clearly not in the state to be joked around with? Especially not by him? Ah! This was so annoying! You couldn’t believe he would do something as insensitive as this at such a time!

“Huh?” Gojo blinked at your expression that suddenly soured, gone the expression filled with wonder and only being replaced by the one he’s always known.

Why are you making that face now?! Did he do something wrong?! He was so enjoying the smile on your face too!

That pretty little perk of your lips, he thinks he enjoys the sight of you smiling.

“Come on! Take it. I told you I didn’t even open it yet!” He waved the bottle infront of you, clearly inviting to take the bottle from him. “You obviously need it! Your voice is so hoarse and you probably lost half the water in your little body by crying all these tears!”

His underclassman had to have lost all the water in your body. Listen—you were crying so much…and no way your little body stored more water than that!

What meant to come off as concerned, only rubbed you the wrong way.

Why was he taunting you?! Wasn’t it enough that he literally decided to target you when you were in a vulnerable state and then humiliated you? This man was…seriously insufferable.

He really didn’t…mean any of his comforting words, did he?

Your shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing as you glared up at him, “I don’t want your water!” You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He was your upperclassman, you had to behave.

…No matter how much you wanted to hit him senseless with the water bottle he was waving infront of your face.

“Why not?! I never share my water with anyone!” He huffed, glancing down at the bottle in his hand before looking back up at you, grimacing at the look on your face.

Why were you so mad?! You should be grateful and thankful! Supposed to thank him for being your knight in shining armor!

“You’re so—insufferable! You’re such a child!”

Ouch!

“I can’t believe you’re even older than me! What a lame example of an upperclassman!”

Right in his heart!

“Eh? I just wanted to help you! Why are you suddenly switching up on me?” A whine left his lips as he stared down at you, wondering why you suddenly decided that he was horrible once more. He thought that you would see him in a better light after this!

Instead all he got was…

His cute underclassman glaring at him with the sharpest look in your eyes, cheeks attaining a reddish tint as a frown formed on your pink lips—

A smug thought formed in his head.

Oh, were you embarrassed by him? Hehe. He knew you wouldn’t be able to resist his charms sooner or later!

“Keep your stupid water bottle to yourself! I hope you choke on it!” A huff left your lips.

Oh, you were so humiliated by him. You could feel your cheeks heating up by how embarrassed you were.

Meanwhile, Gojo convinced himself that the red on your cheeks is due to you being charmed by him and his handsomeness. Ha! You were totally charmed by him!

“You think you’re soooo funny? Even Yaga-sensei is funnier than you!” Yes, you didn’t mean to drag poor Yaga-sensei into this, but you had to make a point!

Huh? What? He totally was funny! Why would you insult him like that?! Oh, he’s so done for!

He didn’t even understand why you decided to switch up like this! Gee, your mood swings were bad, hm? Hmph. And here he thought they were getting along.

But no. Here you were, glaring at him with red rimmed eyes, huffing here and there about him and how unfunny he was.

You hate him so much! Gahhh—just how can he make up for any of this when he doesn’t even know the cause behind your hatred?!

“I could leave the water on your des—“ Maybe another attempt?

“Get. Out!”

Maybe not.

At the end of his recollection, Shoko had found herself unable to hold herself back from letting out a loud laugh, smacking Suguru on the shoulder playfully in the midst of her joy, “Ah, man. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

“It’s not funny! She really does hate me! She doesn’t even think of me as her knight in shining armor that rescued her from those horrible tears!” A childish cry rang throughout the empty classroom, with the exception of the three upperclassman in it.

“It is kind of funny, Satoru.” A soft chuckle left Suguru’s lips, “She really dislikes you, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t think she likes you, Gojo.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that! You’ll manifest it into existence! She’s just shy!” He failed at an attempt to convince himself.

The two snickered, with Shoko sending a small wink towards Suguru once Gojo put his head down to wallow again. This time, she mouthed something,

‘Buy me lunch tomorrow.’

Ah, his wallet was going to suffer, no?

“I guess…there’s always another day to try, right Satoru?”

He wasn’t going to end this bet here. No, he was determined to at least win just once. Just so he would earn the satisfaction of Shoko being the one to buy his lunch, just once.

Gojo’s face brightened, “You’re right! I’ll totally charm her tomorrow!”

And well, maybe also giving his best friend some support along the way.

“Do you guys think she didn’t like that water brand—“

Cue the groans telling him to shut up.

[multifandomimagin3s]

The Reader gets hurt whilst saving them - 141, Los Vaqueros + Konig

Requested by Anon

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's a complicated person, so it's hard to decipher what's going on inside his head - even people who've worked alongside him for years never truly know what he's thinking.

He never lets himself get emotional - well, any other emotions aside from anger are rarely shown.

Case and point - his initial reaction when he sees the blood seeping out of a bullet-wound in your side.

A bullet that was meant for him but you shoved him out of the way.

He stares at you for a millisecond, gaze unreadable, before he grapples you as you're about to fall to the floor.

"What the fuck did you do that for, you tit?!"

Charming, right?

He quickly realises that his angry screaming is falling on deaf ears, as you faded in and out of consciousness.

All he can do is stare as your face begins to pale from blood loss, relaying what had happened to Price over the comms.

He continues to stare at you as you're loaded onto the helicopter, strapped to a gurney with a Medic keeping constant pressure on your wound.

On the outside, he looks utterly livid - and he is.

Doesn't matter if he's your Superior, or vice versa - regardless of rank he'd have chewed you out for doing something so foolish and reckless all the same, even at the expense of a write-up.

But seeing you in the medical wing, bandaged up in a hospital bed, in critical condition, it makes a cocktail of emotions swirl in his stomach.

And he doesn't like it, not one bit.

Why save his life at the expense of your own? He doesn't understand that at all, and honestly he doesn't think he's worthy of it either.

He's by no definition an angel and has done things that would probably give Satan himself an aneurysm, so the fact that you put yourself in harms way like that just doesn't sit right with him at all.

The entire ordeal would probably keep him up til the early hours of the morning, thinking - he knew he harboured a certain amount of feelings for you, but he never realised just how much.

If it had been a new recruit or any other military personnel, he probably wouldn't have cared as much - unless it was someone from his own Team, in which case he probably still wouldn't be loosing sleep over "their own fucking stupidity."

It had been almost a week since the incident and he was still trying to wrap his head around it all.

But all he could do was visit you, waiting at your bedside for you to wake up - to an onslaught of questions and probably another barrage of swearing for being so "bloody stupid" and to "never pull that stupid shit again."

He can try and deny his feelings all he wants, but he knows the truth - he can lie to others but he can't lie to himself.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

He's a complete contrast to Ghost - where Ghost hides his feelings under layers and layers of denial and a gruff demeanour, Soap is an open book.

He's been openly flirting with you since the day you met, and was planning on making his move to ask you on a date as soon as you got back after the mission.

But seeing you with a ballistic knife sticking out of your shoulder, slumping back against a wall for support, really put a spanner in the works.

The enemy had spotted Soap crouched down planting some C4 and explosives, and had timed their throw to aim for his neck as he stood up - but they hadn't seen you.

You jumped in front of Johnny, shooting the enemy with quick precision but at a cost.

"Aw, for fuck sake!"

Luckily, the knife didn't pierce anything important, so with a good number of stitches and bandages you were good to go.

But an angry Scotsman stood at the door to the medical wing, eyebrows knitted together as he watched the Nurse put clean dressings on your wound.

"Don't ever dae that again," Johnny grunted, arms crossed across his chest. He didn't want to be too hard on you, given that Price had all but screamed at you the moment you were dragged onto the helicopter for being "a reckless fucking muppet."

Johnny didn't want anyone risking their life like that, for him - especially not you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, as his hand thumbed the bandages that wrapped down from your shoulder to just below your elbow," Cannae take you out if someone takes you out, can a?"

Captain John Price

To say that he's angry at you would be the understatement of the century.

Doesn't hide it either.

Even if you were already in a relationship at this point, he's going to be vocal about his anger - but the words he chooses may be slightly less abrasive.

"Why would you do something so stupid, you muppet?!"

The enemy had planted explosive devices as a booby trap - Soap had disarmed them all, or so he'd thought; the sneaky bastards had planted another a few feet away, which detonated and sent pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions.

Some of the shrapnel had embedded itself in your forearms and ribcage, when you'd jumped in front of your Captain to shield him.

Which led you to where you were now, with a Medic picking the pieces of metal out with tweezers - and an angry Price staring you down, arms crossed across his chest as he fixed you with a stern look.

He's been in the military for a long while and has seen a lot of stuff that would make the average person's hair curl - and he's lost a lot of people in the field that he cared about.

So for you to risk your life for his own -- he wasn't having it.

"Count yourself lucky that I won't be writing you up for this."

He has to keep up appearances - he's a high-ranking officer, and it no doubt would be frowned upon (to say the least) if it got out that he was fraternising with one of the soldiers in his team.

But in private, he's softer.

He thumbs over the bandages and dressings covering your wounds, brows knitting together in thought.

"Please don't do that again, Love - can't lose you."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Doesn't realise what's happened until he hears your body fall to the floor with a thud.

A sniper had set their sights on taking Gaz out, laser trained on his back - he hadn't noticed, distracted with trying to hack into the enemy base's security system.

The shot shattered the window pane behind him, which made him whirl around in his chair, gun drawn - putting the pieces together in his head, he should've been in your position in that moment, but you'd taken the bullet for him.

You'd taken the bullet for him.

it isn't until Price is practically roaring through the comms at the Sergeant that he comes to, hurriedly relaying the situation to Price as he checks your vitals.

You're alive - thank god.

The evac and the flight back to base was all a blur, as you faded in and out of consciousness.

You were lucky - the bullet hadn't punctured any vital organs, so with surgery and a few transfusions you were beginning to make a recovery.

Of course Price gave you a gutting out as soon as you were well enough - but in typical Dad fashion, he gave you a slightly awkward head pat and wished you a gruff "Get well soon, (Y/L/N) - be good to see you back on your feet again."

Gaz shows up to visit you, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

He's angry at you, so naturally he has a heated discussion with you about being reckless and to never risk your life like that again - especially since it was his own fault for not being more aware of his surroundings and for not watching his six.

But he's still soft for you.

"Thank you for saving my life, Love - but don't ever fucking do that again."

Alejandro Vargas

Oof.

Out of everyone in this list, his reaction is by far the most heated.

He's angry - more than angry, he's livid.

Doesn't matter if it was a cut from a knife whizzing past you, or something more serious - he's a big guy, he can take whatever life throws at him.

But for you to jump in and take the onslaught for him, injuring yourself in the process? He's pissed.

He probably would avoid you for a while, not wanting to risk exploding into a fit of rage when he sees your injuries.

It would be Rudy who would be the voice of reason, pushing him to go and speak to you instead of stewing over his anger and guilt - guilt of not being able to stop what happened from happening.

Alej would visit you in the infirmary - he'd go into a rant, letting all of his emotions out.

And then would pull you into a kiss.

He's a passionate man and feels his feelings very deeply.

Rudy Parra

Like Alejandro, he's absolutely pissed.

Only difference between him and his comrade is how he shows it.

He's silent - so silent it's borderline scary.

He's livid - one, because you risked your life for him, and two, he's angry that you were so blasé about it.

It was as if you truly valued his life more than your own, and the thought of that alone only serves to make him angrier.

He hovers around in the medical bay while a Medic stitches your wounds closed, his arms crossed across his chest with a stoic expression.

The tension is palpable, and it's as if you can feel his blood boiling even from a distance.

It isn't until the Medic has patched you up and lets you leave that he finally speaks.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Querida / Querido?!"

Proceeds to chew you out for the entire walk back to your room - it was strange to see Rudy so heated, especially towards you, given that he was usually relatively easy going.

But then again, he got the rank of Sergeant Major for a reason.

Once he has his rant out of his system, he sighs, eyeing the bandages covering the expanse of your arm.

You were lucky to have made it back to base in one piece, after the enemy had lunged at Rudy from behind with a hunting knife - you'd jumped in the way, managing to take down the target but not without a fair amount of wounds.

Rudy gently grasped your forearm, thumbing over the soft bandages in thought.

"Please don't do that again, mi amor."

König

This guy would probably disappear for a bit when he realises what happened.

Probably to figure out his own feelings before he sees you again.

Because he's feeling a lot of emotions - anger, being one, guilt is another.

He's not used to anyone putting their own safety at risk for his sake - KorTac had hardly the healthiest of working environments, and mercenaries will typically only watch out for their own backs at the end of the day.

So the fact that you'd put yourself in harms way to keep him safe really doesn't sit right with him at all.

He feels guilty because he let it happen - he was so engrossed with plowing through all the targets he could see that he completely missed the ones that he couldn't.

But you noticed, jumping in the way - taking bullets that were meant for him.

He doesn't remember much of the mission after that - he can blame it on adrenaline and whatever other hormones were pumping through his system at the time, but he knows the real reason why.

The sight of you coughing up blood because of a bullet to the chest made the world slow down for him, his worst nightmare playing out in front of his eyes.

Lingers around the medical bay as Medics and Doctors rush around you, medical jargon flying in the air as you're hooked up to various machines.

His frequent visits don't help quell the rumours swirling around the base - that König, the not-so-gentle giant, had a thing for you - but he couldn't find it in him to care, even if his Superiors were to give him a stern lecture about it.

He makes sure he's there when you wake up - he had a lecture prepared in his head, about how what you did was reckless and stupid, and you shouldn't have risked your life for his.

But the words die on his tongue when he makes eye contact with you, and all he can do is take your hand in his - without his gloves, he was even tempted to take off his hood.

"Don't scare me like that again - ich werde dich nicht zulassen, mein Lieber."

[angel5ofp0rn]

Young!Price x f!younger!reader

when you and ExHusband!Price start dating ���

*pretty short

“Right there?” You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck… right there, sweetheart...” John groans.

You giggle from your seat on John’s backside, knees on either side of his hips as you massage his lower back. He had been complaining about how bad it has been aching and swore only your hands could fix him.

You lean down and press a few kisses to his shoulder before going back to working out the tension in his muscles.

John sighs in content.

“Y’know, I had the worst dream last night.” You mention casually, placing your hands palm down on his waist and rubbing circles with your thumbs.

“Did you?” John’s voice was a bit muffled by the pillow his face was resting against. “What was it about?”

"I met this really, really beautiful man at the bar, got him to take me home, really got to like him… and then he went back to London I never saw him again." You sigh dramatically.

It takes John a moment to realize that you're joking, catching on at the exaggerated sigh. He tries not to laugh but he's only human.

John shifts to lay on his back now, but pulls you back to him so you can still sit on top, straddling his lap.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” John grins, his hands slowly rubbing up and down your bare thighs. “Suppose we can't repeat that mistake then?"

You shake your head, a smile on your lips as you look down at him. John shakes his head back at you, that signature smirk still on his face.

"Is it crazy that I think I actually really like you?" Your brow furrows a bit. “We’ve only known each other for a few days…”

He lets out a little laugh; you can see him blush a little bit in his cheeks.

"'s not crazy," He says softly, his hands now moving from your thighs to your waist, slipping under his shirt that you were wearing. “I like you.”

"Hmm… But you're a military guy.” Your head tilts to the side in thought. “Aren't military guys, like, known for proposing after the first date?"

This actually makes him laugh out loud again, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He can't help himself; this stereotype has always been such a common one.

"Right, but I'm not that kind of military guy.... l'd at least wait until the second date."

"Well," you move off of John to lay on your back next to him on your bed. "When the time comes, I don't want one of those big, ugly silver and diamond rings. Maybe a pearl or a garnet or something." You lift your left hand up in the air above you both, as if imagining the ring on it.

John continues to smile as you talk about the potential future. The idea that you're thinking about that kind of stuff when you've only just met seems funny to him, but almost… romantic, in a way.

When you lift your hand, he can't help but imagine how that ring would look on it. He can see the ring so clearly in his mind's eye; simple 14 karat gold band, emerald cut garnet in the middle.

You lower your arm back to your side and turn to look at him. "I really do think I like you." You sigh like it’s disappointing. "This isn't normally how my random bar hookups go."

“Y’ haven’t been hookin’ up with the right guys.” John counters.

You study his face, taking in all the little details; those blue eyes you love, the little freckle on his nose, the two tiny marks above and below his eyebrow that made you wonder if teenage John was a little punk with an eyebrow piercing.

You sit up suddenly and get off of your bed. You strip John’s shirt off of yourself and toss it to him. “You should go.”

John is understandably confused. He sits up, shirt in hand, waiting for an explanation. “Did I do something wrong..?”

“No,” You shake your head, looking through your closet. “You’re going to go get dressed, buy me some flowers, and take me on our first date.”

John doesn’t speak. He’s stunned.

You look over your shoulder at him. “What? If I want that second-date proposal, we need the first date out of the way.”

John’s eyebrows raise. You’re fucking crazy…

You’re fucking made for him.

“Oh, and don’t get tulips.” You add casually, pulling a little sundress out of the closet and looking it over. “I hate tulips.”

“Yes ma’am.” John nods, pulling his shirt on over his head.

You grin. “So obedient. Must be the military training.”

<< prev next >>

[lovelybluebirdie]

A sight to behold

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Astarion is far more than his beauty, and you want him to know.

Word Count: 1,7k

fluff, comfort

[AO3]

“You should get some rest, love,” Astarion whispers against your hair. He holds you comfortably in his arms, your fingers loosely grasping the end of his collar while his hand strokes along your waist, caressing your battle-bruised skin. 

Usually sleep didn’t take long to claim you after an exhausting day of defeating vigorous creatures or learning another disturbing fact on the tadpole inside your brain, but tonight it seems to avoid you for some reason, leaving you tossing and turning within your bedroll until Astarion eventually pulled you into a loving embrace.

“I’m good,” you mutter as a deep yawn escapes your throat, smothering your last syllables.

Astarion cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, surveying your face. “You’re a weary little love if I ever saw one.” 

“Fine, you’ve got me,” you reply in a drowsy voice. “Maybe I am a little tired, but somehow I can't find any sleep.”

His brow furrows. “Is anything troubling you, my dear?” he asks sincerely, pondering if he might’ve done something wrong.

The unpleasant thought has no room to spread its hooks any further, as he's met with only fondness from your tired eyes, leaving his ribcage bursting with adoration.

“No need to worry about me, Astarion. I promise, everything’s alright,” you assure as you begin to massage his ears, causing them to twitch.

“You still need to get some sleep though,” he scolds with half-closed lids. It's more of a moan, as he’s unable to suppress his desire for your blissful fingers to go on. You seem to know exactly where he enjoys them most, he notices, when another quiet groan spills from his lips. 

You brush the pointy tip of his ear once more, cautiously not to overstimulate this sensitive part of him, before you rest your fingers on his neck and playfully raise an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to indulge in your beauty a little longer before I find myself dozing off.”

A benign remark, and yet something inside Astarion shifts. Something he can’t fully fathom at first, a faint sense of melancholy starting to linger, despite the comfort of your touch.

He’s been called beautiful more times than he can remember, but he’ll never be able to judge for himself, being robbed of his reflection since Cazador turned him into a vampire spawn centuries ago – his own appearance remaining a dark shape from his past.

“Beauty you say?” he mumbles quietly. “Tell me then, what is it you see when looking at me?”

Your expression softens as you grasp for his hand and squeeze it lightly. It seems you’ve already caught his musings, as you often do, without him needing to vocalise that something’s on his mind.

“Well, your most outstanding features are probably your piercing eyes – crimson, like rubies,” you explain before resting a kiss on his cheek. 

Astarion listens attentively. His gaze must indeed be exceptionally sharp, he thinks, trying for a brief moment to recall the colour his eyes were before he was turned, but to no avail. A shiver runs down his spine as he wonders if you might think of him as a dangerous predator at times, uncertain whether this poses a pleasant or a frightening notion.

“Sometimes they’re full of anger, resembling freshly shed blood. And other times they’re… so soft. Reminding me of the cutest puppy eyes I’ve ever seen, almost competing with Scratch,” you giggle as you draw your thumb along his cheekbone, right where your lips parted from his skin.

Astarion stares at you in bewilderment. “What do you mean – puppy eyes?! I’m a century-old vampire spawn, not some gushing maiden.”

“You asked what I’d see when I’m looking at you, didn’t you?” You offer him a mischievous grin before blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Or do you prefer me to stop?” 

Astarion rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “Fine, go on.” 

Although not particularly delighted by the comparison you draw, he can’t resist the urge to listen to you further describing him.

“There are also your beautiful white curls – so smooth that I often find myself wondering which soap you use for them to stay that way,” you say as you take one of said strands between your fingers. “Come to think of it, those are probably one of my favourite parts of you, my love.”

“Mhm, I certainly have the best hair in camp,” Astarion purrs approvingly, a smug grin playing around his lips, vanishing the furrow on his brow from your previous remark.

“Don’t let Shadowheart hear,” you joke before continuing. “Of course I also adore your smile – seeing those little wrinkles when you laugh.”

Astarion’s grin freezes as he quickly feels the spot beneath his temples.

“My sweet, you surely must’ve noticed by now that one of a vampire spawn’s rare perks is eternal youth, so I’m quite positive that there are no such things as wrinkles on my face.”

“If you say so,” you chuckle as you reach for his hands to press loving kisses on his fingertips. “This was supposed to be a compliment, you know.”

“Perhaps if I wasn’t your lover, but your doting grandmother,” he grumbles with pursed lips, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I sense you desire to listen to some of your less grandmotherly features, then?”

Astarion battles another grin but loses, his lips twisting to a wry smile. “Yes, please.” 

It's true, he doesn’t want you to stop, secretly enjoying how sincere you express your sentiments.

“Let’s see if I find some, though…” you tease, earning a gentle nudge to your hip before your eyes are glued to his face again. “Honestly, you're stunningly beautiful, Astarion – a goddamn sight to behold.” 

Astarion’s smile widens at your flattery. “Oh dear, that sounds far better than being described with the attributes of an old lady.”

“As I thought,” you reply, brushing one of his curls behind his ear. “But do you want to know what I adore about you most?”

Astarion's eyes grow round. “As humble as I am, I'm always thrilled to receive some more praise.”

He notices a flush to your cheeks as you let your finger slowly trace along the bridge of his nose, until it comes to a rest on his lips. 

You clear your throat, seeming in search of the right words. 

“You’re so much more than your beauty,” you begin, your fingertip still resting on his bottom lip. He presses a kiss, his curiosity roused.

“I love the way you make me laugh, like no one else can, despite all the madness we have to endure. Or watching you reading for hours, chuckling at little passages you like. Seeing how you squint when you take in the details while you embroider a piece of fabric.” 

You pause to cup his face in your hands and smother him with gentle kisses, starting at his jaw, moving up to his nose and then his eyes. Astarion remains silent, graciously relishing your warmth. 

Your words and touch are like a balm, and not for the first time he wonders how he came to deserve such kindness.

“Your skin is cold, yes, but no one has ever kept me this warm when being in their presence. You’re brave, and despite everything you had to endure, you turned into this wonderful man I came to love more than everything I ever held dear. You're most precious to me Astarion, and I never want to spend a day without knowing you by my side.”

It’s not often that Astarion finds himself speechless, and yet your genuine affection robs him of the ability to respond. He has to hold back tears that dwell behind his fluttering lashes.

Deprived of his ability to speak he can only press a kiss to your forehead, followed by another peck to the tip of your nose, before his lips crash into yours – hastily, in need of you.

Astarion can sense your pulse quickening as his tongue enters your mouth, a soft moan escaping your lips while your hand runs through his hair. 

He gently bites your lower lip, the initial rush of his kiss replaced by a sudden tenderness, a flutter spreading right where his dead heart once beat.

Astarion has never felt like this with anyone but you. Perhaps you've turned him into a love-struck maiden after all, he thinks with a smile as he kisses you once more, gentle and soft, before your lips part and he glances at your endearing eyes, finding his voice again.

“I love you too, you cheeky little thing. Even if you have the guts to describe me like a grandmother first, and then almost make me weep from your loving words,” he chuckles while grasping the fabric of your nightgown to pull you closer against his body.

Astarion is used to conceal his emotions behind his jesting shell, and yet when he’s with you, his façade naturally crumbles.

“Guilty as charged,” you reply fondly.

“But honestly… Thank you,” Astarion speaks softly. “For seeing me, like no one else does.” His words come out raw, honest. “You know I don't pray to any of the gods, but if I did, I'm sure I would've caught myself thanking them for bringing you into my life. You're a vision, and through the time I spend with you, it almost feels like my dead heart starts beating again.”

“You’d better stop with that loving talk yourself, before we'll both start to weep,” you laugh as you reach for the corner of your eye, a single wet streak glistening on your skin.

Astarion moves up to kiss it away. “As much as I like to revel in our mutual affection, I don't wish to see more of your tears.”

“Well, perhaps we should call it a night then. I’m certain I’ll find some rest soon,” you whisper as you shift closer in the crook of his arm. 

“You truly should, as I'm positive there’ll be more shenanigans awaiting us tomorrow,” Astarion replies and places a kiss on your hair. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You too, Astarion,” you hum, sounding slightly weary again. Maybe sleep has decided in your favour after all, he thinks as he notices your breath becoming more even.

When you finally doze off in the safety of his embrace, Astarion's chest is filled with warmth over the love he holds for you.

Masterlist

[greenunoreversecard]

HEYYEYHEY CAN I REQUEST LLOYD (ninjago) HEADCANONS PLEASEEEE (ty :3)

A/N: Ofc!I'll do general character ones, as well as x reader ones :) hope ye likey likey:pp

Lloyd, The Greenest and Geekest mf.

General character headcanons:

Half Japanese half Chinese

His hair is box blonde dye and you cannot change my mind.

Left handed

Severely dyslexic and hands off all scroll reading and just reading oriented tasks to kai.

Def gen z vibes. Like, the others give off more inbetween z and millenial, so they dont always get his humor. And sometimes he uses that to his advantage and "Speaks in code" (uses as much slang as possible)

Has LED lights in his room set to forest green.

Has given himself a smiley face tattoo.

Cried over a dead goose once.

OK, just to preface i see cole as a stoner of Sorts and uses the excuse "it gets me closer to my element"

With that in mind cole let lloyd try it and now sometimes when he is told to unwind, of feels like he needs to take a chill pill he and Cole spark up

in the beginning of his leader ship role, he used to Say;"kick ass and take names" and if things went wrong he had the fuck it we ball mindset, but got better with time. There are still times they wing it, though.

if he isnt in his gi he almost exclusively wears his pajamas (aka a Hoodie, tshirt and sweats)

Vv tired, and now has a raging addiction to energy drinks due to his lack of Sleep.

He used to eat worms as a kid bc he Thought he it was evil.

Has a eyebrow piercing, and wants a tongue piercing.

Wears "reading" glasses, that he should technically wear all the time because he can't see up close and has a astigmatism,, but he says yolo. Zane then make him contacts after he almost ran into a moving blade and got his head severed.

Adhd and OCD, as well as the normal line up (anxiety, depression, cptsd)

Lloyd in a relationship:

Hes very distant in the beginning, it'll take time to warm up to you.

He tends to be orage cat vibes.

On the cat trend, he gets close for a bit Before becoming distant. Going through waves of affection, kinda.

He hasn't had like, any good relationships in his life so he tries to "protect" himself when he feels he gets to close to you, and so he pulls away.

He does the fuckboy face when your sad bc it makes you laugh, as well as That weird dice roll

He actually does the face/dice roll combo whenever he Sees you as he walks over, it's an inside joke now

primary giving love language: acts of service and quality time

Primary receiving love language: gifts and words of affirmation. But physical touch is also high up there.

Also, not expensive gifts. He hates those. Give him a stick you saw on a walk that made you think of him. He'll cherish it forever. And maybe cry.

He will cry.

will make noises at you and expects a noise in response or he'll be sad.

Also randomly bites you. He's a nommer

also sends you memes throughout the day.

As well as random pictures with the caption;"BABY LOK THIS IS S. US IF WE WHERE *insert whatever item here*

Called you babe, baby, love, shitface, asshole.

Expect kind and loving gentle bullying.

Doesnt know how to express his emotions to just expect him to come up to you, lightly shake your shoulders and aggressively say;"I love you bitch.i ain't Evea gon stop lovin you. Bitchhhhhhh" (vine reference)

Sends you .5 of everyone, himself included. He's addicted to Taking them. You will not get out of it.

Also sometimes just walks around in nyas stilettos for fun.

You two have fashion shows.

You also take over the Living room sometimes and build giant ass forts to watch shitty reality tv in and make fun oF The people

Overall, once he realizes you won't leave he's the most funniest loving chaotic guy.

But expect it to take a hot minute for him to realsie this

give him time,, but also have some deep talks..

Let him vent

and for the love of God don't hurt the baby's heart.

Expect inside jokes

[tokkiwrites]

┈─ 𖧷 Dirty Diana 🍷⏜ ◌

ㅡㅡㅡ in which you want to surprise your dad with his favorite band tickets. you're really lucky when you stumble upon the lead guitarist, Joel Miller, at your local grocery store. things escalate- but you do get those tickets.

★ ͘rockstar!joel miller, fem!reader, dom joel, sub reader, afab reader, p in v sex unprotected, rough joel, age gap, dumbification of reader, hair pulling, slapping, head m and f receiving, creampie, kind of size kink if u tilt your head, joel has tattoos and a piercings (yummy), sir kink, almost pet play, lots of pet names. drinking, mentions of cheating. lmk if i missed any!!!! (pic in the banner doesn't describe readers body!! there for the aesthetics) not proofread

you've never been a rock fan. sure, you'd enjoy listening to the songs your dad played on your 3 hour long car rides, the ones he always sets as his ring-tone...

but you were in a dilemma nowㅡ there's a giveaway of sorts with tickets to your dad's most favorite band from the early 90's, and to even have a chance at those tickets you need to submit a video of yourself singing one of their songs.

now you would ask your dad, but the first thing that made you this set on getting those tickets was surprising him with them on his upcoming birthday. you'd buy them, but they're either sold out or 200 bucks on shady sitesㅡ and you're a broke college student on winter break.

you sigh, closing your laptop and throwing it on the other side of the bed. you stare up at the ceiling, counting the little neon stars you've had there since you were 10. they always calmed youㅡ made your brain less foggy, even for just a few seconds.

groaning, you throw your legs around, frustrated and disappointed in yourself. this would've really made his worries slip away, for a bit, after what happened with your mom. you still can't wrap your head around why your mom chose her exceeding in nothing, 2 palms of receding hairline co-worker. i mean, he was richㅡ super fucking rich, but was it worth it? your dad didn't deserve it.

you wipe the tears you've just now realized were dripping down your face. "i need something to drink." sniffling, you put on your plush jacket, get some slippers , and spray on some perfume. "at least need to smell presentable if i look likeㅡ" you stare into the mirror, laughing to yourself, "that."

you stroll out of your house and down the street. you were lucky for the grocery store just about 7 minutes away, give or take. it wasn't that small but it wasn't big either, at least not big enough so that you learned form a young age where all of your favorite iles were.

"Hi, Miss Sammy!" you greet the cashier, an old friend of the family and sort of an aunt to youㅡ you remember when she'd let you stay after school in the back of the store up until 5 pm, when your dad came to pick you up. "Hi, honey! How's winter break treating you?"

"Rough day?" you jump, taking one step back before you turn around to see who it was.

"'s fine... I'm glad to be back home with dad." you smile and her gaze softened. "Well if you ever need anythin', you let me know sugar, mkay?" you nod, walking to the furthest part of the store, where all of the drinks were. you look around, trying to find the cheapest thing that can get you dizzy the fastest. really deep in your mind you failed to notice someone coming up to your side, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, you could say thaㅡ wait." you pause. holy shit. you couldn't believe your eyes. "I know you! You're thㅡ" he presses his fingers agains your lips, and oh, it sends a shiver down your back. "quiet down, darlin'."

you nod, whispers-yelling, "You're Joel Miller, right?" he sighs, smiling at your question, and your eyes light up. this is perfect, so, so perfect. "My dad loves you guysㅡ you and your band."

"that so?" your arms flare up, smiling so big. "you've no idea! 's why i was so excited to hear about you coming to town. Wanted to surprise him."

"wanted?" Joel quirks his eyebrows up, his voice dropping an octave. "Yeah, well, i found out pretty late about it and - well, tickets, they're super expensive now, as you'd imagine.." You sigh, turning back to look at the bottles catching the white light of the room. "jus' wanted to give him something to be happy about, you know?" You reach out to grab a 16$ bottle of wine you know is too sweet, but it'll do. trying to lift the mood, you try your hand at a joke. "guess my only option is to fuck somebody who has those tickets." you look at him and his brows are furrowed. stupid, stupid, stupid joke, stupid you.

"so-rry, didn't mean toㅡ"

"that so, pretty girl?" Those words go straight to your core, causing you to nip at your bottom lip, stiff like a stone. "Now, you can't just say somethin' like thatㅡ" Joel leans in closer "'n not answer me."

you look up at him, and you finally get a better look. there aren't many pictures of him close up on the internet, mostly grainy ones where you can barely make out his tattoos. you gulp, eyes traveling across his face: a brow piercing, a full beard with patches of gray, a neck tattoo with a ravenㅡ he looked surreal.

"y'gonna answer me, angel-face? or do i need to pull out those words myself?" god, you were practically dripping on the linoleum of the store, cheeks ablaze and words tangled in your throat.

"I'm ㅡ" he traces his inked fingers across the exposed part of your neck, chuckling at your demeanor. "I live 5 minutes away." you blurt out, causing his eyes to widen. "maybeㅡ come over?" god, what were you doing? you sure hope not to regret your words later. but right now, two things you knew for certain: you were way too turned on, and he was way too hot for his age.

Joel smirks, his fingers lingering on your skin. "Well, darlin', seems like fate's on your side today." He grabs the bottle of wine you were holding, examining it. "I ain't lettin' you drink that, girl." he scoffs, picking up a bottle of Giulio Ferrari from 1992, not even looking at the price. "Let me spoil you a bit, yeah." you can't even say a word, you pathetically whine, as your knees wobble like jelly.

Joel puts the hoodie over his head and looks down at you, his firey stare making your cheeks burn up all over again. "y'know the lady?" he asks, motioning his head towards Sammy who was busy playing Rummy on her phone. "I do, old familyㅡ well, like family." He nods, patting your shoulder, "you go ahead, wait f'me in front of the store by that coffee machine. I'mma pay real quick, yeah?" you nod so fast, way too excited with those butterflies tying knots in your stomach, you head to the door.

"Bye, Miss Sammy!" you wave, and she just hums and gives half of a wave back "buh-bye, sugar." too fixed on her phone. As Joel pays for the bottle of wine, he glances back at you exiting the store.

"Lead the way, darlin'. Let's see if we can work something out." and oh, the way those words make you drip in anticipation. the way you were so eager to have his hands all over your body- those tickets were the last thing on your mind right now. You both head towards your house, the cold air adding a sense of urgency to the situation. You couldn't believe how needy he made you with just a few words. Small talk fills the short journey, with Joel sharing stories from the road and you nervously responding.

Once inside your home, Joel looks around appreciatively. "Cozy place you got here." you nod, leading him to the kitchen. "your daddy home?"

"no.." you fumble your steps as you hurriedly put two glasses on the counter for Joel to fill up with wine. Joel smirks, sensing the tension in the air. "Just us, then," he says, pouring the wine into the glasses. The rich aroma of the aged wine fills the room as he hands you a glass. "Cheers to unexpected encounters," he toasts, clinking glasses with you. The wine is exquisite, but the real intoxication is the electrifying presence of Joel. Tattoos adorned his body, his fluffy hair laid perfectly, strands of gray standing out; the way his muscles bulged through his shirtㅡ you could see it all better now.

"feels like you're about to eat me, baby. way you're starin' me down." joel chuckles. "sorry I'mㅡ sorry." you nervously sip from you glass trying to put out the fire in your core, his voice making it ten times harder for you. "now, how you gonna get what you want if you get so shy on me, hm?"

joel steps closer to you, and your chest burns, heaving up and down as his arms snake around your waist and settle onto your tummy. "ain't you a big girl? thought you were- how you so eagerly invited a stranger ㅡsuch an old man into your home when your daddy ain't around." he rubs through you, a squeaky whimper slipping past your lips as you felt his bulge against you. "oh, she likes that, don't she?" you breathe out "god.."

"please..." you plead, palms now on top of his as you slowly turn your head to expose your neck further. "please what, babygirl?"

"not god, baby..jus' me." he chuckles murkily.

"please, sir..t-touch me." you back your body further, prompting joel to groan and tighten his grasp on you. "jesus, girl." he laughs "dirty little thing." his rough hands make their way under your lace trimmed long-sleeve, grasping at you breasts.

"no bra, baby?" he asks, swirling his thumbs across your sprung up nipples, and you moan a quiet 'no'. "what if your daddy walks through that door right now, huh?"

"dont care..." you lean more into his touch, intoxicated from it and his scent, a hint of smoky wood, and a touch of muskㅡ he smelled delicious. you couldn't wait to have him on your tongue.

"'course you don't. needy little whore wants an old man to fuck her senselessㅡ need me to fill ya up with this cock til you're dumb and can't think no more." you moan, so eagerly shaking your head as you press your ass onto his hard-on, getting joel to wrap his thick fingers around your throat and spin you around to face him. "not so fast, girl. wanna see ya beg, can you do that f'me angel?" his graps grow rougher, and you mewl out a string of yes, yes, yes, whilst dropping to your knees, as he instructs

"eyes up, babyㅡ there she is." joel strokes your face before delivering a harsh slap onto your already red cheek. moaning, you rub your thighs together as to evade just a bit of pressure in your cunt. "pretty little slut. so pretty like this." he growls, taking a handful of your hair "go on now. beg. tell sir how bad you need his cock."

and you do. you beg and plead, press your face against his thigh like a little puppy. you don't take you eyes off of his, prompting yourself with his boot under your clothed cunt. "please, sir.. v'been so good..." and you start moving slowly, cheek now flush against his crotch. you moan and rut against him, heat washing over your whole body. you wanted to make him proud, you dont know what came over youㅡ you were so drunken and you didn't know if it was because of the wine or because of joel.

the way he stared down at you, his pupils almost like an eclipse to his hazel eyes, lips half hidden behind his mustache. The way his piercing gaze holds yours, unwavering and commanding; he was rough and enticing, mean in just the right wayㅡ his voice dripped like honey and you couldn't hold but lick it up and let it poison you through and through.

"atta girl." you looked so vulnerable. so innocent. so raw and ready for him to taint and infect you with his all. he unbuckled his pants, leaving them a bit open at the top, perfectly for you to see the strain his thick cock put onto his briefs. "c'mon. don't make me wait, baby..." you didn't need to hear more, eagerly pulling out his erect length, letting it slap onto his clothed belly. you could drool at the sight, all though you're pretty sure you already were. he was bigㅡ huge even, the biggest you've ever seen. it was girthy and had veins running down it, tip red, dripping with precum. "too b-big-" you manage to let out. "you'll make it fit, puppy. for me, yeah? c'mon, let me fuck that pretty mouth." and you softly reply with 'yes, sir' before he yanks at your hair and directs his dick right between your lips. "open. widee openㅡ there you go." he encourages you as you try your best to fit that monster into your mouth. it hurts and your chin stings as joel slowly stars to thrust his length into you mouth- or at list what fits of it.

"pretty slut. look so good with her mouth full of cock." joel hums as you whine around him. "like this cock, baby?" he knows you can't answer, mouth too full and brain to fuzzy. "so cock stupid, can't even speak." he laughs. you've never felt like this, god, not even imagined something like this. yet there you were with someone who's twice your age fucking your mouth. "what would your daddy say?" you whine and squeeze around nothing, nails digging into the back of his knees. joel can only laugh as he puls out, rubbing his tip over your lips to collect the drool that mixed with his precum, and smear it all over your rosy cheeks.

you felt so dirty. but it felt rightㅡ for a good cause, right?

he slaps your face with his length before pulling you up by your hair, bending you over the kitchen counter. "gonna let me fuck you, babygirl?"

"yes-" you wriggle into his hold. "yes, what?" hes prying "yes, sir." you obediently reply. "good fuckin' pup." he doesn't even haltㅡ joel pulls down your pants at once with your panties. he delivers a harsh slap before trailing his digits right between your legs. "poor lil' cunt. look at 'er." he coos. "crying for this cock."

"please, sirㅡ mmhg.." whining, you try to rub yourself onto his fingers, but he quickly slaps you again, this time on the side of your thigh. "don't be a greedy bitch. you take what i give you, understand?"

"y-yes, sir, pleaseㅡ" he clicks his tongue before kneeling, spreading your pussy lips as he does, leaning in and blowing onto your sensitive clit. you jump and moan in frustration. "i know, baby, i know." he spreads your legs further, finally landing a soft and teasing lick between your folds. it doesn't take long for joel to go at it, sucking and licking at your cunt like theres no tomorrow, your desperate pleads to come only fueling him. "not yet, angel-baby." he gorans, picking himself up. "want you to come 'round my cock. want you to come while i stuff you up nice 'n good." you nod, not even half sure what you heard, you were too dizzy and the sudden lack of stimulation drove you mad.

joel positions himself behind you, lifting your leg up so one of your knees rests onto the counter. he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, wanting to pull more from you, to get you even needful. you couldn't barely muster to hold yourself up, letting all of your weight on Joel, deprived pleads rolling of your tongue.

when he's content with the teasing, he starts to ease into you. it's like you're awakened from a trance, fully aware of everything, and every fiber of your body. it all vibrates as a sting spreads through your body, and you squeeze around Joel. "fuckkㅡ so fuckin' tight, baby- I'd think were a virgin if i didn't know what a cock slut you actually are." he laughs somberly before plunging straight into you. your tongue luls out, tears on the brink of your eyes as you cand only squeal out pathetic moans and incoherent blathers. "shitㅡ ! squeezing me so good, baby"

and he goes at you, diving deeper and deeper with each hit of his hips, one palm holding your leg up and one pressing you face flush on the cold surface of the counter. "like that? like it when an old man has his way with ya, huh?" you can't hear him, you barely make out his words; your eyes roll back and spine arched as he plummets into your cunt. "fucked you stupid, huh? dirty girl." joel snickers, feeling your walls squeeze around him as he takes one of your palms and places it right on top of your belly. "feel." and, fuck, you feel. his cock reaches so far into you it bulges through your pelvis; you feel it and you're jelly all over again.

he takes both his arms and hold you by your shoulders, hit after hit after hit sending you deeper into oblivionㅡ and you can only moan and cry as you feel your orgasm approaching. desperately, you clench around his cock, sending joel into a frenzy. "wanna come, pup? tell me." he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." you don't know if you're crying because you feel too good or because of how desperately you need to come.

"come then, make me proud, baby." you writhe as the knots in your core begin to untie, shaking under joel whilst it hits you like a wave of warmth and frost at once. it doesn't take long for him to reach his limit, digging his nails through your thighs, gritting his teeth as he leaves bruises onto you, you wish would never go away.

"need'a come babyㅡ shit! where, tell me where baby." you feel him so deep, you're drunk on him, vision blurry and mind fogged up. you usually don't say this. "in-side- inside, sir, please.." you beg, and you don't wait more than two more seconds as joel spills his warm seed into you, causing you to lick your lips as if you could taste it. Joel holds himself over you, panting as he trails soft kisses onto your back. "did so good, babygirl." you smile stupidly, rolling your hips against his.

"soㅡ" he makes a pause. "you still want those tickets?"

⏜⃞♡⠀⠀🐰 hoohououiuoooio hi guys im kind of pretty obsessed with joel rn so i gotta quench my thirst. this has 3.1k words. hope u like it!! muahhhh thank u again for 150!!!! if u see any grammatical errors no u didn't.

[notsosweetchan]

Warning: Smut (Minors Do Not Interact )

Paring - Minho x Reader -

- Ink and Affection -

Getting tattooed by her hot tattoo artist Minho, Y/N m was starting to feel a little lightheaded from the pain and his sexy voice.,"You're doing so well," Minho cooed, his voice sending shivers down Y/N's spine. "Just a little longer, and we'll have this masterpiece finished.“ His tattoo gun buzzed gently, the vibrations against her skin both calming and invigorating at the same time.

The stinging of the needle had dulled into a tolerable throb, replaced by a kind of intoxicating endorphin high. The tattoo parlor around them seemed to melt away as they worked, leaving only the two of them in their own private world.

Minho's strong hands guided the machine with practiced precision, his every movement deliberate yet artful. He was lost in his craft, the epitome of focused intensity.

Y/N couldn't help but admire the way his biceps flexed under his sleeves as he moved, or how his forearm tattoos danced along with each stroke. "Almost done," he muttered to himself more than to Y/N, the tension in the air practically palpable.

"I just need to add a few more finishing touches." As the last few lines etched themselves into her skin, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, less from the pain and more from the anticipation of what was to come. The tattoo gun hummed its final vibration before Minho put it down and stepped back to admire his work.

In the mirror, Y/N caught a glimpse of their reflection, marveling at the intricate design that now adorned her body. A delicate lotus flower blossomed from her collarbone, its petals extending across her shoulder blade in a sea of vibrant purples and pinks.

It was breathtaking. "Oh my god," she breathed, awe and disbelief mingling in her voice. "Minho, it's... it's perfect." He smiled, his eyes twinkling with pride. "I'm glad you like it." Their faces were so close now, their breath mingling in the space between them. Y/N could smell the faint scent of ink and aftershave on him, intoxicating and heady.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage as their eyes locked in a heated stare. It was the purest of seconds, suspended in time. She swore she could feel the electricity arcing between them, a live wire waiting to be touched. The tension was so thick, Y/N could practically taste it on her tongue.

But just as she was about to close the distance between them, Minho cleared his throat, stepping back and pretending nothing had ever happened. "Well, let's get this wrapped up and you can take a look at it properly," he said briskly, his professional demeanor returning as if by magic. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment but nodded mutely, trying desperately to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks.

Y/N has coming to his shop for the last3 months now getting 6 tattoos done by him, all for the chance to get closer to him. The most he had ever done was touch her hand once when she was wincing in pain. Maybe she was just seeing things that weren't there. “Hmm?” He looked up, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“Do you tattoo a lot of girls in here? The moment Y/N said it, she regretted it. “Why do you ask?He asked, a half-smirk playing on his lips. “No reason,” Y/N mumbled, the edge of the chair burning against her chest “I’m just curious I guess.”Minho chuckled lightly as he tied off the last of the bandage. “Y/N, I tattoo A lot of girls but none of the are as pretty as you.” heat crept into her cheeks as she looked away.

"You can't handle the truth, huh?" He sneers, leaning closer to her. She can see the tattoos on his arms and feels a shiver run down her spine. Just moments ago, he was giving her that same piercing look. Now, he's leaning over her, his arms resting on the cold armrests of the chair, his hand gently cupping her cheek. his hand and tilted her face to look at him. “I... I, I” she couldn’t get a word out, her heart hammering in her ears.

“ It’s okay Y/N, I’m into you too.” He whispered before closing the few inches between them and kissed her. Y/N's world swirled as Minho's lips met hers, soft yet insistent. His hands found their way into her hair, cradling her headas the kiss deepened. Her senses flooded with his scent, his touch, and the thrumming energy between them.

For a moment, all she could think about was him, the pain of the tattoo forgotten in the face of this newfound pleasure. Breaking away for air, Minho trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, before whispering in her ear, "I've been wanting to do that for months." A shiver ran down Y/N's spine at his admission, and she couldn't help but smile.

"You could have just said something earlier," she managed to joke, her voice breathless. Minho chuckled, his lips ghosting along her jawline. "I like the chase," he teased. His hands found their way under her shirt, tracing the lines of the new tattoo with feather-light touches that made Y/N shiver anew.

As they remained entangled on the tattoo table, all thoughts of propriety and workplace ethics flew out the window. In this stolen moment, all that mattered was the two of them and the undeniable attraction that had been simmering between them for so long. Their movements became more urgent, fueled by months of pent-up longing and suppressed desire.

Minho caressed every inch of newly inked skin, as if committing each line and curve to memory. Y/N arched into his touch, moaning softly as he hit all the right spots. "I want you, Y/N," he breathed against her ear, his voice rough with need. "Tell me I'm not the only one thinking this is a good idea."

"God, yes," she managed to gasp, wrapping her trembling legs around his waist. "I've wanted you since the moment I walked into this damn shop.

"With that as permission, Minho wasted no time in standing her up and hiking her up on the counter, mindful of her fresh tattoo. He quickly unbuttoned her pants, revealing lacy panties that were already soaked through.

"Damn," he voice hoarsely, "You're soaked for me?" Y/N blushed in embarrassment but didn't deny it. She bit her lip as he slid her panties down her thighs and tossed them onto the floor. Minho's heated gaze raked over every inch of her exposed skin, as if he couldn’t believe she was really here with him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said reverently, before dipping his head to kiss her mound through her folds.

His tongue swirled around her entrance, licking her sensitive folds and teasingly circling her clit. Y/N moaned loudly, gripping the counter for support as wave after wave of pleasure courged throught her body.

Minho looked up at her, a wicked grin on his face, "I'm just getting started," he murmured before sucking on her clit hard enough to make Y/N's toes curl. Minho's skilled tongue and fingers were driving Y/N wild, each touch and suck sending her body into a tailspin of bliss. Her nails dug into the counter as she arched her back, lost in the overwhelming sensations he was evoking in her. She knew she wouldn't last much longer.

"Minho, I... I'm," she panted, unable to finish her sentence as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. He moaned her name as he continued his ministrations, driving her higher and higher until she came apart in his mouth, her entire body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

As she came down from her high, Minho stood up, wiping his face on his forearm. "My turn" she said, pushing him down on the chair and straddling his lap. She unzipped his jeans, his hard shaft springing out, already aching for her .

With a mischievous grin, she licked her lips and took him into her mouth, running her tongue around the head and shaft, savoring his salty musky scent. Minho groaned, his hands finding a way to her hair , guiding her but not forcing. He tasted different than she thought he would; better and addictive. In no time at all, she had him on the edge and he was moaning her name like a prayer.

"Y/N" he gasped out, "I'm close," he warned her, but Y/N was relentless, wanting to see how far she could push him. But he pulled her off him just in time, “bend over the table ”, he said between labored breaths.

Y/N complied, her back arched invitingly, her soaking wet pussy on display for him. Minho position himself behind her, lining up his hard erection with her entrance and with one swift thrust, he was inside of her, filling her to the hilt. With every push and pull of their hips, the tattoo table groaned under their weight.

Minho's hot body slid in and out of Y/N's, driving her crazy with desire. He grabbed her hips, guiding their rhythm as they moved together in a frenzied pace. Their moans echoed through the otherwise quiet tattoo parlor, filling the emptiness as they basked in their newfound passion. Y/N felt him hit her cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, and she mewled loudly.

"Minho," she moaned his name out, unable to form complete words. His hands found her breast, massaging and pinching the skin gently as he continued his assault on her body. She could feel his fingers tracing the intricate design on her back, following the curves and lines of the lotus flower perfectly.

The pressure added another layer to their intense connection. "Oh fuck," he groaned, his hips speeding up even more as he felt her walls clench around him. Y/N's hair flew around them, tickling their faces as they lost themselves in the moment. Their kisses were desperate and hungry, filled with need and longing.

His lips trailed down her neck again, sucking at the sensitive skin there before returning to her earlobe where he nipped and nibbled gently. Her body shuddered under him as she neared her second orgasm of the session.

"Please," she managed to whisper between breaths, unable to ask for more than that simple plea. Minho pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in with force, hitting that spot inside her that sent her spiraling over the edge once again; a scream tore through her lips as she came undone around him, her nails digging into the leather upholstery.

“That’s it baby ”, he panted, his voice laced with strain, “come for me ”. Minho didn't last much longer either, with one final thrust, he followed her over the edge, his hot seed filling her as he groaned out her name. They both collapsed on the table, panting and spent.

Neither of them moved for a moment, trying to catch their breaths and process what just happened. Y/N was the first to speak up "so, umm... not your usual tattoo session?" she joked nervously, breaking the silence. Minho chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair, "I'll say" he smirked back at her.

[evermourning]

we were talking about this the other day and i really wanna see your take on the orange theory with the skz boys 🙏🙏

-🌷

ooh yes 😈😈 these get like progressively longer sorry

ORANGE THEORY WITH SKZ!

chan carefully peels your oranges without you knowing, digging into the juice-covered rind no matter the length of his fingernails to appease you. it's all worth it to him to see the way your eyes light up as you lean your body against his, warmth radiating from you.

minho is no better than chan, except for the fact that he's more discreet about it. he'd spend eons by your side peeling them if it meant being with you. he loves the way you chat with him animatedly, eagerly biting into the citrusy wedge...turning away to hide the burning tips of his ears.

changbin pretends to not know how to peel oranges. he complains that his fingers are built for lifting weights, not peeling fruit. in reality, he can peel them fine, but he just loves when you do it. the way your fingers nimbly slip under the peel, pulling it back. he always shows his gratitude through kisses all over your face, citrus on his breath.

hyunjin craves simple acts of domesticity with you. he adores every inch of you, wanting nothing more than to spoil you. he sits at the kitchen counter with you, orange rinds piled neatly upon a napkin beside him. you watch him with an adoring smile as he furrows his eyebrows in concentration, your chin resting on the upturned palm of your hand. your little life with hyunjin is so lovely.

jisung looks at you like you deserve the sky and the stars. he's always been embarrassed he can't peel his own oranges - he doesn't want to seem childish or helpless. he can't help it, though...every time he tries, his nail pierces right through the center and juice gushes out like blood from an open wound. when he admitted this to you, looking at the floor in embarrassment, you murmured a quiet "that's okay. i'll peel them for you, ji." and ever since then, he's been head over heels in love with you. (well, he always has been...it's just more prominent now!)

felix would do anything for you if you asked. you come up to him, a mauled orange laying lifeless in your hands. your lips are turned into a pout. he immediately knows what you want, setting down his phone (your most recent tiktok plays on repeat) and taking it in his own hands. his hands are tiny and lithe, and he peels the orange in no time. thankfully, the inside is safe, as all of your senseless attacks were focused at the peel. you gleefully wrap your arms around him, leaning in for a peck on the lips. maybe he should peel your oranges more often.

seungmin can put on his uninterested act all he wants, but if he really did not care for you, he wouldn't be sitting here peeling oranges for the love of his life. he has little cuts on the skin beneath his nails from picking at them, and he lets out a hiss of pain as the juices sting his skin. as if you were listening for him to make a sound, you appear almost instantaneously behind him, armed with a bandaid and a kiss to make the wound feel better. once it's wrapped, he decides to finish peeling the oranges, much to your chagrin. how else could he repay someone as perfect as you?

jeongin may tease you mercilessly for not knowing how to peel fruit, but that doesn't mean he won't peel them for you! he giggles, saying things like "this is so easy" and "how do you mess this up?" as he expertly peels the orange, separating each wedge neatly. then, he lifts one up to meet your parted lips, a warm smile upon his handsome face. "say ahh." as you open your mouth and he feeds you the orange slice, you can't help but notice his rosy cheeks. "don't ever learn how to peel anything, okay? i've got you."

[italiansteebie]

The first time Steve is exposed to subculture, it changes his life. The sneer his mother gives ins't surprising, but Steve can't help but be entranced by the glinting silver on this random man's body.

They're everywhere, in his nose, lips, and when he flicks his tongue out, Steve even catches sight of the shining jewelry in his tongue. And maybe Steve was already 13, practically grown up at this point, but he sees this man and thinks, that's who he wants to be when he grows up.

Unfortunately, that is not how things go.

His mother sees him studying the style of the delinquent in front of them and smacks his lightly on the head. "You have a reputation to uphold, Steven," She mutters through gritted teeth. So Steve hangs his head, and his dreams of looking like the colored haired boy he saw in the grocery store.

So years later, he's still adorned in polo shirts and light washed jeans. He's snuck in some goofy hair, but it's no where near what he'd want it to be ideally.

And here's the thing, he knew his family's reputation was important, but now that he's been denied from every college he applied to, including tech, and he's been lowered to serving ice cream in a sailor uniform, he wonders just how important the reputation was.

--

He can't help but wonder if he's going to die like this.

Covered in vomit and blood, in a sailor outfit on a dirty bathroom floor curled up to a lesbian, who he thinks maybe his soulmate. Platonically, of course.

"I've always wanted, like- colored hair. 'Nd piercings 'nd stuff. Y'know." Steve said, letting his head fall against Robin's shoulder. "Why haven't you?" Robin asked, resting her head on his. Steve shrugged, "Reputation, I guess. I think my parents would commit homicide."

Robin snorted, "If only they could see you now," she giggles. Steve shifts to retaliate, but can only laugh along with her. Steve nods, laughing harder when an angry looking Dustin and Erica barge into the bathroom.

--

They make it out alive.

Somehow. But they do.

And that's how they ended up here.

"Rob, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is! Look, Eddie is probably the only punk adjacent guy for miles, and he probably knows about all those records you think you hide in your closet."

"You've seen those?"

Robin shrugs, "When there's a box labeled 'do not open' in King Steve's closet, you take a look. It doesn't matter! I'm sure he knows who Iron Maiden is!"

The door swings open, "Of course I do."

Eddie Munson stands in front of them in all his glory.

"Told ya." Robin says, a light sneer on her face. Steve shoves her over, before looking back at Eddie, about to speak before he cuts him off. "I know Iron Maiden, what I don't know, is why King Steve is on my front porch with Robin from band. And why he's asking about Iron Maiden of all things." Eddie looks a bit like he want's to turn them away, but he steps back and opens the door wider, motioning for them to come in.

Once they're all milling about Eddie's tiny living room, Steve starts. "I know you've got this whole," Steve gestures at Eddie, "Metal head look going on and, well. I need some advice. Guidance, if you will." Robin nods along with him. "Yeah, a lot of guidance. He want's to get his nose pierced, but he only has polos."

Steve scoffs at this. "I have band shirts, Buckley. I'm just not allowed to wear them. But no more! I'm fully embracing this side of me."

Eddie watches, slightly amused, "So what do you need my help for?" He asks, eyebrow arching. "I need you to pierce my nose. Or at least tall me where to go," Steve rambles, shifting from foot to foot.

He watches as the metal head mulls this over. Eddie sighs, and shakes his head, Steve's shoulders dropping. "C'mon, Rob. He's not gonna do it, let's just go." He says quietly. "Woah, hey! I never said I wouldn't do it. I just don't uh- Why me?"

"You're the only person I thought could be helpful." Steve admits, watching as a smirk spreads across Eddie's face. "Alright then, big boy. Step into my office."

Steve follows Eddie into the bathroom, Robin hot on his heels, watching in some combination of awe and fear as Eddie pulls out. needle from the medicine cabinet. "Oh shit," Steve breathes. Eddie raises an eyebrow, but moves on. "Stay here while I get the jewelry."

"You okay, Steve? Oh my god, you're shaking." Robin frets, "Do you wanna back out? We don't have to do this." She says, grabbing Steve's hand. Steve swallows thickly, "I- I want to. I just. The needle is really freaking me out. I keep seeing that fucking syringe." Robin nods, rubbing Steve's shoulder, laying her head on his shoulder.

Eddie comes bounding back into the bathroom, "Hey- woah. Am I interrupting? No PDA in the trailer, please." He laughs. Steve and Robin jump away from each other, "Oh ew. He is so not my type," Robin groans.

"Whatever, let's do this Stevie. We're doing your septum, right?"

Steve tilts his head, and Eddie sighs "The one right here," Eddie places his hands on his own septum. "Oh, yeah. That one." Eddie nods, getting to work.

Eddie lies the needle up with Steve's nose, "Okay, breath in," Steve follows, "And breath out," Eddie instructs, and slides the needle through. In a fluid motion, Eddie slides the jewelry in, screwing on the ball and checking his work.

"Alright, we're all done, Steve-o." Eddie says, patting his cheek, before looking up at the boy. He looked a bit pale. "Steve?" He asked, before Steve promptly passed out, flopping to the floor in a boneless heap. "Oh, shit. Steve!" Robin cries, bending down. Eddie freezes for a second, "Oh shit. Okay. He probably just fainted, it happens sometimes. Lemme get him some water." He practically leaps through the trailer to grab some water.

He's back in the bathroom right as Steve comes to, "Scoops! I work for scoops, please!" He's shouting, there's tearing streaming down his face and Robin is there next to him, holding him close. "Shh, Steve. We're in the trailer, remember? Eddie's trailer? He pierced your nose." Robin soothes.

Eddie moves in closer, "yeah, I uh. I got you some water," he says, handing him the water. Steve grabs it with a shakey hand, "Thanks, Munson." He breathes, tears slowing. "Uh. Sorry. I had a long month. Y'know," Steve shrugs, and it leaves Eddie reeling. Was he just going to pretend this didn't just happen? The guy was still sitting on his bathroom floor. "Steve, seriously? Look, just sit here, I'm gonna go call someone to pick us up." Robin sighs, before making her way out of the small space.

"Are you okay," Eddie asks, sincerely, "No." Steve answers, voice cracking as he does so. "I was in that mall fire last month, and the hospital trip involved a lot of needles. I guess I didn't realize they still kind of freak me out." Eddie nodded in understanding. "I get that. I couldn't look at a blue chevy for the longest time cause it reminded me of my dad."

Steve sighed, "Thanks for doing this, Eddie. Hey, uh. How much do I owe you?" Eddie waved his hand, "It's all good, Harrington." He dismissed. Steve shook his head, "No way man, I gotta pay you back somehow." He insisted.

Eddie mulled it over, "take me to dinner?" He asked, before realizing what the fuck he just said, "I mean- fuck. Not- I didn't" He scrambled to his feet. Steve grabbed his hand, "Eddie, wait. It's fine."

"Fine? I asked you on a date. If you hadn't just passed out in my bathroom, I'm positive you would've decked me by now!" Eddie squealed. Steve shook his head, "I- I like both, Eddie. Y'know, boys and girls. And honestly. I'd love to go on a date with you," Steve said, smiling up at him.

"Steve! Joyce's here to pick us up since you died!" Robin called from the living room. Eddie helped Steve stand, and walked him to the living room. Steve leaned a little heavier into his side, "I'll call you when I'm a little less weak in the knees, okay?" Steve said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek before following Robin outside.

"Thanks again, Eds!" Steve called once he was in the car.

Eddie couldn't wait for that phone call.

[chryblossomjjk]

distractions | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 1.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: cute couple content, they drop the 'l' word guys, n*pple piercings n sucking bc u know... fixation lmao, v suggestive but no actual sm*t, finger sucking lol, the love is requited :')

⇢ SUMMARY: jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⇢ NOTES: ugh i missed them dearly!! will be putting out more drabbles soon, but i'm currently trying to focus on my other wip!! i haven't posted anything in so long so i wanted to share this with you guys! school n work is hectic i already feel swamped pls be patient with me :') i miss having time for a hobby lmao!! anyways, i hope you enjoy and let me know ur thoughts! love u <3 also apologize if there's any typos or weirdness, this wasn't beta'd!! if you haven't read practice yet, pls read before this!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

“Kook, look up! How many times do I have to tell you?” 

Four months into the relationship and his attention span, or lack thereof, never ceased to amaze you. With a frustrated groan, you place the pointy end of your Sailor Moon brush between your teeth before gripping his chin and turning his wandering gaze back to you. 

“Bambi, I’m looking up!” He yell-laughs, doe-eyes wide and sarcastic as they bear into you, equally frustrated. You can already see the concealer you applied just a few minutes ago creasing. Dramatically, he karate chops his tattooed arm towards the ceiling, paralleling your scantily clad frame straddling him. The sudden jump has you shifting against his crotch deliciously. Now’s not the time for fooling around, though. You’re determined to put the cute brush set Jungkook randomly gifted you a few weeks back to good use, starting with giving your sweet boyfriend a full beat. “This is up! What other direction is up?”

What an asshole. 

You pop the pink plastic out of your mouth, taking an annoyed chomp out of his annoying fingers. It's playful, of course. You mean, you’ve just got done with a whitening strip, after all…

Jungkook takes the opportunity to shove his digits further past your glossy lips, reaching down just enough to feel your throat constrict, then pulling back. He stares up at you with the cheesiest fucking grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mean,” you cough, wiping the drool at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No you,” he counters, pinching your cheek patronizingly. “I love you, though.”

One month into the lovey-dovey phase of the relationship; that one where the initial butterflies fly away and you’re left feeling like ‘wow, maybe this is a forever sort of thing,’ and you still feel lightheaded every time Jungkook murmurs those three words.

“I love you, too,” you coo, reaching down to adjust his teddy-bear headband. Jungkook’s been growing his hair out. This was his last semester and he was determined to go out with a bang. For whatever reason, he had decided that bang was a mullet. You remember how confused you were when he showed up at your dorm at 3am, drunk off Fireball and excitement, asking you to cut his hair. You thought the request was outlandish and foolish, but you did it anyway, in your bathroom with eyebrow scissors. It came out a teeny bit crooked, and a tiny bit choppy, but Jungkook loved it, staring at his reflection with a big bunny smile and starry eyes. “But baby, this-” you tap on the headboard behind him, “-is up.”

He squints his eyes in defiance before complying. Ah, you’ve trained him well. A very good boy, indeed.

You’ve spoken, or thought, too soon, because after a few swipes of the plush bristles, a high-pitched ‘Appa!’ from your phone, leaning against your Kuromi makeup bag on the nightstand beside you, draws his dark pupils back to the cartoon. 

“That’s it,” you huff like an overwhelmed mother of three, yanking the device out of his sight. “Say goodbye to Aang. You’ve lost your Avatar: The Last Airbender privileges.” 

“C’mon, seriously?” He laughs while lunging forward, attempting to wrestle the phone out of your grasp. Giggling wildly, you toss it on the pink shag rug below you, out of his reach. The movement almost sends you toppling over. Luckily, Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Bambi, you know I’m easily distracted.”

“But you said I could do your makeup,” you pout, batting your lashes at him.

“I know, I-”

“Don’t touch!” You shriek, preventing him from rubbing his eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes through a chuckle, holding his hands by his head in defense. “Maybe I…” You deadpan him as his eyes scan around the room before, not so subtly, landing on your chest. Cocking his head, he tuts his tongue and grips the hem of your shirt. Shamelessly, he stuffs the nearly transparent material into your mouth, exposing your bare breasts. “There, just like that,” he whispers, warm palms grazing up your torso to cup them, thumbs grazing over your little diamond heart jewelry. You gasp at the touch. “You know, I still can’t believe you actually got ‘em’.” Neither could you, honestly, but if there was one thing Jungkook has taught you, it’s that sometimes, you need to step out of your comfort zone. Take risks. Especially when it results in the cutest little nipple piercings. “So fucking sexy…”

You feel his forming bulge poking against you. God, do you want him. But even Jungkook’s dick couldn’t derail you from the mission at hand. Raising an eyebrow, you lift up the makeup brush.

The tits really seem to keep him preoccupied. With a hand on his cheek, you feel his mouth hollowing, sucking your nipple gingerly as you lean over him and fill in his thick brows. Obviously, it’s a bit hard to focus. Every now and then, you have to tug his hair to redirect his nibbles back down to soft licks. 

“Okay,” you announce, letting the shirt fall from your candy-coated lips and sitting up, “what color?”

Out of the entire thirty-pan rainbow eyeshadow palette you’re holding up for him, he lazily points to the darkest shade in the top color. His favorite color, of course; black. You should’ve known. Your lips scrunch to the side in contemplation. Jungkook would look so yummy with a smokey eye.

So you blend and blend away with blacks, whites, and grays. Shockingly, your boyfriend manages to stay still throughout the entire process. You’re proud of him, really. He’ll definitely get rewarded afterward. And you were right, the final product is absolutely delectable. 

“Baby, your eyelashes are stunning!” You swoon. “And the smokey-eye looks so so so good with your eye shape.”

Silence.

“Jungkook?” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders and shaking softly. Nothing but the sound of faint snores reaches your ears. The little fuck fell asleep. No wonder why he’s been so good. You laugh in disbelief, picking your phone off the floor and snapping a few pictures to show him in the morning. Reaching into your drawer, you take out a couple makeup wipes and start cleaning him up. You loathe makeup wipes and only keep them for emergencies, but Jungkook looks so peaceful that you can’t bring yourself to wake him.

Next, you snuggle beside him with a spare blanket, unable to yank your comforter out from under his thick, muscular thighs. He stirs when you gently pull off his headband. “I love you…” he mumbles, still half asleep. It’s as if the emotion is so ingrained in his subconscious that they bubble to the surface, even when he’s sleepy and incoherent. 

And you feel the same exact way. 

“I love you, Jungkook. Goodnight.”

© chryblossomjjk 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[muiitoloko]

hello, I love you’re stories. By any chance, do you plan to write stories featuring Snape ? If not will you be writing a next part of colonel Brandon ? In any case continue to ravish us with your writing and thanks for advising some others writers in one of your below post, they’re so good too !

Title: The Homecoming

Summary: Severus Snape returns home from Hogwarts to his loving wife, finding solace and tenderness in their rare moments together as they cherish their time away from the chaos. Despite the lingering scars and weariness from his battles, their deep connection and mutual support offer a sanctuary of love and peace.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warning: none

Author's Notes: Hey there! Thanks so much for loving my stories! 😊 I’m totally up for writing about any character if people ask, but I must admit, Snape already has a ton of stories out there. I’m more excited about diving into Alan’s characters who don’t get as much love, though I’m definitely willing to write about Snape too! As for Colonel Brandon, I’m currently out of ideas, but I do plan to continue his story soon. And I’m thrilled you liked the other writers I mentioned—they’re my favorites here on Tumblr too! 😄

Severus Snape entered the house, his tall, lean figure slightly hunched from fatigue. The long, dark robes he wore enhanced his imposing presence, even as he exuded exhaustion. His long, greasy black hair framed his pale, angular face, and his piercing dark eyes softened only slightly upon seeing you.

You rushed to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Severus," you murmured, pressing your face against his chest. "I missed you."

Snape’s deep, monotone voice carried a hint of warmth as he responded, "And I missed you, my love." He held you tightly, savoring the rare moment of intimacy. As headmaster of Hogwarts, he rarely found time to return home, living more within the castle walls than in the comfort of your shared home. This weekend was one of those rare occasions, leaving the responsibility of maintaining the castle to Minerva McGonagall while he returned home for a well-deserved rest with you, his wife of three years.

"I can't believe you're actually here," you said, looking up at him with a smile. "How was Hogwarts?"

Snape sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. "The same as always, though Minerva is more than capable of handling things in my absence."

You nodded, guiding him towards the living room. "Come, let’s sit down. You look like you need a rest."

As you led him to the couch, Snape’s eyes softened even more. "I need more than just rest," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. "I need you."

But you didn't seem to hear him, very excited to have him home. You sat him down on the couch and began bombarding him with questions, your chatter filling the room. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? How was your trip? Did anything interesting happen at Hogwarts? Oh, Severus, your hair is so greasy! Have you been making potions and not washing your hair again?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his exhaustion. "One question at a time, please," he said, his deep, monotone voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You laughed, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in yours. "Sorry, I'm just so happy to have you home. Let’s start with the most important question: are you hungry?"

Snape nodded slightly. "I could eat something, yes."

You jumped up, eager to prepare something for him. "I'll make your favorite! Just sit here and relax."

As you bustled around the kitchen, Snape leaned back on the couch, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation. The sound of you moving about, the familiar sights and smells of your home, began to soothe the weariness in his bones. He watched you with a soft expression, his piercing dark eyes reflecting a rare moment of peace.

A few minutes later, you returned with a tray, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. "Here you go, Severus. Eat up."

Snape took a bite, savoring the taste. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice warm.

You sat beside him again, watching him eat with a smile on your face. "So, tell me about Hogwarts. How are things going there?"

Snape sighed, setting down his fork for a moment. "As I said, it's the same as always. The students are as troublesome as ever, but Minerva is managing them well in my absence."

You nodded, listening intently. "And what about you? How are you holding up?"

He looked at you, his expression softening. "It's difficult, as always. But knowing I can come home to you makes it bearable."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "I'm glad you're here, Severus. I worry about you."

Snape squeezed your hand gently. "And I you, my love. But for now, let's enjoy this time together."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Of course. I'm just so happy to have you home."

As you settled in beside him, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, savoring the rare and precious moments of togetherness. The world outside might be filled with challenges and dangers, but within the walls of your home, there was a sanctuary of love and peace.

You then played with his hair, noticing its greasy texture. Snape, already irritated, muttered, "Stop it," but you insisted, twirling the strands between your fingers. Snape shot you a stern look, which you completely ignored, prompting him to roll his eyes. Despite his initial resistance, he allowed you to continue, feeling your fingers trail down the back of his neck to the collar of his robes.

As you pulled down the high collar, the scars left by Nagini on his neck were revealed—a stark reminder of the miracle that he survived. Your touch was gentle, your fingers tracing the jagged lines with care.

"Severus," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and admiration, "these scars… it's a miracle you're here."

Snape's dark eyes softened slightly, though his tone remained guarded. "A miracle, or perhaps just a twist of fate," he replied, setting down his fork and turning to face you fully. "Either way, I am here."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to one of the scars. "I'm grateful for that twist of fate every day," you said softly.

Snape's expression was a mixture of weariness and gratitude. "As am I," he murmured, his voice tinged with emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. "Though I wish I could spare you the sight of these reminders."

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve. "They are part of you, Severus. Part of the man I love."

He sighed, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You are far too forgiving, my dear."

"And you are far too hard on yourself," you countered, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration of his neck. "You are a hero, Severus. You need to remember that."

Snape chuckled softly, a rare sound that sent warmth through your heart. "If you insist," he said, his voice still carrying that familiar, dry tone. "Though I must say, your persistence is quite remarkable."

You laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. "Well, someone has to remind you of your worth."

Snape returned the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with his usual demeanor. "And for that, I am eternally grateful."

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. "Let's make the most of this weekend, Severus. No more talk of scars or battles. Just us."

He nodded, his eyes reflecting a rare moment of peace. "Just us," he agreed, pulling you into his arms.

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence, savoring the precious moments of togetherness. The world outside, with all its challenges and dangers, seemed a distant memory within the sanctuary of your home. And as the evening wore on, you both found solace in each other's presence, grateful for the love that had brought you together and the strength that would see you through whatever lay ahead.