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celestie0 · 4 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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bruisedboys · 1 year

Note

Eddie loves his shy girl so much, he’ll always call her “my girl” or “the wife” “the mrs” around others just to watch how red she gets 🥹🥹 but soon he finds that calling her the wife feels natural and right, he realizes she’s the only girl he ever wants

he totally does omg. bro def calls you his wife with absolutely no shame. thank u for the ask angel!!

summary: eddie calls shy!you a lot of names. all of them make you flustered beyond belief

shy!fem!reader 1k words

Steve’s invited you all to drinks to celebrate him and Robin finally copping a job that isn’t slinging ice cream or sitting behind a video store counter all day. Eddie’s helping you pick out an outfit. It’s taking longer than you’d expected. Something about posing for Eddie makes you so nervous you can barely walk.

“Are you done yet?” Eddie’s voice on the other side of the door is far from impatient, even though it should be by now.

You grumble something incoherent instead of answering. Eddie heard you and laughs.

“Y/N,” he says seriously. The effect is ruined because you can hear his smile in the way he says your name. “We’re gonna be late, baby. Come out and show me the dress. I bet this is the one.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds. It is a nice dress. It’s a good length and makes your chest look nice, the colour looks pretty on your skin. Still, you’re embarrassed. You don’t like dressing up. It feels attention-seeking.

You scrub your face with both hands and take a big breath. “Alright, fine.”

You turn away from the mirror before you can stop yourself and yank the bathroom door open. Eddie’s waiting for you on your bed, sitting pretty, if a little slouched. He has bad posture. But his back goes rigid when he sees you — he sits up straight and lets his jaw drop.

“Babe,” he half-whispers, totally in awe, his eyes blown wide. He’s definitely laying it on thick but you can sense the genuineness underneath it all. His eyes traverse a path down your body and back up again, leaving your skin burning. And he hasn’t even touched you yet. “Baby. Honey. Darling. You look amazing.”

You flush all over despite yourself. “Eddie,” you say, chiding.

Eddie pretends to look offended. “What?” He leaps off the bed and gets one hand around your waist, the fabric of your dress shushing under his touch. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re a real stunner, you know that?”

His other hand finds your elbow and pushes all the way up to your bicep, his fingers pressing into your skin. You burn like a furnace where he touches you. You knew this part was coming.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, genuine underneath all the shyness.

Eddie looks like he’s about to say something more but you’re saved from his doting by the phone next to your bed ringing loudly. You make to get it but Eddie beats you to it.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, sounding half-annoyed. “Oh. Hi, Steve. Yeah, no, we’re coming. The Mrs is just getting ready.” A pause in which Eddie meets your eye and winks. You flush even worse than you already were. Eddie goes back to talking to Steve. “Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll be there in ten. Bye, Harrington.”

Eddie puts the phone back and you try to compose yourself. The Mrs, he’d called you. You feel like you could die.

Meanwhile Eddie’s grabbing his jacket from the bedpost and shrugging it on. “He’s badgering us about being late,” he says, pushing his arms through the sleeves. “We better get going, dove.” He looks up at you, half in his jacket. “Do you need me to carry anything for you?”

My heart? You think. Then maybe your chest wouldn’t hurt so much. You shake your head.

“No, um. That’s okay.” You push your hair behind your ears and try not to show how much he’s undone you with his antics. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

Eddie smiles at you. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the car?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Ten minutes later you’ve arrived at the bar and Eddie’s leading you inside with a hand at the small of your back. He smells good, like the cologne you’d bought him forever ago that he wears basically every day.

You step inside the semi-crowded bar and Eddie spots your friend group before you do.

“They’re over there, by the window,” he says, pointing. “C’mon.”

He takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of your friends. You let him guide you and he pleases, his hand a warm weight in yours. You stare at the back of his head until you arrive at the table. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan are all here.

“Munson!” Robin cheers. Your eyes zero in on the drink in her hand and you think she’s maybe already a bit tipsy. Then she spots you and beams. “Y/N!”

You smile back. “Hi, Robs. Hi, everyone, sorry we’re late.” You give a sheepish laugh and glance at Eddie. “My fault.”

“It was worth it though, right?” Eddie says enthusiastically, to the group at whole. He throws an arm around your shoulder and jostles you gently. “Doesn’t my girl look great?”

My girl. Your face burns. There’s a chorus of agreement from around the table — it makes you feel better but not better enough that you’re not still flushing furiously.

“Eddie,” you mumble, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring at the tabletop instead. You elbow him in the side, too gentle for what you feel he deserves.

Eddie laughs loudly. “What?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what.

You huff and wish the floor would swallow you up. When it doesn’t, you let Eddie pull you into the booth next to Robin. It’s a tight squeeze and Eddie’s thigh presses into yours, his jeans warm and rough on your skin where your dress rides up your thighs.

You think Eddie notices this too because he lets his hand fall to your lap instead of his own, spreading his hand over your thigh, his fingers grazing your bare skin. He squeezes you and you try not to show how much he affects you.

“Drinks?” He asks you, like everything is completely normal and you’re not a nervous, flustered wreck right now.

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

#★ mal writes!#ღ eds #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x shy!reader fluff #eddie munson x shy!reader #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson drabbles #✉️

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ddejavvu · 9 months

Note

MORE BEREAL WITH HOTCH OMG!!

but he takes one where he rails me from behind 🤭

part 1

this post is 18+, minors dni.

The consequences of your relationship with Hotch being outed are much less severe than you'd worried about. No one has snitched to Strauss, no one accuses you of sleeping with the boss for leverage in the government. But they do adopt a penchant for teasing you, and it grates on Aaron's nerves more than yours.

"Y/L/N, I didn't peg you as a grave robber," Derek grins, his pen caught between his teeth as he leans back in his chair, "Tell me, can the old man even get it up anymore?"

"That's enough." Hotch snaps, "You're working right now, Agent."

"I'm working, I'm working," Derek assures his boss, putting pen to paper but writing nothing, "Just making sure Y/N's not getting the short end of the stick in this little thing you've got going on."

"It's not short." You promise with a sly grin, and you see Aaron's jaw clench as he tries biting his tongue to keep from smirking. He's stirring his coffee on the counter of the kitchenette and Derek, properly cowed by your retaliation to his teasing, ducks his head and begins scribbling away with a grimace on his face.

You've developed a habit of meeting Aaron in his office for lunch, and today is no different. You take the brunt of your coworker's teasing jeers as you bounce happily up the stairs to Hotch's office, shutting the door on them before Emily can finish whatever jibe she's got locked and loaded.

"Hi," You greet, like you haven't seem him all day, like he wasn't expecting your presence, "You ready to eat?"

"I am," Aaron beams at you, shuffling paperwork out of the way to clear a space for your lunch bag, "Did you happen to grab any crackers from the pantry before we left?"

"I did," You brag, showcasing a full sleeve of them to pair with the dip you'd made, "We need more of them, though, this is the last portion."

"I'll add it to the grocery list," Aaron mumbles, digging in his pocket for his phone, and you feel something warm and soft in your chest at the domesticity of it all. Your grocery list, your joint grocery list with the man you love. Food bought together, with shared funds and shared smiles across the shopping cart as an unnecessary bag of cookies is added to the cart.

"JJ thinks you're nicer now that we're together," You muse, munching on a cracker with dip smeared over its surface, "She says you smile more."

"I do," Aaron's eyes scrunch slightly with the force of the expression in question, "I bet Morgan doesn't feel that way."

"He does that to himself," You scoff, reaching over the desk to squeeze Aaron's arm, "He loves you, Aaron, he just likes teasing you. That's his way of showing it."

"I know," He assures you, "I just wish he wouldn't do it in the office."

"I bet he wishes we wouldn't do it in the office," You gnaw at your lower lip, remembering Derek's scandalized grimace when he'd forgone a knock at Hotch's office door last week. It had been a kiss, barely more besides wandering hands, but since then he's doubled his efforts to tease you two.

"I locked the door this time." Aaron chuckles, but falls silent with the weight of his words, "That is- if you want this time to be like last time. Or we could just eat, or-"

"Shut up," Your finger flies to Aaron's mouth, his eyes crossing to follow it as you press it to his lips, "I want you."

His chest shakes with a hearty chuckle at your brazen words, but he's more than happy to scoot his chair back from his desk to give you space to sit over his thighs. Your kiss tastes like the dip you've both been sharing, but the messier it gets, the more you lick and drool into his mouth the less potent it is. It doesn't take you long to feel a needy ache in your core that Aaron's bulge would satisfy, so you reach down to palm him through his pants.

"Jesus-" He hisses, eyes fluttering open to blink dazedly at you, "You- do you want- here? Now?"

"Yes here and now!" You nod vigorously, his face held in your hands, "I need you, Aaron, please."

His hands fly to his belt buckle with no further hesitation. You're eager to help, palming his cock through his boxers until it's sufficiently hard and tugging eagerly at the elastic waistband to free it. It's a mouthwatering sight, but you don't have time for that now, all you can manage on your lunch break is a quickie.

With mental plans made to suck him dry as soon as you cross the threshold of your apartment, you lift your hips, relishing in the way that his fingers prod at your barely-slick entrance to coax more lubrication out of your cunt.

"Just go," You beg, "There's no time, I- I'm wet enough."

"Okay." He hums, kissing your mouth where you pant against his own, "You sure you're ready?"

"Mhm! Yeah, I'm ready." You nod, letting him line up his cock with your entrance, "Aaron, please- hnngh!"

You bury your face in his shoulder at the slight sting of his dick, the pain eased when he pushes all the way in and the slickness that's accumulated deep inside gets distributed around your cunt. It's smoother then, and he's able to get a steady rhythm going with both his hips and yours as you ride him. He thrusts as best as he can and you pick up the slack by bouncing your hips, until you're biting into the soft silk of his tie to muffle your moans.

Your phone chimes. It's BeReal.

You've had a little more freedom since outing your relationship, your photos now of you and Aaron together rather than the grass beneath your feet and a carefully taken selfie that doesn't include your brooding boss.

But it's Aaron this time that lunges for the cell, your weight supported when his arm wraps around your thighs, and your legs encircle his waist. It's a startling change of position, and you're worried about falling, but he's surprisingly strong.

"Aaron!" You gush, your back aching when it's pressed against the corner of his desk, "Ow, don't-!"

"Sorry," He pants, hands falling to your hips and hips jerking backwards. His cock is no longer buried in your cunt and you mourn it's loss, but he manhandles your waist to turn you around, and you fall forwards against his desk. You catch yourself on your palms against the smooth wood, yelping as he shows no hesitation in lining his hips up with your ass and plunging his cock back into your pussy. He's thrusting from behind now, one hand latched onto your phone as he clicks the notification.

Your face barely suffices to unlock the phone, your expression warped in pleasure as Aaron takes you from behind. But the phone unlocks after only a moment's struggle, and Aaron eagerly loads the front camera.

"No porn," You warn him, "I- I don't need Reid seeing my- tits!"

"I'm not showing anyone your tits," He grunts, aiming the camera at your face just as your brow scrunches, and your mouth falls into a rosy ring, "I'm showing them your face."

"Aaron-!" You mewl, hearing the shutter of the camera as he takes his own picture, the saliva-ridden bite you'd left on his tie. There's a ring of darker fabric where your drool had seeped into the silk, and he's proud to showcase it alongside your pleasure-ridden expression.

"There," He tosses the phone back on the desk, perhaps harder than he should. He's simply overwhelmed with passion, the need to prove himself worthy of you. Derek's nagging comments eat at his brain, 'the short end of the stick.'

It doesn't look like you're suffering. His chest surges with pride as he stares at the photo he'd snapped of you, face contorted and riddled with bliss.

'Short end of the stick', he sneers, digging the expression into your back and nipping at the skin of your neck, you're nothing short of mindblown.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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marleyybluu · 4 months

Text

Three and Counting

husband/dad!Oscar x mom/wife!black!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Content warning: 18+, smut on your rooftop and down the chimney, domestic bliss, love and lust is everywhere, reader is pregnant again, pregnancy sex, no one is pulling out, creampies, backshots while pregnant, oral (f receiving), big dick Oscar, reader speaks/understands Spanish, Oscar talks you through it again, switching between names (Oscar/Spooky)

A/N: Though this was not the original, I'm still glad with how this turned out. not proof-read, sorry I'm too fried to do it lmao and again I've never been pregnant, don't know how well pregnancy sex works but I tried lol

not my gif. but spread my legs pls omg

"Mommy." A small whimper sounds below you in the middle of your pancake flipping process. It was 6:30 am and though you hated being up this early, you had to be. It was the first day back to school for your eldest son, Raphael, but it was your youngest daughter, Elliana's first day of kindergarten. Even though this was your second child you couldn't help but feel the sadness over your little girl growing up. It was bittersweet. You'd been home with Elliana for the majority of the first three years of her life, you bonded and were stuck to each other like glue. She's still sleeping in your bed most of the time no matter how much Spooky says you need to ween her off. But you just couldn't, that was your little girl. Your mini-me.

"Mi Amor? It's too early for you to be up." You yawn and rest your free hand on your rotund belly. Carrying baby number three was surprisingly draining. Your first two pregnancies were tiring, sure, but this one seemed to have you riddled with low energy.

"I know." She mutters fiddling with her fingers. "Is there something you'd like?"

Her little brown eyes, big and round just like your own, shift from side to side deciding in that little head of hers if she can admit her truth. You flip over another pancake before placing the spatula on the counter and you look down at your Elliana. You open your arms inviting her in, you hook your hand under her arms and say: "One... twooooo..."

"Threeee." She giggles as she jumps to assist you in picking her up. She sits on your hip and rests her head on your shoulder. "What would you like to talk about my sweet?"

She sighed. "I don't want to go to school. Can't I just stay with you and the baby?"

You smile softly. "I wish bebita, but you need school. School is good. Papi went to school and look, he owns a restaurant. Mama went to school and what does she do now?"

"Nurse."

"Exactamente." You say using the spatula to slide the cooked pancakes off to make room for new ones. "Plus you get to make awesome friends. I met your Tia Jasmine at school."

Elliana laughed. "Tia Jasmine está loca." You laughed along with her. "She is, she's always been like that. But that's why mommy loves her and chose her to be your tia. Entiendes?"

"Si... pero..." Her tiny shoulders sink with the weight of all these feelings. "Pero..." You encourage her to continue. "I had a dream one night, and... and I dreamt you and Papi left me at school. Everyone left, I was alone."

You gasp dramatically. "Ay, mi hija. We would never leave you there." You press a reassuring kiss to her temple. "We will always come back to get you, every single day. And I have good news, today... I won't make you stay the whole day. We will come to get you and Rafa early."

Her eyes light up. "Really?"

"Claro que si! Maybe we'll go to the toy store, who knows. But you must go to school first. Deal?"

She squeals with excitement and kisses your cheek. "Alright, sneak back upstairs before papito wakes up." You whisper carrying her toward the staircase and putting her down on the steps, she walks back upstairs and you stay at the bottom of the steps until you hear the door open and shut quietly.

— — Elliana's small fist holds your two fingers as you walk her up to the school entrance doors where her new teachers are waiting. "Good morning Mr. And Mrs. Diaz, how are you?"

"Good. How are you guys?"

"Summer could've been longer." One of them sigh and pout. "I bet."

Raphael says goodbye to you and his father before turning to his sister, he decides to wait for her so they can walk in together. Oscar gives her a little pep talk and a small kiss before she looks up at you. You squat down as best you can to be at eye level with her. "Okay Ellie Bellie, I want you to do your best today okay? It's fine if you feel a little sad today it's normal."

She nods and her little lip trembles. "I love you so much." Your voice cracks and you know you have to say bye now or you won't leave her. You kiss her head and stick out your pinky and she hooks it with hers. "Go be amazing, mamita."

"Te amo."

You smile softly. "Te amo."

Elliana holds onto her brother's hand and they both make their way inside the building, it takes everything in you to not rush in and save her but you have to let her go. Oscar helps you up and holds onto you until you reach the car, he aids you inside the passenger's seat before heading over to the driver's side. "You okay?"

You nod turning your head to the window, a small tear slips but you quickly wipe it away. "Cariño. She'll be fine."

"I know." You sob. "It's just my stupid hormones." You lie. "Let's just go, if we stay any longer I'll end up going in there."

Oscar slips his hand under yours scooping you up and kissing the back of your hand... your fingers... your wrist. You smile as he wipes your tears away, so glad to have a man who just took care of you in all ways possible. "You want something to eat?"

Your mouth twists with consideration, you did technically eat an hour ago... and you are growing another child so you need all the nutrients that you-

"I'll take that silence as a yes." He says starting the car, you rest your head on his shoulder. He knew you all too well.

— — You did everything you could. Laundry, cooking, sleeping. But somehow the time wouldn't speed up. You and Oscar agreed you'd get the kids around 2:15, but it was only 12:30. You groaned getting up from your lounging position on the couch, and you waddle over to the kitchen meeting a few dishes in the sink. Another distraction for you.

You turn on the water, grab a sponge spill some Dawn dish soap onto it and get to washing. You hum a song that's been stuck in your head for days, unable to get it out.

Oscar comes up from the basement with a basket of laundry that he insisted on folding so you wouldn't have to struggle up and down the stairs. He huffs and drops the basket onto the floor and closes the door behind him. He hears your lovely tunes and follows the sound of your voice.

Oscar pokes his head in the kitchen, your back turned and unaware of his presence behind you. You reach over for your phone in the mood for some music, you play Get Close by Ari Lennox (the same song you were humming) and place your phone back down. His eyes burn through your skimpy clothes. Nothing too serious in your opinion, just a pair of old shorts and a navy blue tank top that was folded under your heavy breasts to help with the sweat. You were hot, you were always hot and it didn't help that it was the end of summer. Your belly was out, in your terms often saying that the baby just needs some air. He smiles sincerely.

He locked special moments like this away and for himself, he was just in awe of you no matter if you were carrying his child or not. If you were fully clothed or ass naked, you had him craving you. He felt himself begin to twitch in his shorts the longer he stared, his eyes zooming in on the tattoo of his name right under your cheek and another one on the back of your right thigh. His hands began to tingle with the urge to touch you, it'd only been an hour but it felt like an eternity.

Oscar makes his way over to you, A small touch on your lower back sends shivers up your spine and it places a smile on your face as well. "You should be resting you know?"

"I know, I just... I'm ready to go get them."

He kisses your ear. "Couple more hours." He mumbled softly snaking his arms around you, his hands cupping the underside of your stomach. "This kid is extra heavy today. It's killing me." You complain leaning back on his for some support, to use someone else's weight than your own to hold you up. "You need a lift?"

Oscar would often come up behind you and gently raise your belly, holding all the weight for you so you could feel just a sweet minute of relief and what relief it was, you couldn't believe you were carrying around all of it.

"Please." You sigh drying your hands in a towel. He squeezes himself closer to you and locks his fingers on your lower stomach. "Ready?"

"Mhm."

He lifts and you instantly sulk and huff with ease. Your head falls back on his shoulder and you smile softly. "This feels so good." You practically moan out. You two stay like that for a moment and find yourselves swaying side to side to the slow sultry music, your eyes feel heavy and they close just for a second. Everything about this was sweet and romantic until you felt... something. Your eyes pop open and you cover your mouth to muffle the giggle bubbling in your throat.

"Um... Oscar..."

No response. "Oscar..."

Still nothing. You tap his arm. "Spooky!"

"Que?" He answers annoyed. You bit your lip. "Are you good?"

He nods. "Why?"

"You're hard, you are poking me on of my cheeks right now." You laugh. "Sorry... I can't... I can't help it."

You shake your head and tell him to put your belly back down, you groan when all that load is back to being your responsibility. He hides his erection with his hands suddenly feeling embarrassed the longer you look at him. "Upstairs." You order him and he looks at you perplexed at the fact that you were the one giving him directions. Your hips reel him in as you make your way to the staircase.

"Let's go, Diaz."

But you didn't have to tell him a third time, he followed right behind you as you two headed to the room. He doesn't even bother shutting the door, just grabs you and tugs you into his embrace, attaching his lip to yours. Your hands cascade over his oversized arms giving them a loving squeeze. His hand glides across the small of your back and over the ample flesh of your backside. He aggressively grabs a handful of your ass and you gasp against his lips. You giggle, blissed out and wrecked before anything has happened.

He backs you up into the bed before he carefully pushes you down onto the mattress, you do your best to scoot further so he has room to join you. He hops on and finds his solace between your legs, caressing your smooth skin as he follows a pathway to your shorts, he drags them down and tosses them wherever too preoccupied with the treasure that is in front of him. His brown eyes practically glow when his eyes land on your heat, you clench around nothing but anticipation and want, the need for his mouth on you is obvious and you have no intention of hiding it when you stretch your legs out further for him.

Oscar gets the message and runs one of his thick fingers down your slit and slowly plunging into your hole but you need more, and he knows, so he vanishes between your legs working his tongue through your lips and navigating its way to your clit which he finds in no time-- you weren't pregnant with your third for no reason, that man knew your body like he was studying for a quiz. He knew what you hated, knew what made you tick and explode like a bomb.

Your eyes close, and your body surrenders to him instantly when he massages your clit the right way. He licks and sucks on your bud like he was trying to drain you, rid you of your energy. You hold your legs up and your nails dig into your skin making crescent shapes on the back of your meaty thighs. He continues to lap up your pussy juices, you clench around his finger that had yet to make its way deeper inside her. As if he read her mind he slips his middle finger back inside, when he pulls back once more he adds his ring finger and your eye twitches.

"Mierda... fuck!" You whine at the extra sensation. You decide to let your legs rest on his shoulders, your hands now free to touch yourself. You rid yourself of your tank top and cup your breasts in each hand, you light massage them-- they weren't too sensitive today. Your mouth slacks open as he pumps you at a quicker pace. "Oooh!" You cry out.

You sit up on your elbows and get a glimpse of his back muscles flexing along with the movements of his arm. You giggle hazily when he hits a certain area, your toes curl when he continuously presses against your spot, your head falls back and his name flows from your lips. You inch back but he has a good grip on you. You cry out and plead for him to let up but it's no use, his tongue dives inside your aching hole and you clench around the muscle. He moans at your taste and smacks your thigh with appreciation. You fall back onto the bed, eyes falling to the back of your head.

He gives you one more lick before sitting up on his knees. He looks down at the panting state that you're currently in and takes the opportunity to dispose of his shorts and boxers, he's rock hard and can't wait any longer, his usual blush pink tip has become a cherry red shade. Oscar strokes himself while gliding his tip between your folds. "You think you'll be okay on all fours?" He asks and you nod. He helps you sit up and turn around, he grabs your pregnancy pillow and forms it in a way that you can rest your stomach inside and be a bit more comfortable. Once you are set you tell him you're ready.

Oscar grasps a handful of your cheeks with one hand while his cock lays in the other, he nudges your entrance once again and finally sinks himself inside--carefully. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, the feeling of him sliding against your sticky walls never gets old. He groans pulling back and pushing in once again. He bottoms out and fills you to capacity. You mutter something about him being so deep and feeling so full. He rocks his hips at a steady pace, he likes to make you feel everything.

Every stroke. Every hit. Every rotation of his hips is torturous. Your cheek is pressed against the sheets and your body rocks with every thrust he gives you. You whimper and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to muffle any more noises but it's a failed attempt when he spanks you, your body reacts by tightening its grip on his girth. He ditches the slow strokes and picks up his pace. The sound of your wet pussy squelching with every hit was like music to his ears along with the constant mumbles of his name that left your lips. "Papito, no puedo soportalo...fuck." (I can't take it anymore.)

He leans over and kisses the back of your shoulder, his chiselled chest is pressed against your back. His teeth nibbled at your ear, and his grunting mixed with a bit of whining was the only thing you could hear. Sounds of skin-to-skin erupted through the room and snuck its way through the halls.

"You can take me querida, you always take me so fucking well." He whispers hotly in your ear, you cry out over his words of encouragement. He sneaks his hands under you and toys with your clit. "You're squeezing this fucking dick, mierda, and you're so wet oh it's soaking me."

You can only croak out, "Oh, I'm cum-m-" before your body falls weak, goes limp, you convulse around his length and coat him nicely with your orgasm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...ooooh Spookyyyy!" You drag out as you cream all over him, and he drags out your high continuing to pound into you like nobody's business-- as well as seeming to forget your current state. "I'm gonna cum in that fucking pussy, mama."

He rocks into you once more and stays like that, you feel him throb inside you and the warm spill of his seed spreads inside you. You hum in satisfaction and a smile is plastered on your face. "Shit..." He chuckles. "You good?"

You just nod completely lost in happiness. He gives you a little smack on your ass, a little sign of appreciation, he softens and pulls out leaving you empty and exposed with his nut and yours slowly leaking out of your pleased hole. You ease down to a more comfortable position and sigh, your eyes suddenly feeling heavy and your body sore and sleepy. Oscar rushes off to the bathroom for a clean rag, he runs it under warm water and returns to the room, he helps clean you up and once he is fine with the results he rinses it off again and tosses it on the dirty clothes hamper to dry a bit.

He comes back and closes the door behind him this time. "We got about an hour, rest, take a nap." But you're a step ahead of him, comfortable under the covers your body betrays you in the best way as it drifts off into slumber. Oscar smiles and joins you, he eases himself under the covers and pulls you closer to him, his fingers spread over your belly and he massages small circles on your skin. It was something that soothed him as well. "I love you, baby." He whispers. "We love you too." You mumble nuzzling into him.

-- --

"Today was awesome!" Elliana cheered as she skipped inside the house. "Mrs. Havenwood let us watch a movie, we watched Elemental. And then she helped me with spelling some words, and I painted a flower."

You beamed at your energetic daughter who seemed to have a jitter-free day, she hadn't stopped talking about her day since you and Oscar picked her and Rafa up from school. "Well, I'm happy to hear you had such an eventful day. So no tears?"

Elliana proudly says, "No tears." You reach out for her and she runs to hug you, you kiss her temple. "That's my big girl."

"I can't wait to go back tomorrow. And maybe... maybe you and Papa don't have to come get me."

Your eyes widened. "En serio? The whole day?"

She nods eagerly. "Si! I'll be fine."

"I mean... if that's what you want-"

"Yay! Thank you! Is it okay if I go play video games with Rafa?"

You nod. "That's fine, but not gun games, por favor." You glare at the both of them. They say okay and head upstairs together leaving you dumbfounded, you were ecstatic that your daughter had such a great first day but you were expecting tears... a little bit of sadness considering your conversation with her at six this morning. Oscar looks at you and offers his hand, you take it and he kisses your knuckles. "Sounds like she had a great day."

"It does."

He tilts his head. "Expected her to be sad?"

"A bit."

He nods understanding. "I get it, but I think it just shows you did a great job preparing her. Especially this morning."

You suck your teeth. "You heard us?"

"I did. I know when my little princesa isn't around me. But I'm glad she's comfortable enough at this age to tell you how she truly feels, you encourage her to be herself all the time and I think that helped a lot with today." He sweet talks, your eyes turn into hearts and your bottom lip pokes out. "Thank you." You whisper leaning forward and smooching your lips on his.

He kissed your forehead after. "You're a great mom. That's why I'm already thinking about the baby after this one."

You holler. "Boy, no, this is the third and last."

"You said that about Elliana."

"Well, I mean it this time." You say firmly. He nods. "Whatever you say, ma. Whatever you say."

I had fun writing this so I hope yall have fun reading this. If you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. see you in the next one. peace and love 🤙🏾

tags: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb @librarian1002

Who might be interested: @miyahmaraj @bigenergy777

#marleysfanfictions #spooky fanfic #on my block #marleywrites #fluff #on my block fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfiction #oscar diaz x black!reader #smut #oscar diaz smut #Spotify

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ktaerssoi · 24 days

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can you do a paige fic where paige is down bad like reaaaly down bad only has eyes for reader but reader is so oblivious and paige gets all sad and reader doesn’t know so then paige is like i fucking love you??

its always been you

relationship: paige bueckers x fem!reader based on this request! tysm for answering my post 😭 summary: paige has only ever had eyes for you. notes: omg this was actually sm fun to write tysm and also i would love to hear more of those requests you speak of. anyway ty again!! - kate not proof read!

"i mean really, she thinks she's the shit and just needs to shut up." you were going on yet another rant as you walked through your front door, paige not far behind with your leftovers from lunch.

"mhm, well maybe you need to express to her what she's doing wrong." paige sighs as she opens the fridge to put the food away, grabbing and water for you and herself.

"thanks," you grab the water bottle from her, leaning against the counter. "i guess, but anyway, how have you been." you nudge her playfully with your shoulder, giggling. "any girlsss?"

you watch as her face flushes and she rolls her eyes. you see the smirk on her face as she turns away, letting you know that there was most definitely a girl.

"oooo, who?" you watch as she turns back to you shrugging, taking another sip of water. "i plead the fifth." its your turn to roll your eyes as she keeps her mouth shut.

"oh come on, p! were adults! you can tell me who you think is cute, i wont judge." you cross your arms as you move to stand in front of her, blocking her in slightly. she shakes her head and smiles at you, and the look she gives you is different from the normal ones. she looks at you like you're the only person she ever wants to know.

"i don't know, i don't think you want to know. you guys are sort of close and i wouldnt want to make it awkward, y'know?" she makes direct eye contact with you, you guys standing at the same height due to her leaning on the counter.

"uh yeah, i mean i guess so but i wouldn't tell her." your shoulders drop a little, you didn't want to push her but you were also sort of hurt that your own best friend didn't want to tell you about a girl she liked.

"you seriously don't have any thoughts at who it could be? she's not on the basketball team." paige stands up straighter, now towering over you slightly.

not on the basketball team? paige's life is basketball, i'm like the only friend she has that doesn't live basketball 24/7

needless to say, you were confused. (and dense as hell my gosh)

"is it that one chick that you had to do that group assignment with? the really pretty girl with the braids?" you were thinking to everyone you had seen apige interact with that wasn't on the team, other than yourself you were lost.

"no, you guys are close remember?" paige is looking at you like this is the most obvious thing ever, and you just stare up at her utterly confused.

"you're horrible at this whole hint thing." you mumble, shaking your head as you walk toward the living room to continue your thinking.

paige follows behind sort of deflated, plopping down on the couch next to you, slouching down so her head could rest on your shoulder. "no i mean really, who could it be?" she shakes her head as she goes to grab the remote.

you watch as she channel surfs for the next ten minutes, not finding anything good and eventually turning off the t.v.. "take one more guess and then i'll tell you who it is." paige looks up at you from her spot on your chest.

"okay um, is it that one media girl that were friends with? the one who always comes to dinners with us??" paige's eyebrows furrow, and she giggles to herself a litte, shaking her head.

"nope, but listen, if- if i tell you, you have to swear to me that things won't change. okay?" you nod at her words, never have you seen her this strict.

"are you sure it's not the media girl?" you narrow your eyes as she sits up, sitting across from you now.

"no y/n, its you. i like you. no, fuck it, i love you. i mean, you're amazing and you're the sweetest, funniest person i know and i'm not even totally sure if you're into girls like that but i can help but like you."

she bites her nails as you nod, you're quiet for a moment before you smile. "you think i'm funny?" paige rolls her eyes at you and stands up from the couch, scared that you're trying to let her down easy.

"so if that's a rejection i'm just going to go-" paige gets cut off by you springing up and grabbing her hand to stop her. "definitely not a rejection. i like you too p, like a love type of like. just to clarify." you shrug as you drop her hand, struggling to express that you really do feel the same.

"seriously? you're not just saying that because you're my best friend and you feel bad?" she's looking down at you, studying your face for your honest answer. once you nod you feel her hand on your waist and feel yourself be pulled forward.

your body is flush against hers, you've been in this exact position countless times before, but right now everything was in a whole new light.

your eyes flash down to paige's lips, and then back to her eyes, and to her lips again. "you're really pretty." you mumble, not even thinking about what you were saying anymore.

you watch as her cheeks get pinker, smiling at your effect on her. "shut up," she looks down at your lips, "can i kiss you?" you have never nodded so fast in your life.

her lips come crashing onto yours and it feels so right. you taste her strawberry chapstick against your lips and the smell of her shampoo consumes your senses.

pulling away after a few seconds you look up at her in awe, a stupid smile on your face.

"you really think i'm funny?"

#wcbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #wlw #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #i love her

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nightsmarish · 1 month

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Summary: you and Sirius think James would look hot with blonde highlights

Poly!prongsfoot x reader (James Potter x reader x Sirius black) | 500+ words

A/n: I am so sorry this is so short omg, I've been weirdly busy the past few days and it's been hard to find time to write

Tw: rave mentioned, reader has dyed their hair before, sleepy James, I am still learning to write James, illusions to possible smut at the end

⊹₊ ✰ ⋆★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊⊹₊ ✰ ⋆★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊⊹₊ ✰

Sirius' record player is on in the background, softer than usual. James is resting his head on your stomach. Both of you splayed out on the sofa.

Sirius is sitting on the ground, the coffee table moved to the side to make room in front of him as he makes his next outfit for a rave he mentioned, likely also planning on how to get you to let him make one for you as well.

James is barely coherent at this point; a long day making him sodding exhausted and extremely prepared for the weekend. Your nails rake through his curls, still slightly wet from his shower.

"You know, Jamie, you'd look good with dyed hair."

Jamse barely gives a sign he heard you, tightening his hold on your back and burying his face further into your shirt like he wants under your skin.

Sirius looks over at you two, "you're right, he'd look bloody hot with blonde streaks or something."

You move James head so you can see his face, squishing his cheeks, glasses already discarded on a side table. "You would look fucking hot with blonde streaks, dear Merlin."

Your other boyfriend places down the wire and needle nose pliers he's using to move closer to the couch, "you want some blonde in your hair, baby?"

He moves his face out of your hands, laying back on your stomach. "wha' 'ver you wan'" James' voice is slurred with sleep.

ᯓ★

That's how you got her a week later; you sat on the counter top of your bathroom sink, and Sirius putting on his latex gloves to mix bleach.

James sits on a wooden stool, that has seemed to make its way around the entire house since you bought it, wearing a extremely stained shirt both you and Sirius have worn while dying your own hair.

"Any regrets, lover boy?" You shimmy on the counter to sit infront of the tanner of the two boys.

"I think that it's unjust for you to manipulate me in my sleep to get me to dye my hair." James grabs your ankles, hands rubbing up and down your shins.

"You could talk; it's got to count for some kind of awareness to what's going on." Sirius grins at his counterpart, mixing the bleach and walking behind James.

"So cruel, both of you, so cruel." He juts out his bottom lip, looking up at you with a pout.

"You haven't pulled out yet, so I'm starting to believe this is just a cute little act." Your grin is nearly identical to Sirius'.

"Don't talk to him about pulling out, love, we won't be able to finish before he gets restless." The darker haired boy laughs as he adjusts James head.

"Both, so, so bloody cruel."

ᯓ★

James' hair took to the dye pretty well, only ending up needing two rounds of bleach.

And fuck, you where right. He looks fucking hot. The blonde, thick, streaks that curl perfectly into his brown hair pattern.

"Bloody hell-" Sirius talks between kissing James "your look-" kiss "fucking delicous"

Sirius pauses for a second to look at you walking through the door of your home, throwing your bag to the ground and toeing off your shoes. "Come here, doll."

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tonixe · 6 months

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🧣 christmas cookies for two...

a/n: ITS THE FIRST OF DA MONTH, Christmas is in 19 more days. I have been waiting since January of last year, but as we all know it's just that time for Christmas fics.

warning: none, just fluff. (proofread)?

pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader

word counter: 416

⛄: Imagine spending Christmas with Tom Blyth, it would be magical, making snow angels with him with the freshly coated snow on the grass and everything sparkling with the snowy, white powder.

Even making a snowman and a snowwoman, and decorating them together. A hat, scarves, carrots, and rocks for the eyes and mouths, you and him standing back looking at the little cute snow couple that you two made together.

You, two just making those Pinterest-like hot chocolates with those little tiny marshmallows, candy canes, and whipped cream. Making cookies with him, like the both of you just making a mess in the kitchen, while trying to make gingerbread cookies. Homemade icing on your nose and his, as you two just continued to make a mess, trying to bake these cookies playful manner.

Going ice skating, the thick sheet of ice being carved with the blade, you holding onto his hand as your blade glides through the ice. Not without falling a few times first, before getting the hang of it. His hands holding, supporting you on the ice. Omg, sledding with Tom would be so fun too, climbing up a hill, and putting down the wooden sled on the tip of the hill, Tom hugging your body close to him as you guys go down the bumpy hill with the snow spraying you both.

Watching a bunch of movies, with many blankets, and pillows surrounding you both as you cuddled tight together watching cheesy hallmark movies. With the gingerbread cookies, you guys baked, some chocolate cookies, and hot chocolate with marshmallows.

—Also going tree shopping would be a core memory, standing out in the cold as your eyes brightly turn up in joy at the perfect tree you scouted, hurriedly getting tom attention. "Tom! Look!" You exclaimed, pointing at the medium-sized tree, "It's perfect" You smiled..."This is the tree, right!" He stood there beside you, and you nodded happily. "Alright," he gave you a smile, making your day.

Decorating the evergreen tree now standing in your shared apartment would be a core memory as well. With the red and white ornaments, and the glowing tree lights make the tree look magical, just missing the golden sparkling star. Tom helps you onto his shoulders, as you place the golden star onto the tree, completing the look wonderfully. Putting a smile on your face and his, you clapped your hands excitingly at the tree.

Ending off your perfect Christmas night with a kiss underneath the mistletoe.

#tom blyth icons #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosbas #tbosas #tbosas x reader #tbosas movie

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dontexpectmuch · 1 year

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Hiii i’m so obsessed w ur writing omg ;—; i was wondering if you’d wanna write a lil fic about a clingy n sleepy jude trying to coax his s/o to bed for bedtime cuddles but they’re refusing to budge until they finish their extensive skincare routine and he grows progressively more impatient and needy 😭

“it’s late.” judes strained voice came from behind you, as you looked at his tired expression through the mirror.

you currently were in your bathroom, finishing, or rather just beginning, your skincare routine for the night. jude wanted to have a sleepover with you, since the two of you had a busy week and weren’t able to meet up as much. right after training ended, jude also had to attend a few meetings, whether it was with his manager or something for media day. thus, he was even more exhausted than normally and therefore more clingy as well.

you hummed, rubbing the oil gently on your face and tracing down to your neck, “wait in bed for me, love. this might take a while.” you tell him calmly, eyes once again meeting with his through the mirror.

jude sighed again, stepping closer and resting his warm hands against your hips, head on your shoulder. “i don’t see the point of doing all this.” he begins, voice deep, “you already look really good.”

you laughed quietly at his behavior, bumping your head lightly against his, while also continuing on with your routine.

“i want to look good, even in our fifties, you know, like, a milf or something.” you explain to him, washing your hands to move on to the next step.

“but it’s late!” he whines again, now standing next to you, his back facing the mirror, arms crossed in front of him as he stares at you. if it wasn’t this late, or if he just wasn’t as tired as he is now, he most definitely would join you. him loving the feeling of your hands against his skin, the care and adoration in your eyes that were directed at him made everything even better.

“well, as i said, wait in bed.” you repeat yourself for the second time, now putting on some cream for your lips. “nice skin takes up some time, jude, nothing we can do about it.”

“you can just stop here and come to bed.”

“jude.” you roll your eyes at this, his neediness more prominent now.

“i don’t like it when you’re not there!” he tries to reason, he seats himself onto the bathroom counter and pulls you between his legs, crossing them behind yours.

you crane your neck slightly to the left, just enough to look at yourself in the mirror before continuing with the last few steps of the routine.

“you seem to sleep heavenly when i’m not there, though.” you remind him, thinking about all those times when jude had a free day and would sleep in til noon, not answering his phone whenever you texted him.

“that’s because i dream of you.” he flirts, moving closer to your face and pecking your lip, “ew, what-“

“i just put on some cream, jude!” you groan, pulling the tube out once more to reapply it.

“that’s nasty, dude.” his face clearly presents his disliking for the cream, the back of his hand rubbing against his lips to remove the rest.

“go to bed, victor.”

“not the middle name, wow!” jude laughed, head nearing your neck to bite it.

“jude, come on!”

who would have thought that this guy would be so, what was the word, needy? clingy?

well, not you, that’s for sure.

—————————————

do u have a crush on me, be honest.

#football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff

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rhiannswork · 10 months

Note

Omg Miguel ohara x drunk reader would be amazing thxxx

m. o’hara || “bar.” read 21:56

a/n: i was writing this @ an airport so i didn’t wanna spend time trying to think about any astronomical prodigious voluminous colossal words or trying to make this oneshot poetic or anything. enjoy! p.s. i’ve never gotten drunk before i’ve only gotten high so 💀

warnings: drunk, mentions of vomit, mentions of being kidnapped, that’s it i think

BUZZ BUZZ you felt your phone vibrate in your bra. your vision was slightly disoriented so it took you a couple of tries to even get in your phone. you saw the message notification from miguel, asking for a pin of your current location.

you believed that providing him with your location directly would be simpler than sending a pin to help him find you.

you adeptly typed, stringing together words that even shakespeare might envy, utilizing every term in the dictionary. your hands, experiencing cramps in the process. ‘bar.’

on miguel's side, he was nearly pacing back and forth, expecting a ransom letter from your kidnapper or some substantial information, and all he received was that brief message.

‘which one, cariño?’

you sighed as he couldn’t understand where you were. it was pretty plain and simple. you gave in and sent a pin. after that, you really don’t remember what was going on.

you came back to reality, found yourself laid in the back of miguel’s car. hozier quietly flowing out of the speakers. “this car is so nice, miggy…” you spoke with your face almost mushed in the seat.

"yeah?" miguel’s soft chuckle resonated, his deep voice nearly rendering him incomprehensible. "yeah," you responded, sharing a giggle with him.

“try not to be sick in here then, okay? we just have a few minutes left ‘til we get home.” you hummed as a reply, drifting away from reality once more.

you heard the car door open, your glossy eyes looking up at miguel’s tall figure. miguel swooped you up from the back. it was too fast for you. “don’t feel so good miggy.”

in a state of panic, miguel felt unsure of what to do next. should he quickly run to the bathroom? no, that’s what had triggered this situation. his gaze shifted to the trash bins in your garage, contemplating an alternative solution.

he walked over to them and popped the lid up, thankfully, trash day was that morning so there was no trash in the bin. he would still have to clean it out though.

your body never reacted well to alcohol, it always resulted to vomiting somewhere other than the restroom. this time, the victim was the roll bin.

"there you go, good girl," miguel comfortingly rubbed your back as you still felt a bit lightheaded and dehydrated. "i’m thirsty, miggy," you murmured, leaning your head back against his chest.

"alright, let's get you some water, baby," miguel said gently as he lifted you up, holding you in a swaddled manner. you rested your head on his chest and patiently waited as he carried you into the kitchen.

"put me on the countertop, it's cold," you instructed, pointing to the island counter. his laughter resonated through his chest as he carefully set you down on the cool surface. the cold marble sent a shiver through your backside.

miguel walked to the refrigerator, retrieved a bottle of water and a container filled with grapes. "here," he offered, handing you the water and keeping a watchful eye as you took sips.

you paused your drinking and set the water beside you. "nah uh, i want you to finish all of that before you eat these grapes," miguel insisted, his tone firm. he proceeded to wash the grapes and place them in a bowl.

with a groan, you chugged the remaining water in the bottle. "now the grapes, please...?" you requested, opening your mouth and patiently awaiting for miguel to feed you.

"of course, princess y/n," he replied with a smile, placing a grape in your mouth. you chewed with a content smile on your face.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara oneshot #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #rhiannon answered!#miguel x you #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x y/n

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lovelettersforthedamned · 6 months

Note

okay this request might be a little specific and long to get it out of my mind because I have major baby fever right now too but what about spending the holidays w/ peter and reader is pregnant but peter doesn’t know but the symptoms are so bad with motion sickness and no drinking and it’s obvious that the ladies in the family suspect and privately tell her it’s surely that bc also they can see it “in the face” but to peter he thinks he’s done something wrong🥺 and she’s acting weird but reader is just nervous

Your Well-Kept(?) Secret

--genre + trope: FLUFF, pregnancy reveal

--pairing: husband!tasm!peter parker x pregnant!wife!reader

--word count: 1.1k

--warnings: language, FLUFF OMG, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, mentions of nausea, a bit of anxiety, reader is so anxious and nervous, peter is smitten by his wife.

You cover your mouth to muffle a strange mix of a laugh and cry in your cramped bathroom as you look down at the two lines on the pregnancy test, slowly growing darker. Placing the stick down on the cool counter, you run your hands through your hair. You’ve been feeling off for a few weeks, prompting you to run to the drug store and grab a test.

Emotions were running high. You should be getting ready for Aunt May’s annual holiday party, but instead, you’re looking at yourself, or rather your belly, in the mirror. You weren’t sure what to feel, but you knew you were nervous. Fuck, what is Pete going to think? Of course, he loved you; without a doubt he did, but kids? The topic of kids was always a conversation for later, but now that it’s here, it scared you to death.

Looking down at your phone, you check the time, quickly putting your emotions, and the test, aside.

You and Peter have made it out the door, only a few minutes late. With one of his hands holding yours, and the other carrying a bottle of wine, Peter keeps you close. Walking to the subway gave you time to think. Thinking of both the good and the bad made your head swirl with anxiety. What if Pete gets mad? Can we even afford a kid right now? How far along am I? What would their name be? A soft, but tight squeeze pulls you out of your thoughts. Looking up at your husband, you give him a polite smile, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, “you’re just a little quiet today. Are you feeling alright bug?”

His constant worry for you makes you squeeze his hand in return, “Yeah, I’m okay, just a little tired.” He nods, accepting your answer for now. He always knew when something was off when it came to you, and this time was no exception.

After a quick ride, and a few blocks later, you make it to Aunt May’s, her street filled with a row of parked cars on each side. “Wow, May invited a lot of people this year. I wonder if she invited the Blake’s across the street, their charcuterie board was so good last year,” Peter looks at you as he quips.

You nod, bringing your hand up farther onto Peter’s arm to pull him closer, a sudden rush of nausea washing over your senses.

Peter takes note of this, furrowing his eyebrows in concern while he reaches out to press the doorbell. Aunt May opens the door, her eyes lighting up when she sees the two of you, “You guys made it! Come in, come in. Oh, you look so pretty (Y/N)! The Blakes are here with their charcuterie board again, they’ve somehow found a way to double the size; but hey, I’m not complaining.”

May was clearly running around before greeting you guys, her rambling giving it away. You giggle at her excitement, you knew that she loved hosting, especially when you and Peter were able to visit.

After making your rounds, you follow Peter into the kitchen, the alcohol coming into view. He grabs a beer for himself and starts to uncork the wine he brought to pour for you. Bringing a hand up to land on his arm, you stop him, “I don’t feel like drinking tonight, baby.”

He looks at you and puts the bottle down, “Okay. Can I get you anything else, bug?”

“Just water is good for me, thank you,” you smile at him as he turns around and walks away to get water.

You sigh as you see his back walk away from you, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act. The thought of keeping this from your husband adds to your nausea, but keeping it together is at the forefront of your mind. Looking down, you take a breath, only looking back up when you see one of May’s friends from work standing in front of you. You’re slightly shocked by her appearance, “Hi Miriam, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“(Y/N), it is so good to see you. I’ve been good, well, as good as a nurse during the holiday season can be,” she laughs, leaning in close, “I’ve just been meaning to ask if you’ve been feeling alright?”

You freeze in place, “Yeah, I’m just a little tired today, but nothing to worry about.”

“Good, good…You haven’t been feeling nauseous or anything like that?” a teasing tone lacing through her words.

Silence. You can’t even respond. You’re baffled, “Is it really that obvious?”

A warm smile appears on her features as she rubs a hand up and down your arm, “Oh, honey…You’re surrounded by women who work in a hospital, we could see it in your face.”

You feel your cheeks warm at her confession, “Miriam, I’m so nervous. Peter doesn’t know yet.”

“You shouldn’t be a sweetheart. He is in love with you, has been for forever, even before you two were even dating,” she laughs, “you know Peter. And you know who he is, would he ever be upset at you for something like this?”

This may be what you need. Reassurance that came from someone else was always more believable than when it came from yourself. God! You feel so stupid for thinking that Peter would be mad at you for this. Looking at the older woman, you smile and shake your head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter walking back with a water bottle in his hand, “Sorry bug, I got held up by one of May’s cousins. Apparently, he was there when I was born, and he just had to tell me all about it–Oh hey Miriam!”

After a few short minutes of small talk between the two, she walks away, not before winking at you as she turns her head.

“Hey, we’re alright,” Peter’s voice, low and filled with worry, lingers throughout the air, “right?”

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, you copy the movement he displayed on your hand from earlier, “Yeah, we’re okay. I love you so so much, Pete.”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

Placing the softest peck on his lips, you grab his hand, “C’mon, I saw May bring out raspberry thumbprints, and I need to snag some before everyone else can get to them.”

Your worries were at ease; that was the least you could ask for on this day, surrounded by friends, family, and most of all your husband. Your loving, caring, obnoxiously kind husband. You’ll tell him later, but today is all about each other, and the Blake’s charcuterie board.

--author's note: LISTEN I KNOW PREGNANT PEOPLE CANNOT EAT LIKE ANYTHING ON A CHARCUTERIE BOARD, BUT LETS JUST CHILL AND GO WITH IT PLEASE!!! nonnie, this request is so sweet i'm going to have a cavity. i love writing domestic peter who loves his wife, because i'm so down bad for him. my asks/inbox is open guyssss, so send in more delicious things like this!!! support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging pretty please!! ok, bye ily!!! <333

#fluff #andrew garfield peter parker #marvel #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #spiderman #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm spiderman

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horanghaeluvsinniehae · 4 months

Text

SKZ!BFF DRUNKLY CONFESSING PT.2 pt.1

||BANG CHAN||LEE MINHO||SEO CHANGBIN||HWANG HYUNJIN||HAN JISUNG||LEE FELIX||KIM SEUNGMIN||YANG JEONGIN||

Disclaimer:the beginning might be bad but it gets better i swear!😭

!Also please read my note at the end!

You were so excited to see Lix because well -the obvious- that you like him a lot and you got so so happy when he said he liked you yesterday, even if he was drunk. You stand by the saying that drunken words are sober thoughts so you believe that he actually likes you and isn’t just saying it.

You cleaned up the kitchen (it was a big mess and it’s almost the first thing people see when they come through your door) and got some tea water boiling because you know that Felix likes to drink tea whenever he’s at yours.

After a while a knock was heard on your door and you excitedly went to open it. A big smile was evident on your face as you opened the door and it got even bigger when you saw him standing in the hallway with his signature brownie box in his hand.

“Hi Lix!” You greeted the boy in front of you. “Hi y/nah!” He greeted you with just as much excitement. “Brought you some brownies!” He held the box up proudly. “Aww Felix thank you so much!” You thanked him and took the box. “Come in please!” You told him and went to put the brownies on the counter.

Your heart started beating quickly as you observed the box that had a note on it that said: to lovely y/nah, i hope you’ll enjoy them!. Your heart was literally melting, this boy is so kind and just amazing.

“Is that my tea that I’m smelling?” He asked happily and already moved to the kitchen cabinet to get a mug out. You smiled and nodded your head. “Of course it is! It should be ready by now but don’t burn yourself please!” You warned him because it wouldn’t be the first time that he burned himself trying to drink his tea. “Okaay. You want me to pour you some too?” He looked back at you as he asked and and you nodded back to him gratefully.

While he got your teas ready you sat down on one of your barstools around the kitchen island. When he got ready he sat down next to you and placed your tea down in front of you carefully. You pulled the brownie box open and pulled it between the two of you.

There was a bit of silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. You were both sipping your teas, munching the brownies and thinking about what to say next.

“Y/n…I would like to apologise for yesterday. I know that you’re not mad at me and that I was drunk but that doesn’t mean that what I did was right.” He looked at you and had a little ashamed pout on his face. “Oh Yongbokah, I told you not to be sorry! It’s all okay, you didn’t hurt anyone so please don’t feel bad!” You said then shyly added-“and i…really liked what you said Lix…” You looked at him with a soft smile and he immediately returned it.

“So you don’t mind that I like you…like a lot?” “Not at all! In fact I really like you too! A lot!!” You said happily and at that he put his hand on yours. “Y/nah, then if we like each other would you be mine?” He asked and looked at you so fondly that you thought you'd melt right then and there. “Of course!! Omg this is so amazing ahh!” You said, being so happy about what just happened.Felix kissed your cheek shyly and you both looked at each other feeling giddy.

The rest of your afternoon was filled with more brownies and tea, but also lots of cuddles and telling the boys the good news. Of course they all cheered and were so happy for you guys. They’ve been waiting for this moment and got so excited that it finally came true.

A/N: hi guys…um I’m so sorry for being inactive:( i just had no idea what to write, but then i got an idea and i think it turned out well(?) anyways! I don’t care of i sound desperate, but i really want you guys to request because i don’t have much ideas(literally like zero) but i love writing!! So please even if you have a small idea or just a thought or a big idea please write it to me in the requests!! Here’s my guide how to request so no-one will be sad that I didn’t do theirs for some reason!<3 I’m sorry again and I hope this one brings some smiles to you and thank you for reading my work!!Please take care of yourselves and be safe!❤️‍🩹

taglist: @justwonder113 (if you want to be on it either comment or write in requests please<3)

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rip-us-xoxo · 1 year

Text

Bent Over- George Weasley x Reader (REPOST)

Posted DECEMBER 22, 2020

Reposted APRIL 16, 2023

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Request-if you’re confortable, can i request really kinky smut for george weasley with the christmas prompts 3 and 15 :) thank youuuuu!

A/n- Omg yes I’m comfortable! I love George sm!!! I hope it’s kinky enough for you ;)))

——————————————————————————

Warnings- smut (lot’s of it), daddy kink

——————————————————————————

The Burrow, one of the best places in the world, especially around Christmas time. There were Molly’s amazing holiday hugs, her sweaters, but the one of the best things was the feast that she cooks.

“Molly, this looks delicious!” you gasped as you looked at the feast in front of you. “Oh stop it, dear,” she gushed and waved her hand dismissively.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, mum,” George praised and grabbed some turkey and put it on his plate. You looked over at George and smiled, to which he smiled back. The action was purely innocent, but the words inside of George’s mind were the complete opposite.

“I wonder what she’d look like bent over the table,” he thought and rested his elbows on the table, undressing you with his eyes from across the table. To you, it looked like he was just admiring you, which made you blush.

George knew that you weren’t catching on to what he was trying to do, he knew that you thought it was all innocent thoughts. So, he was determined to make sure that you knew what his intentions were.

It started with a few winks here and there and lingering touches when he would get up from his seat and walk past you. But when you still weren’t responding the way he wanted you to, he did something he knew you would get all heated over.

He slowly walked behind you as you were eating and grabbed onto your shoulder before slightly yanking you upward and leaning down yo your ear. “You know what? I don’t want this feast because you look much more delicious right now,” he whispered hotly in your ear, making you choke on your boiled carrots.

He smirked at the reaction that he oh so loved and reached in front of you to grab a roll and took a bite out of it while looking at you before winking coolly and walking back to his seat. The wetness that pooled in your panties was starting to become annoying and it was all you could think about during dinner.

A few hours later, everyone was heading up to go to bed, which meant you and George needed to too. You and George offered to clean up though, which meant you got a few moments alone before you needed to head up.

While you were washing the dishes, the only thing you could think of was the wetness pooling, still, in your panties. George came behind you suddenly and placed a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Hi darling,” he whispered in your ear before placing more kisses down your neck. Right when he was getting down to your collarbone, he stopped and looked up.

“Oh look! Mistletoe!” he exclaimed, making you look up too. Sure enough, there was mistletoe floating midair right above the both of you, it was definitely George’s doing. He smirked down at you before slowly leaning in, and you being desperate in that moment you quickly connected your lips and tried to deepen it, trying to get him to take you right there. But to your dismay, he pulled away with an innocent smile and walked over to the counter to start putting away leftovers.

You pouted quietly and kept on doing the dishes. A few minutes later, your brain randomly wandered to George grabbing you roughly, pinning you against the counter and fucking you sensless into it.

The thought caused a jolt of pleasure to course through your body, causing you to stop cleaning dishes suddenly. You clamped your thighs together as tightly as you could and gripped onto the counter, making your knuckles go white. Your actions didn’t go unnoticed by George though.

“Princess, are you alright?” George asked you from the other side of the kitchen where he was putting away the leftovers. You looked over to him, bit your lip and nodded before quickly looking back forward.

“Are you lying to me?” he questioned, his voice was stern but light. You looked back over to him, your lip still in between your teeth, and nodded quickly before running over to him, pushing the food out of his hand and pushing him against the counter, “Please Georgie. You know I’m not alright, you were teasing me at dinner. Please daddy, I’m desperate.”.

You started grinding your hips on his, making him chuckle. “Hold on Princess,” he told you and tried to turn around to clean up the food that was thrown everywhere, but you kept grinding your hips down.

“I said hold on,” he growled and held your hips still right up against his groin, placing just enough friction where you wanted it, making you moan quietly. “You made a mess baby, you better clean it up,” he told you and pushed you up against him, motioning to the food that was splattered everywhere.

You huffed, tears brimming your eyes because of how frustrated you were, and walked over to start cleaning. Not even 10 seconds later, George grabbed you by the hips and slammed you back onto the counter, pushing your back down enough to make your butt stick up.

“Do you know how bad I’ve wanted you since dinner?” he whispered in your ear and caressed your sides. You nodded your head and threw your head into his shoulder when he trailed his hands down and squeezed your butt.

“I don’t think you know how bad I want you. You want me to show you?” he breathed into your ear and when you nodded your head he smiled slightly before pulling down your skirt suddenly and bringing his hand down to feel your panties.

“Looks like you wanted me really bad too,” he mused before pulling your panties aside and sticking two fingers in. You moaned quietly and the sudden pleasure. He started pumping his finger in and out of you while caressing your side.

“I want to bend you over the kitchen table, I’ve been wanting to do that since we sat down for dinner,” he grunted, clearly turned on from the sight in front of him. “Then do it,” you panted before letting out another quiet moan.

He didn’t think twice before taking his fingers out of you and grabbing you roughly, quickly bringing you over to the table and bending you over. He pulled your panties down quickly and grabbed both of your arms, pinning them behind your back, “I want you to keep your arms here, alright?”.

You nodded in response and kept your arms where they were, waiting for George to take off his pants and boxers. “Alright princess, you ready?” he questioned and put the tip of his cock in your entrance. “P-Please, daddy. Need you inside of me p-please,” you stuttered out.

You gasped as he pushed himself all the way inside of you. Your eyes started rolling to the back of your head when he brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing it quickly. It was all becoming too much so you moved your arms to try and grab onto something but George grabbed your arms and pinned them back down on your back.

“I said to keep your arms there,” he growled and picked up his pace rubbing your clit and fucking you from behind. “Daddy t-too much,” you whined and lifted your legs up, wrapping them around his torso. That position made his dick hit you at a new angle, making you moan loud.

“Are you sure about that?” he chuckled but kept at the same pace, just to be sure not to go past your limit. The knot in your stomach started to form, making you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, further pushing his dick inside of you. And with a few more thrusts, you came undone with the quietest moan possible, which was still loud.

George pulled out of you and jerked himself off until he came all over your butt. “That was wicked,” he breathed out while petting your hair. You were breathing quite heavily a few seconds later which made George chuckle once again.

“Breathe, princess,” he coaxed and lifted you up, flipping you over and pulling you into his chest. He kept placing light kisses on your cheek, waiting for you to calm down. Once you finally did, you gave your input, “I loved that.”.

You smiled up at him, making him nearly melt, “That was really hot. You should bend me over things more often.”. You giggled at George’s surprised and amused face but it quickly turned into a gasp when he kissed you deeply.

“I just might.”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

xoxo

#george weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #harry potter characters x reader #harry potter fanfiction

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juyeonszn · 4 months

Text

PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER (PT. 2)

PAIRING kevin moon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.60k

GENRES angst ﹒little bit of fluff ﹒little bit of smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader is better than me cause i would not let kevin do all the shit he’s done 😭, ANYWAY i digress, this part is very reader-centric — whereas part one is very kevin-centric, inner turmoil goes absolutely crazy, most of this fic is reader putting kevin in his place and him realizing how big of an asshole he truly is, mentions of injury (past tense), mentions of insecurity, lots of arguing, reader cries at one point or another, the smut places a very minimal role in this, but unprotected sex, public sex (the auditorium dressing room), no foreplay but wtv we fall like soldiers in battle, pussy job lowkey (high key…), creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

SUMMARY it wasn’t like you and kevin hated each other. in fact, you quite admired him despite his somewhat indifferent attitude toward you. well, now that you’re paired up for the last dance of the year, you guess it’s the perfect time to find out why.

MORE oh my god. it’s finally fucking here. A MONTH, 2 SICKNESSES AND MANY MANY STRESSFUL NIGHTS LATER— part two of princess and the pauper is here!!! i’m so sorry to those of u who have been itching and waiting on me to get ‘er done,,, it’s been an ordeal to say the least, and while it’s nearing the two month mark since the black out or back out collab was announced, SHE FINALLY FINISHED!!! for once i saw something through omg i can sleep peacefully and work on my other wips without guilt now… 😭 ALSO THANK U SO MUCH MAYA @/kimsohn FOR PUSHING ME THROUGH THIS and for making me thug it out bc without u it definitely would’ve taken much longer to finish 💔 please dont forget to read part one and the other fics in the series if u haven’t!! both are linked below! and as always, pls reblog if u enjoyed <3

PART ONE | SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr @sunwooverse @kimsohn

TAGLIST @millksea @deobibbang @deobi0412

Never in your life have you felt so… Confused.

It wasn’t just confusion that settled deep in the pit of your stomach. There was a sharp pain there too, like someone stabbed you and twisted the knife. That was probably the best way to describe what you were feeling. You were bleeding out, and no one was coming to save you.

Kevin wasn’t answering your calls. He wasn’t answering your texts. He ran out of the lecture hall as soon as class was over, never giving you a moment to speak to him. It was making you nervous.

You still had half of a dance to choreograph and a fuck ton of pressure riding on your back. After the last performance you and him did together, you’d have a lot of eyes on you. It most definitely wasn’t your fault that he dropped you. How many people willingly want to acquire a broken ankle? The crutches were a bitch to maneuver around with. But like every single thing that’s happened in the three years you’ve known Kevin Moon, he’s managed to place the blame on you like it was.

It was crucial that you make amends with him even if it was momentarily. Your final grades were dependent on your performance. If he couldn’t get his shit together for at least that, he was a lost cause in your mind. Not even your professor would be able to refute that fact. Actually, nobody would be able to refute that fact.

Your lips form an O as you blow the steam away from your coffee, pulling out your phone to try Kevin’s phone once again. The line rings a few times before going straight to voicemail like it has the past couple weeks. You kiss your teeth, tying your sweater around your waist as you slump in your chair. The baristas at the campus cafe were probably sick of seeing you sitting in the same high-top counter spot since the incident with Kevin in the studio.

“Y/N?”

Ji Changmin appears beside you and you click your phone off, so he wouldn’t see his friend’s contact on the screen. You give the Early Childhood Dev major a weak smile.

“Changmin! What’s up? How are you and your girlfriend?” You hope he can’t recognize the distress written all over your features. You highly doubt it, though. You can feel the wrinkles pulling at your skin.

“We’re good! How’s the showcase performance going with Kev?” He asks like he knows something you don’t. When your lips fall to a thin line, an all too familiar grimace, he sighs a knowing sigh. “Do I have to smack some sense into him?”

“Not gonna lie, yeah, you do. He’s being really fucking difficult and like half of our dance is unfinished. I can’t even get a hold of him, so I’m starting to lose my patience.” You express your annoyance. The border between complacency and free-will was a lot slimmer than one might think. For example; your feelings when it comes to Kevin Moon.

You don’t expect to get a returning call later that night when you’re washing dishes after dinner.

In fact, you don’t even hear it at first, too absorbed in scrubbing the staining out of your bowl. It’s when your roommate yells out to you, that you snap out of your reverie, albeit dazedly. You dry your hands on a nearby tea towel, hitting the green answer button without a second glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your heart catches in your throat. You recognize the owner of the voice practically by the first breath into the receiver alone. It’s actually kind of unhealthy how quickly it took to realize who was on the other end. You swallow heavily, praying he doesn’t hear the gulp.

“In the latter part of the afternoon, I believe. Why?” You try not to sound hopeful. That’s one thing you’ve learned being in the same vicinity as Kevin Moon. You could never be too expecting, because it would only lead to disappointment. And you’d dealt with enough of that the past few years.

“We need to finish this fuck ass choreography,” he grunts, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue. “I’ll meet you in the same studio at 4.”

He doesn’t let you get anything else in, hanging up swiftly. You deflate as you set your phone back on the counter. All you had to do was push through these next couple weeks, like you always have when it came to him.

That should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong.

“No, that looks stupid.”

You grit your teeth, swiping the back of your hand on your forehead. You’d been inside of this studio maybe 30 minutes tops, and you were on the verge of strangling Kevin. With as long as you’d been putting up with his shit, you thought getting through this wouldn’t be as rough as it’s been. But if there was one thing Kevin Moon had, it was pride.

“We don’t have time for you to nitpick right now. Let’s just finish the choreography and clean it after.” Your hands rest on your hips, nostrils flaring.

“If we clean as we go, we’ll have more time to drill it into our systems and get down muscle memory. It’ll be a stronger performance.” He argues. You roll your eyes as you turn away from him, taking a water break to calm yourself. “Why do you have so much fucking attitude today? You were the one preaching to the choir about me making things difficult. It seems the tables have turned.”

Usually, you were pretty good at keeping your frustration at bay when it came to Kevin’s remarks. You liked to think it was because you were down bad for the guy, despite him always wanting nothing to do with you. But as of late, (Read: Since your performance of Princess and the Pauper) every little comment he’s made has managed to crawl under your skin like a damn parasite. You were beginning to get real sick of it.

“God, you’re so—“ You interrupt yourself to groan, fingers curling into fists. “You’re fucking insufferable. Do you know that? I’ve been bending over backwards to ensure we aren’t kicked out of the goddamn program and you don’t even fucking care. Over what? A kiss that you initiated?”

Kevin is stunned into silence, not at all prepared for you to blow up on him like that. After all, that razor thin line between complacency and free-will had yet to be crossed. And well, it appears that you just crossed it. You whip around toward him, pulling down the collar of your t-shirt to reveal the faintest of bruises that still remains from your impromptu act of intimacy.

“I’ve had to look at this every day for a week and all it’s done is make me feel shitty, ashamed of something I didn’t even start. Now I need you to stop acting like an ass and get it together so we can finish this and perform the best dance this university has ever seen.” Your chest is heaving up and down, similarly to when you made out against the mirrors last week. Except this time isn’t out of breathlessness, but rather anger and exhaustion.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave the hickey on the base of your throat, something undetectable swimming in them as he stares. You can’t read the emotions swirling rampantly in his irises, a mixture of too many blurring into one another. Honestly, it’s funny. It’s funny that it’s taken you this long to get him to shut his mouth for once.

So you laugh.

It’s a snort at first, an off handed projection of how comical the situation has become to you. But then it metamorphoses into a small giggle, which leads to full scale laughter that has you hunching over your knees and wiping away tears. This whole thing is stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid.

“What are you laughing at?” His eyebrow raises in question, broken from his weird trance.

“I just can’t believe it took three years for me to shut you up,” you shake your head slowly, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm. “You’re always the one who can’t stop talking.”

Kevin deadpans, mouth pulled pin-straight as his expression drops. “You’re so unserious.”

As the height of your laughter reaches a valley, you collapse onto the ground, resting your back against the mirror. You take another long sip of water before sighing. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. Trust me, I know. But, we’ve gotta set aside our differences just this once. Please, for the sake of the department.”

“Fine,” he murmurs, plopping down beside you to stretch his back. “Let’s finish choreographing so we can start cleaning it up.”

It’s a victory in your book, and probably the most obedient the Pisces has ever been. Maybe this wouldn’t end in complete disaster like you assumed it would. It turns out Kevin Moon wasn’t entirely brainless and knew when he was wrong. Sometimes. Maybe. We’ll see.

You shut your eyes and visualize what you’ve choreographed so far, going over the moves in your head to see if the rest will come to you like a prophecy. It’s wishful thinking, but with how much you’ve accomplished since setting foot in the studio, you’re willing to try anything. The track would be nice for elements of hip hop style choreography, but you knew the audience wouldn’t eat it up as much as they would the route you’re currently taking.

Driver roll up the partition, please…

The song plays through the speakers and you watch as Kevin stands to run through everything you have. You’re entranced by his movements, the flow of his body on certain points. It’ll look ten times better once you’re doing it with him, costumed and performing it perfectly in front of a crowd. You can picture it now, the gentle but controlled glide of his hands along your arms when Beyoncé sings “We ain’t even gonna make it to this club”. He was right. You very well might be seduced by your enemy.

“Should we use props?” You suddenly voice, eyes narrowed in thought. He hums.

“That’s… not a half-bad idea, actually,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“A chair, maybe,” you look away from him, placing your focus on the way your toes alternate between a tendu and relaxed position. “That could take up a good chunk of the choreo.”

Kevin stalks over to the supply closet in the corner of the studio, pulling out a folding chair. He puts it in the center of the room gently, careful to not scratch up the wooden, lacquered flooring. You spend the next couple of hours brainstorming through numerous versions of the dance. While it was a lot easier than your past practices, there were still the occasional argument over which movements looked good and whatnot.

At a certain point, everything becomes cohesive and the end is near. You gulp down some water as Kevin does some random choreography. It’s then that it comes to you, like a vision from That’s So Raven. You practically drop your water bottle, scrambling to your feet and stopping him. Your breath is heavy from fatigue and you’re slightly afraid of even suggesting this, but it’s exactly what this dance needs. It’s exactly what everyone wants to see from the two of you.

He pauses the music and gestures for you to get on with it. You push down the lump in your throat, scared of rejection. But maybe he was smart and he would agree that this is what you have to do. “What if we did a lift?”

You see the hesitation swirling in his eyes and you raise a finger before he can shut you down entirely. “Nothing crazy like… um— you know— Princess and the Pauper, but something smaller. Something… sexy? Like, Dancing with the Stars type beat.”

When he shrugs instead of outright dismissing your idea, you know you’ve won. He nods slowly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, sure. But we better clean up everything else fast so we can perfect the lift.”

The two of you take another three hours running the entirety of the choreography, ingraining the moves into your brains and muscles. You still had a bit until the actual showcase, but your priority now lies with the lift. If you nailed it, the entire department would very well grovel after you in reparation for all of the slack you got after Kevin dropped you. Hell, the entire university would kiss your feet. This was your redemption. In more ways than one.

You both decide to call it a day at around 9:30 PM. Your hands reach for your belongings and then you halt yourself, a thought coming to mind. While you had him in this weird state of obedience, you figured it was as good a time as any to ask the question that’s been weighing on you for the past few years. Your fingers swipe away the sweat beading around your hairline.

”Kevin,” you start, voice a lot softer than before. “Why do you— what did I do to make you dislike me so much?”

He’s caught completely off guard, eyes widening in surprise. If he was anticipating you to say anything else prior to parting ways tonight, he didn’t think this would be it. He’s actually a little off put that you hadn’t asked him this already in the span of your definitely-one-sided rivalry. He takes a large gulp of water.

”I’d call it indifference, not dislike,” he corrects after a pregnant silence. “It’s really fucking stupid thinking about it in hindsight. I don’t know if you remember this time, way back in our first year, we ran into each other at the campus cafe— literally, might I add— and you spilled your coffee all over this white shirt of mine that Changmin had gotten for me as a birthday gift. I only recently found out that it wasn’t as expensive as he made it out to be.”

You blink at his admission, processing his words as thoroughly as possible. You don’t know what you wanted him to say. You weren’t even sure if there was a concrete reason for him to be so fucking mean to you all this time. And now that you know, you come to the conclusion that Kevin Moon isn’t as smart as you’ve painted him out to be in your head. He’s actually a gigantic idiot. Because who in their right mind goes through these lengths to form a distance between the only other person on par with their talent?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re bursting into another fit of laughter. Kevin falters at your reaction. He was waiting for you to blow up on him, to scream in his face for causing you so much pain and unnecessary drama over something so silly. So when you do none of that, when you start fucking laughing like a damn hyena, he feels dumb. Like his entire college career has been built off of nothing.

”This is so—“ you pause to gather your bearings, wiping away the tears that managed to escape. “We’ve spent so much time going back and forth over some spilled coffee? Surely you’ve realized how insane that is at some point.”

”It took a lengthy argument with Changmin, but yeah, I did,” he nods, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, finally getting your things together. The two of you bid each other an awkward goodbye. Neither of you knew what to make of your relationship now that things had been partially sorted through. There was a fuck ton of baggage that still had to be sifted, but at least you had an answer.

That was enough to push through this showcase performance. You think.

You’re nervous.

Never in your entire life have you ever been this nervous for a performance.

You grew up doing musical theatre and dancing, it’s always been the one constant presence you could rely on. But standing here, backstage at the showcase, you think you’re going to throw up. Your palms are clamming up uncontrollably and your chest feels unbearably heavy as you watch the quartet doing a contemporary piece to some ballad you couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. There were still a couple groups before you.

Not even when you had to perform fuckass Princess and the Pauper were you this anxious. You wince, trying to stop the incessant bouncing of your leg. Your weight keeps shifting from one hip to the other. As a seasoned veteran, you don’t know why you feel this way. Maybe it had to do with all the pressure riding on this very dance. Every single eye in that crowd was going to scrutinize your every move on that stage.

“Calm down,” a voice whispers harshly from beside you. “You’re making me nervous.”

Kevin wraps his fingers around your wrist, stopping the annoying tap-tap-tap your own were doing against your thigh. He gives you a look, and you sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

That’s a lie. Not only was the high expectations from the entire school getting to you, but so was the fear of history repeating itself. He knows this, it was inevitable. After what happened the last time he was tasked with lifting you, it was only natural.

”We’ve drilled this dance hundreds, if not thousands, of times, Y/N. We’ll do just fine.” Kevin assures you.

His hand feels foreign holding yours, like it was illegal for his skin to be touching your own. You feel your lower lip quiver, a sense of trepidation that you’ve never once felt creeping down your spine. Your mind was spiraling, and quite honestly, Kevin being so close was making it worse. All you could think about was him dropping you again, leaving you in the middle of the stage with a broken leg and a broken heart. You release a shaky breath and he turns to face you.

Your eyes widen and he searches your face for any disingenuity. When he finds his answer, he brings the hand that was holding yours up to cup your cheek. He’s cautious, afraid he might break you like he always does. He waits for you to shove him away and to yell at him for being a fucking coward.

You don’t. You stay still, hoping he follows through with what you think he’s about to do. And then he does.

It’s such a featherlight peck of his lips on your own, you almost don’t even register. But sparks shoot from the source all the way to the tips of your fingers. You feel as if you were dealt a static shock of electricity, your whole body buzzing from the small kiss alone.

He pulls away just in time for the stage manager to inform you that you’re next. Kevin rolls his neck jogging over to the wings to patiently await your performance like he hadn’t just kissed you a moment ago. You blink dumbly, two fingers coming up to touch where his lips had been. Sure the nerves were gone now, but the sensation of butterflies swarming about in your stomach easily replaced that. What the fuck was his problem?

“Our last performance is one I’m sure all of you have been waiting for. Kevin Moon and Y/N L/N with Partition!”

Before you know it, you and Kevin are in position, your body squared upstage and his to the crowd. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist and his steady breathing on your nose. The spotlight switches on, the heat of the lighting warm against the side of your face. It’s silent in the auditorium, but it rings in your ears. You could do this.

Let me hear you say ‘Hey Miss Carter’…

You move on reflex, muscle memory kicking in instantaneously. Each circle of your hips, every turn you make— a fouetté here, a pirouette there, a couple coupes, each roll of your body. But what really gets you is the long brushes of Kevin’s skin on your own. You’d practiced with distance between the two of you. There was a tension that had been there for years. Now it’s all coming to a rolling boil, a new uncharted tension that every single member in that audience could see.

And then comes the lift.

You, along with everybody in the auditorium, practically hold your breath when Kevin’s hands grip your hips. He raises you above him with all of his strength, completely focused on you and only you. You shut your eyes and feel the moment, like, really feel it. Your body is relaxed, the Dirty Dancing-esque lift bringing the whole performance together just like you knew it would. The only difference from the movie and real life is the fact that you’re flipped, your backside to Kevin and your chest to the ceiling.

Your eyes flutter open, the spotlight all but blinding you, and you finally feel content. Like everything has fallen into the right place for once in your life. Especially so when Kevin sets you down gently and you finish your dance with the utmost confidence.

The crowd erupts into a roaring chorus of applause, going as far as giving you a standing ovation. Holy shit. You pulled it off. You actually managed to pull it off.

Your face feels like it might split from how big your smile is. You and Kevin bow, walking off stage. You’re entirely too happy right now, a newfound energy overtaking you as you trail behind him.

“We did it!” You cheer as you follow him towards the dressing room where your things are. You’re the only ones left backstage, everyone else filtering out between performances. Kevin doesn’t give you much of a response, just a small nod of acknowledgment. Your smile falters. “What the hell is your problem?”

”Nothing, Y/N, fuck. Can you just mind your own fucking business?” He snaps, turning around to glare at you just as the door slams behind you. You instinctively flinch at both loud noises. His features soften but you take a step back from him.

You aren’t sure why you’re surprised. This isn’t anything new. Kevin has always made it crystal clear that he wasn’t your number one fan. Being neutral for your performance wasn’t enough to repair all the holes in whatever your relationship was, and you should’ve known better. You shouldn’t have let your guard down so easily. You should’ve expected this. Old dogs can never learn new tricks.

But Kevin’s scared. He’s afraid of letting you in after all the mess he’s put you through. The only thing he’s good at doing is hurting you, over and over like there was a prize that came out of it.

”Look…”

”No, you listen to me,” you swallow heavily, tears already tight lining your eyes. “Kevin, I have taken so much shit from you. Over these past few years I have just sat there and let you unload all your fucked up insecurities onto me. Have you ever wondered why? Have you ever thought to stop and think about why I let you be so mean to me without even questioning it?”

He says nothing, just stares with his lips parted. They open and close like a fish out of water, words there at the tip of his tongue but refusing to make their escape. And then one of your tears rolls down your cheeks and he’s directly in front you, his heart on his sleeve for the first time since you’ve met him.

”Why?” The simple question is so quiet, you almost don’t hear him. But his eyes hold so much hurt, so much anguish that you’ve never seen in a person before.

“I’ve had feelings for you for so long, it’s actually starting to ache. You’ve only ever seen me as this thing, this obstacle. And I’m afraid that that’s all I’ll ever be to you, because you won’t let me be anything else. You won’t—“

”That’s not true, Y/N,” Kevin sighs, looking off to the side, away from you. “I just— it’s complicated. It’s more than just being rivals.”

”So help me understand,” you frown. “Let me in, please.”

”My entire life I’ve had to work to get to where I am. I’ve fought tooth and nail to be as good of a performer as I am today. There were so many hoops I had to go through to even get into this program and— and I thought I’d finally become the best I could be. I thought that there was no way anyone could ever be better than me. And then you showed up. You and your pretty smile and your natural ability to be the best at everything you do. It was like you were the real life manifestation of all of my critics, of every challenge I faced to get here. Where I had to practice day and night to perfect something, it just came to you like second nature. During Princess and the Pauper, when I dropped you, it truly was an accident. But we’d spent so much time nailing it, that it— I just made myself feel better by saying it was your fault. ‘How could it have been my fault if I perfected it?’ I was jealous and petty and it was just easier to blame hating— to blame my indifference on you spilling coffee on my stupid shirt. For that, I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what you were waiting to hear, but it wasn’t that. Your tears turn into full on blubbering, because what the fuck? That’s so much burden for someone to carry on their shoulders for three years.

“Why are you— why are you crying?” He flounders, reaching up to swipe away your tears.

“I wish I knew… I wish I could’ve helped you somehow,” you sniffle. “Kev, I’ve always admired you and your work ethic. I hoped one day I’d be half as disciplined as you, half as determined.”

He blinks. You’re both dumb, aren’t you? Too focused on the wrong things. You both could’ve been a lot less hateful, a lot less miserable, had you just spoken your differences out. This entire rivalry has been completely one sided, but also built off of plain stupidity and ignorance. He supposes it’s not too late to make amends if you aren’t running in the opposite direction despite everything he’s put you through.

Kevin leans forward, hand still pressed to your cheek, and connects your lips softly. He’s testing the waters, making sure you’re comfortable before he continues anything. When you don’t back away just yet, he adds more force, deepening the kiss like a man starved. You whine against his lips.

This is what you’ve been wanting from him. More than what he gave you before your performance, but not what happened in the studio a few weeks ago. This desperation isn’t abashed lust, it’s unbridled affection— it’s everything he’s holed inside of himself for years, unwilling to let it see the light of day until now. If you were to label anything as perfection, it wouldn’t be a dance or a moment on stage, it would be this. Just you and Kevin finally bringing yourselves together in the most intimately emotional union.

He pulls you closer to him, hands sliding down to grasp at your waist, bunching up the thin fabric of your leotard. You can’t help but bury your fingers in his hair, tugging when he nips at your lower lip. A gasp permeates the air when his mouth travels south, along your jaw and down the side of your neck. He bites and sucks the tender skin at the base of your throat, ensuring he leaves his mark on you. This time isn’t careless, this time he has purpose. He wants everybody to know that you’re his, that you’re the only person insane enough to put up with him.

Your breathing is shaky when you reach behind you to lock the dressing room, dragging him over to the long vanity adjacent to you. He slots between your legs when you hoist yourself onto the surface. He pecks your lips and pauses his movements, rubbing up and down your thighs. In the dim, yellow lighting of the room, you look so gorgeous. He’s always thought you were beautiful, the most stunning thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he’s repressed it for so long. He wants to take his time staring at what he’s avoided.

”You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, kissing you again and again and again. “I don’t think I can last long with you.”

“Can we skip the foreplay?” You ask, bottom lip jutted into a pout. “Need you to just fuck me like you mean it.”

Kevin’s forehead falls to your shoulder with a groan. “I don’t deserve you,” God, he’s such an idiot for holding out from this. You should’ve been given the world and so much more. He has a lot of lost time to make up for. He kisses your shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

You don’t waste another second, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your leotard. He has to bite down on his tongue when he sees that you’re braless, fingers going slack as they unbutton the rest of his silk shirt. You shimmy out of the one piece, left in nothing but the fishnet stockings you wore underneath and your lacy panties. Kevin thinks he must’ve done at least something right in a past life to experience this.

Your eyes sparkle as you look up at him, undoing his slacks and kicking them down his legs with your feet. Something takes over him when he rips a bigger hole in your stockings, pushing your underwear to the side. His thumb glides through your folds with ease, your slick providing enough lubricant. He pushes your lower lips apart while you busy yourself shoving his underwear to his ankles.

His cock slips inside of you with less friction than he would’ve thought, but he doesn’t complain, screwing his eyes shut as he acclimates to the feeling of your walls surrounding him. You moan, such a soft sound that he nearly loses his balance.

“You feel so good, baby,” he coos, digging his fingers into your hips as he rocks his own. “You’re so so perfect.”

The praise is too much for you, given the circumstances. Your brain is already cloudy, stuffed with what could only be described as cotton. You watch with half lidded eyes as he begins to piston into you at a faster speed. This all feels like a fever dream, something that was only possible in your craziest fantasies. Even then, it seemed unlikely.

“‘M close, Kev,” you whine, unable to stay still and attempting to match his thrusts.

“Already? We’ve only just started, gorgeous.” He laughs, but it’s breathy, strained from the exertion of his body. You hardly have the strength in you to be embarrassed about it, especially since he’s seen you in much worse situations.

You nod frantically, snaking a hand between you to circle your clit with nimble fingers. Kevin halts you and pulls out momentarily, sliding his cock between your folds like it was your hand. The tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you dizzier than you already were.

He presses back into you with ease, resuming his sloppy but animalistic pace. He uses his thumb to continue your handywork, your cunt fluttering around him needily. You’re both losing your sanity quickly, both going batshit insane over the bare minimum. You’ve just needed this for so long, yearned for this moment for a humiliating amount of time.

Your moans start to rise in pitch and he groans. “Fuck, baby, you can cum for me.”

He could cry, he thinks, when your back arches and your legs shake with your orgasm. It hits you like a freight train, triggering his own release just as fast.

You stay like that for a bit, regaining yourselves and comprehending everything that’s just happened. So much for the whole hating each other narrative.

“What does this mean for us?” You suddenly ask, arms hooked around Kevin’s neck. You’re still connected by your lower halves, but he makes no effort to pull away. Part of you likes it that way, it gives you hope that this isn’t a one time affair.

“It’ll be hard for things to change overnight,” he says, massaging your sides. “We have a lot of unresolved issues and insecurities that we still have to push past. But I’m willing to do that with you. I want to take a chance on us.”

Your lips pull into a smile, an expression you don’t think you’ve worn around him genuinely in the years you’ve known him. “I do, too.”

“It’s kind of ironic that it was a performance that tore us apart and brought us back together, don’t you think?” He laughs.

“And we fucked in the dressing room…” You add, glancing to the top corner where a security camera is stationed.

“Maybe we should get out of here before someone checks the footage,” he suggests. “Tau Beta Zeta is conveniently hosting our end of semester party tonight, do you wanna be my plus one?”

“I would be honored.” You grin, pecking his lips tenderly.

Perhaps happy endings existed after all.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz kevin #tbz kevin #kevin moon x reader #kevin moon smut #kevin x reader #kevin smut #moon hyungseo #blackoutorbackout🍻#juyeonszn

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shawnxstyles · 2 years

Text

fireball

DATE: NOVEMBER 24, 2022

summary: the cops get called at a party you didn’t want to go to, but luckily, tom takes you to somewhere safe and sound where no one can hear you.

request: YES!!

warnings: SMUT (m- receiving [oral, deepthroating], f- receiving [hickies, hairpulling, gagging/choking, slight degrading kink], praise kink, bit of dacryphilia, and dirty talking), slight manipulation (of her innocence), alcohol, and soo much dialogue i’m sorry (not)

words: 3.7k

note: OMG YES i love this so much!! i made this into a dark tom fic?? tell me what you guys think! i kind of like dark tom... if this makes you uncomfortable, do not read.

dark/frat!tom x innocent!reader

—

You were not a fan of parties. Cliche, right? You didn’t care.

You loved group hangouts and drinking with people you trust. At parties, you don’t even know most of the people there, let alone trust them with your drunken state. Your friend, Eden, begged you to go, and you couldn’t really say no this time because you said no the last five times.

School has been riding your ass lately with pop quizzes and piles of homework. You wondered why you even decided to go to college sometimes. But a secure, steady job that you like is a decent enough reason to stay.

“I will give you a hundred dollars if you wear this,” Eden delicately takes out a strapless, purple dress that was just above the knees.

“Show me the hundred.”

“Damn it, you know I don’t have it!” She groans and hangs the dress back in the closet with not-so-much delicacy. You would’ve worn it, too, but you also wanted a hundred bucks.

“Here, I’ll wear this,” You pull up an image on your phone of an outfit you already had prepared to wear. You’re almost certain she’ll approve, but you’re going to show her anyway.

“Y/N, that’s hot as fuck! If you already had an outfit, why did you make me search for something?!” She scrunches her face in confusion.

“I thought maybe you’d find something better?”

“Oh, bull!” Eden waves you off as she closes her closet door. “I’m getting some tonight if you know what I mean, so I’m going to get ready. Did you bring your outfit? Oh, of course you did. Go get ready, you bitch.”

You laugh loudly as you walk out her bedroom door. You just love your best friend. Even when she makes you go to stupid frat parties.

—

From the outside, you probably wouldn’t even know it was a party. As long as you were five miles down the street.

The house boomed with techno-like music, and strobe lights shined throughout the large window panes. The second you walk through the door, your face contorts at the rancid mix of alcohol, weed, and sweat. No matter how many parties you’ve gone to (four), you’ll never get used to that mixture. It’s just nasty.

Eden instantly leads you two over to the kitchen where different alcohols are scattered over the counter. You see Fireball and go straight over to the bottle. Not many people like it, but that’s one of the few alcoholic drinks that’s so good, you’ll drink it at a party. You grab the bottle and grab a solo cup. As your hand touches the tower of them, a hand rests above yours. You follow the hand up the stranger’s arm and to their face.

Tom.

Tom is the “leader” of the frat, or whatever it’s called. Captain? You didn’t care for it because people put him on a pedestal for a stupid reason. What was so great about him that people praised so much? Yeah, he was attractive, but he seemed… you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“If it isn't little miss Y/N. I didn’t think you were coming tonight. What made you come?” Tom taunts as he grabs two solo cups. His eyes crinkle with a small smile. A ripped baseball cap fits perfectly backwards on his head, so that his brunette hair pokes out from the sides. “Me?”

“I just felt like going out,” You answer dryly, snatching the cup from his hands and unscrewing the bottle cap. You fight a smile just looking at his smile. It was addictingly gorgeous.

Maybe that’s what he’s so praised for.

“Fireball? You look too good to be drinking Fireball, love,” The small nickname made your heart skip a beat. His words were a bit seductive with a hint of tease. You barely caught his eyes scanning over your body with how quick he did it. You were wearing a silky black v-neck with a black leather skirt. A cheap, gold necklace dangles above your breasts, while some small hoop earrings match. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel good with your appearance, especially because you don’t go out too often anymore.

“But I want it. You worry about what you want and I’ll worry about what I want,” You nodded surely as you began to fill the cup about a fourth of the way. You wanted to drink a bit throughout the night without getting drunk. You take two sips, already feeling warmer.

“And I want you,” He says so low, you almost didn’t hear him. His words shocked you, sending electricity down your whole body. The music was so noisy and the people shouted the lyrics too loud. But he wanted you to hear him. He wanted only you to hear him.

All your movements stop and the hard bass of the speakers becomes your heartbeat. A wave of heat rushes over your skin as the tiny hairs from your body rise.

“You’re just saying that,” You deny, reaching over the liquors to grab a bottle of soda as a chaser.

“I know you want me, too–”

“How?” You question, cutting him off. He takes a step closer to you with a smirk arising on your face. Your innocence was becoming more visible to him, but you didn’t know that.

Can he really tell if you wanted him? Is that possible?

“I can see the gloss over your eyes, and I can feel the heat radiating from you. Your stomach is probably flipping so much you can’t even breathe. You’re trying to resist me, aren’t you, honey?” Tom takes a strand of hair from the front of your face and tucks it seductively behind your ear. Smoothly, his thumb runs along your jawline and gently pulls down your bottom lip. Immediate butterflies explode in your stomach from seduction overload. “Look at me. Am I wrong?”

You lift your head up slowly, eyes wide with curiosity and apparently lust. A fake, innocent expression coats his face as he slightly tilts his head. You shake your head just as slowly as before, knowing he was right. Based on what he said, you did want him. You’ve never really wanted someone the way you want him right now.

Before you could say anything else, three pounding knocks echo throughout the whole house. The music is cut and nearly everyone becomes silent and still.

“Police! Open up!” A muffled yell comes from the other side of the door. Some people scream and others mumble profanities while running all over the place. Your eyes widen in fear because you’ve never been to a party where the cops were called.

“C’mon follow me!” Tom shouts over the screams and running people. His hand laces through your fingers with a tight grip. Even though you’re scared, those butterflies flutter in your stomach again. Your thick heels weren’t very tall, so it was easy enough to move without slipping.

Tom weaves you both through the crowds strategically, going the opposite way of the wave of people. He leads you down a hallway and to a bedroom, which panics you because you don’t want to hide–you want to run away. However, when you get into the bedroom, you’re relieved to see a sliding glass door that leads into the backyard. Tom stops for a moment and snatches something off of the long dresser alongside the wall. Then you both rush through the door quickly, closing it before Tom drags you away again.

He opens the wooden fence door, pulling you through before shutting it and bringing you around the corner. Now, you were technically in the front yard, but the side of the frat house covers you. He holds you steady against the fence, your heart racing with many reasons but anticipation feels the strongest. This close you could smell his cologne and it’s delightful; something woodsy yet sensual. You spot a black car behind his shoulder and pray that’s where he’s taking you.

“Do you see that car? We’re going there. But the front door is right over there. That’s where the cops are. I’ve done this before, but I’m sure you haven’t. Once the cops break down the door and go inside, we’re running to the car. Okay?” Tom tries to explain as slowly and relaxed as possible because he’s scared for you. He doesn’t want you to be afraid and he wants you to trust him. All you do is nod. He grabs your hand again, but with less intensity, and more delicacy. He brings it up to his lips and kisses your knuckles softly. “Still with me?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you fight the urge to a huge smile, but you somehow nod in response. You look away nervously, as your fear begins to die down. He sees this and smirks, glad he is able to distract you from the cops. To Tom, this scene is not that big of a deal because he usually runs away by himself. But you were standing there, so innocent, so susceptible, that he could never leave you alone.

The signal of the door breaking down alerts both of your ears and you look up at Tom again in urgency. He tightly grips your hand again, hopefully not hurting you, and drags you as quickly as possible to the black car across the street. Yanking the keys from his pocket, he clicks the unlock button and swiftly opens the door for you.

“Oh, what a gentleman,” You giggle, but shut the door urgently. He jogs around to the driver’s side and immediately starts the engine.

“Only for you, love,” He winks as he drives away into the night. You don’t even ask where he’s taking you, automatically trusting him.

—

Your mind was racing. You couldn’t stop thinking about Tom and what he told you. You wanted him, and you wanted him bad. You… needed him. But how do you bring it up again? Can you just tell him?

You’ll try that.

“Tom?” Your soft voice fills the no longer silent air. His thumb rubs gentle circles over your thigh, giving you that flipping feeling in your stomach again. You instinctively close your legs, trapping his hand. Your heat pounds with need, but you mistaken it for pain. He opens them again and continues to rub the soft skin of your thigh nonchalantly.

“Yes, doll?” His voice is deep and knowing, but you’re oblivious. A shy smirk peeks on his lips.

“I have that feeling again.”

“What feeling? Describe it to me,” Tom’s fingers inch slowly closer to your privates, making you inhale and slightly hold your breath. You try to remember exactly how he described it, so you could put it into words.

“I have that flipping stomach feeling, and I feel kind of hot. But it’s more intense… and it hurts,” You mumble under your breath out of embarrassment.

God, how are you even talking to him right now?

“What hurts, honey?” Tom questions innocently, keeping his eyes steadily on the road.

“My…privates,” You look down shamefully, while closing your legs again. Tom hums and you can hear his smirk.

“Do you…want me to get rid of that feeling?” He asks as if he’s just as oblivious as you. Your eyes sparkle and turn to look at him hopefully.

“Yes! Please, please, please!” You plead as Tom pulls into a driveway. You don’t even question it, even though you know he lives at the frat house. But you don’t pay any mind to that because the pain between your legs is becoming even stronger now.

“Alright, alright, I got you,” He laughs, turning off the engine. It’s pitch black outside apart from a single streetlight in the distance. The houses beside Tom’s were asleep, you assumed. It was probably pretty late, but you had lost your phone somewhere along the way, most likely when running.

—

Tom leads you through an empty house and into a bedroom. It’s dark throughout the whole place, only spots of moonlight peek through the curtains.

“Is this yours?” You had to ask, hands waving around in the air. You didn’t think Tom would bring you to some random home that wasn’t his. You didn’t want to trespass.

“Technically, yes. It’s mine as well as my parents’ second home,” You purse your lips at the new information. You had always assumed he had come from money.

The bedroom left you entranced in the way it was mysterious. Tom’s dark silhouette caused you to ache more than before. He turned around, staring at your helpless, desperate expression.

“I will help you, but,” Tom starts as you take a seat on the edge of the soft, white bed.

“I’ll do anything, please,” You beg pathetically, crossing your legs to decrease the consistent throbbing.

“Anything? Well, let me finish,” He takes a step toward you, making you look up into his eyes. He towers over you, showing full dominance. Your chest raises up and down with the tension. “You have to be a good girl.”

“I am,” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you peer up at him with a pouty face.

“You will be once you listen to me,” He pets the top of her head while you nod in agreement, still slightly confused. “Now, get on your knees.”

You don’t hesitate to obey Tom because you’re really desperate. The carpet is rough and scratchy, but you don’t say anything. He takes your hands and delicately places them on his belt buckle

“Take my belt off,” You nod again as you slowly begin to do so. “Now, my jeans.”

You want to complain so badly because of how slow this is going. But you want to be a good girl for Tom, so you keep your mouth closed and listen. You’re eye to eye with his boxers and without waiting for him to speak, you lower them down. Tom hums in satisfaction and runs a smooth hand through your hair. You inhale at the small touch, impatient.

“You’re so…big,” You note, eyes doe-y and wide. Tom stiffly laughs once with his mouth closed.

“Is that an issue? I thought you were a good girl?” He asks condescendingly, fingers brushing your jawline. The contrast of his rough fingertips ignite flames along your velvety skin. Your eyebrows pinch together in determination because you will be a good girl. Even if he is scarily big.

“Now what?” You gaze up at Tom through your eyelashes, innocence cascaded across your face along with a sense of challenge.

His cock sits big and stiff right in front of you, pre-cum leaking from the rosy tip. Out of instinct, you take your thumb to wipe it away, but more leaks out. You keep rubbing back and forth, trying to get the liquid to go away. Tom sighs from above you, gripping your hair tightly in a fist to halt you. You gasp and look at him again.

“Put your mouth on me, doll. But no teeth. Do you understand?” His intense hold on your hair lets you know he’s serious, so you nod again. “Words.”

“Yes, I understand,” You speak, before licking your lips and opening your mouth. The bit of liquid coats your tongue as you put his cock inside of your mouth. You get a little more than halfway before it’s touching the back of your throat. You instantly gag, wanting to spit. However, your tongue starts exploring, running along the sides and rubbing under it, which distracts you.

Tom groans, making you proud for some reason. Without a warning, Tom starts moving in and out.

“Breathe through your nose– fuck,” Tom’s voice is gravelly and rough when he moans deeply. His grip on your hair controls your head movements, so you’re forced to have his cock in your mouth the whole time. You grasp his thick thighs for support and dig your nails into his skin aggressively. You can feel his muscles tightening with immense strength. You moan on him, sending a warm feeling throughout Tom’s body.

“You like my muscles, baby? Yeah?” You hum against his cock because yes, you like his muscles. You never really cared for them on anyone else. However, you’ve always thought they were so attractive on him. When you’d see him waltzing around campus with his tight workout shirts, you always took a double-take. “Tell me how much you like them.”

His cock slips out from your mouth, coated in salvia. You gasp large breaths throughout your mouth, so you can answer him.

“I’ve always liked your arms. But I’ve always wanted to touch your stomach…” You shyly admit, looking down breathlessly. You stare back up at him with small courage. “I love when you wear your workout shirts around school because I can see how strong you are.”

Tom’s ego flies through the roof and his heart pounds heavily in his chest. The fact that you’ve noticed him around campus makes his stomach flip. He simply hums as his thumb on your jaw guides toward your bottom lip, pulling it down to open your mouth. You obey, widening as he slowly slots his cock back into your mouth like it was made to be there.

You take a deep breath as he begins moving in and out. His pace speeds up and your face gets all tingly. The carpet burns your knees, eventually numbing them.

Saliva spills on your chin and down to your chest. You can’t help but gag every time his tip tickles the back of your mouth. With every thrust, you swear he gets lower down your throat. Your jaw begins to burn and your throat begins to ache. Tears form at the brim of your eyes before they slowly fall on your cheeks.

“Choke on it, just like that. You like this, don’t you?” Tom asks while more tears stream from your face. Although you’re crying, you love it because it makes you a good girl. Pleasing Tom makes you get butterflies.

The throbbing between your legs gets more intense with every thrust and gag. You helplessly close your legs like you had in the car. Tom notices.

“Of course you do, you’re filthy. Just like me,” Tom degrades, whispering the last past, so you couldn’t hear him. Tom’s cock fits perfectly snug in your mouth; coated by your warmth. The tickles and subtle rubs of your tongue make him throw his head back in awe. Your private throbs again, pleading to be helped.

“Do you like when I talk dirty? Do you?” You muffle a moan on his cock, sending vibrations through him. He groans loudly. Your head feels light and your vision seems fuzzy. You assumed if you did this too long, you would pass out. His chiseled stomach peeks beneath his button up, tense as his orgasm nears.

But of course, you’re oblivious to the fact that he is going to come soon.

“You want to be a good girl, right?” You look at him as best as you can while attempting to nod. You gag again, nearly spitting him out. He continues to ram into your mouth as you drool everywhere. “Then take it.”

More tears spill onto your cheeks. You learn it’s hard to breathe solely out of your nose, and moving your head backwards only slims the opening of your throat.

His pace is rough and quick, making you see stars. His stomach tenses again as he groans a variety of profanities above you.

“Fuck!” Tom yells as he yanks himself out of your mouth. Suddenly, come spurts out from his cock, coating your chin and chest beautifully. Specks of white splattered on your shirt, looking like the stars in the night sky.

Tom strokes himself until he’s breathing steady, mind still blown from you. Somehow, teaching you how to deepthroat rather than you being skilled at it turned him on more than ever. He tugs up his boxers and jeans, not caring about the mess of saliva on him.

“Stay right here, baby.”

You stay kneeled, drenched in his white liquid. Tom exits the room and comes back with a towel and a blanket. He slowly wipes the liquid away with the towel until you’re all clean. A throb still pounds between your legs and you wonder if you’ve been good enough for him to fix it.

“Tom?” Your throat is sore, so your voice comes out squeaky and breaking. Tom’s eyes follow you as you gracefully stand from the kneeling position, knees burning. “Was I a good girl?”

Tom, nearly getting hard again, smiles at your innocence and caresses your cheek lovingly.

“The best,” He says, and your eyes light up in praise. “You’re my good girl.”

A toothy smile widens on your lips before Tom delicately kisses you. The room was so dark and eerie, but the kiss felt like a rainbow and a thousand butterflies. His skillful lips kiss you mesmerizingly, while his fingers brush over your warm cheeks.

The kiss was soft and tender, completely opposite from his previous actions. A heartbeat continued to pulse between your legs the more and more he touched you. With some self-control, you slowly pushed him off of you. You just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Tom,” You whisper groggily. “It still hurts.”

He smiles devilishly, licking his bottom lip.

“Good girls ask nicely,” He raises his eyebrows as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears.

“Please, please help me, Tom. I need you,” You beg breathily, feeling floaty. Tom smirks, satisfied with your plea. He guides your body toward the bed, laying you down delicately. You melt into the mattress’s comforter as Tom crawls over you.

“Anything for my good girl,” Tom hums as he hovers above your relentless body, trembling slightly with anticipation. His hum follows through the trails of kisses and love bites he discards along your neck. You moan out with each touch of his hands and lips.

“Now what,” You whimper out, wondering what he’s going to do next. You mentally pray he’s going to mend the pain.

“Now, baby, it’s all about you.”

—

thank you for the request ;) i hope you liked it!

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