#he loves to see you frown and flick his forehead when he's not sitting still

[httpiastri]

Accidentally cutting him while he’s shaving and you’re near tears because you feel so bad but he’s so sweet about it

omfg 🫠🫠 im….

i imagine it's one of the first times you help him out and so you're still not really used to it. it's all going smooth and you think you're finally starting to get the hang of it, when suddenly you hear him suck in a breath. the reaction is enlarged by 1000 in your head because in reality he barely even reacts and there's barely even a little drop of blood, but to you it's like you gave him a full on stab wound in his chest… pepe just looks himself in the mirror and goes "oh" before wetting a towel and cleaning himself up. but you freeze, just blinking up at him and feeling your pulse increase instantly because… you just made him bleed…..

he doesn't even notice your reaction at first – because, again, it's not a big deal to him – but when he does, his eyes soften as they land on him and he instantly cups your cheeks in his hands. he's very "what's wrong? hey, it's alright – i'm not even bleeding anymore! don't cry, please, seeing you in tears hurts more than the cut…" and all kinds of words of comfort just to calm you down :( and then he has to promise you like 10 times that he indeed is alright and give you 100 little kisses to make you feel good again 🥺

#okay also i forgot to say this earlier but #i have this headcanon about shaving him thats like #he loooves it #like love love love loves it #not just because it's a cute action and domestic and #it's not just because he gets to see you up close all focused and cute #but because it feels soooo good #your hands on his neck and cheek… the way you pull him closer… the way your knees brush against his sides #(or your legs wrap fully around him if youre feeling extra frisky) #the way you kiss his nose and drag a finger along his jaw when youre done #it makes him so so giddy and the butterflies just go insane in his belly #but also !!! he loves your reactions #he loves to see you look so proud of your work… he loves to see you smile and giggle when he cracks a stupid joke… #he loves to see you frown and flick his forehead when he's not sitting still #okay i cant take this anymore #asks! #anon! #pepe thoughts #pepe marti

[literaila]

emotions

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you and megumi discuss how terrible satoru is

warnings: little spat between gojo and megumi, reader is the only sane one, lil fluff, and pining ofc

last part | next part

*

year three.

you're used to the door slamming open every day when they get home--and you've given up on scolding all of your family members about it--but what you're not used to is megumi storming through the door, his aura a dark and stormy color as he walks by you, not even bothering to look your way, and slamming the door to his room. all within a good three seconds. 

and, okay. you blink, trying to comprehend him, or what just happened. 

satoru comes in next, slower, more peaceful, shutting the front door softly like it'll make up for megumi's actions. for whatever he probably did. 

you immediately turn towards him, frowning. "what'd you do?" 

"why did i have to do something?" satoru asks, scoffing. "the kid is a glorified teenager. or an old man. he's moody." 

"yeah, but he didn't even say hi to me," you cross your arms, trying to analyze his body language and the twitch of his lips. 

satoru waves a hand at you. "join the club." 

"seriously. is he okay?" 

satoru kicks at the floor, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath. 

"satoru." 

he looks up, almost pouting. 

"what happened?" 

"i was just teasing him--" he's already pleading for mercy, taking a step towards you with his arms out. "i didn't even say anything bad. i just said something about his attitude, and he told me to leave him alone, and i... i didn't do anything!" he swears. 

and you both know that he's lying. you sigh, shaking your head at him. 

"did you listen when he told you to stop?" 

"no," satoru says, with a fake smile. 

"then you did something," you take a step away from him, watching as he slides off his jacket, then his glasses. "what were you teasing him about?" 

"he was telling me about some kids at school. i guess they're scared of him, or something." 

you raise a brow. 

his hand gestures to megumi's room, helplessly. "you know him and i like to mess with each other, i didn't think that he would... get upset." 

you almost laugh, because he looks so guilty, unknowing, and childish. and you can tell--by a mere glance--that satoru feels bad, and doesn't want to admit that. 

you snort, still shaking your head. this man is the sole cause of all of your problems. "okay, well you should apologize to him, and listen when he asks you to do something--" 

"no." 

"excuse me?" 

"will you talk to him instead?" he pleads, tilting his head at you. "you're so much better with him, and he'll listen to you." 

"satoru," you frown. "i didn't do anything. megumi doesn't need an apology from me." 

"but he's just going to yell at me," he whines, body flailing pathetically as he emphasizes this point. "and he's scary when he yells." 

"he's nine." 

satoru shakes his head. 

you flick his forehead. "honestly, all you have to do is say that you were wrong. easy." 

"i don't wanna say that," he mumbles, feebly, crossing his arms like a toddler.

you groan. "satoru--" 

"i have to go pick up tsumiki anyway. please? just talk to him? do you really want him to sit in his room all alone and be all gloomy?" 

satoru's lip twitches because he knows that he's got you there. just the idea of megumi brooding alone is enough to break you. 

you scowl at him, crossing your arms with a knowing glance. "i'm going to let megumi punch you, and then i'm going to do it myself." 

"we're not supposed to encourage violence." 

you roll your eyes. "go get tsumiki. do not be late again. i'll see how he's feeling, but we're going to talk trash about you, just so you know." 

"see? this is why i love you." satoru grins, then pecks your cheek. "okay, got to go! good luck," he says and swings himself out the door. 

and honestly, how did you get stuck with him? 

*

you give him a couple of minutes before you knock on the door, assuming that any space he has to cool off is probably good. but you can only wait so long. 

there's a worry somewhere in your chest, the fear that you won't know how to mend the rift between the two boys. but the other part of you feels easy, simple. 

kind of how you assume satoru feels about most things. 

if you can't fix it, you think, he probably can. 

"hey," you whisper, peeking into his room. the lights are off. "can i come in?" 

megumi shrugs. he's sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, looking like a forlorn statue. 

so you go in anyway, stepping over the backpack he threw on the floor and the books cascading out of it to sit next to him on his bed. 

it's actually a little hard not to laugh because even though he's grumpy, megumi is so cute. his little scrunched-up eyebrows and his pout make you want to squeeze him forever. you want to coo over him, or say something inappropriate, but you refrain. because you are not satoru, and you will never be. 

"how was school?" you ask, after you've settled in on his dinosaur sheets, watching him pick at something on his pants. 

he shrugs again. 

"wow. glowing remarks." 

megumi doesn't even smirk a little. 

you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes. "do you want to talk?" you ask softly, trying so hard not to prod. even though you will.  

"no." 

you smile, a little. "too bad," you tell him, rolling your eyes for show, "you didn't say hello or give me my hug when you came in. talking is your punishment." 

"sorry," he mumbles. 

"i'll let it slide this time--only this time--okay, kid?" you give him a hard look and he nods immediately. you smile at him again, leaning up. "what happened with satoru?"

"nothing." 

"unforunately for you, he's a gossip so..." 

he rolls his eyes. "he was just being annoying."

"naturally. did he make you mad?" 

megumi nods. 

"did you tell him that?" 

he shakes his head. 

"okay. what'd you say when he started annoying you?" 

"to stop." 

"and then he didn't, so..." you hint, nudging him.

"i told him to leave me alone." 

"what'd he say to that?" 

megumi sighs. "he just said that i'm adorable when i'm mad." 

because of course he would. satoru is probably the worst person in the world. the sole cultivator of everything terrible. 

and, for some reason, you're kinda obsessed with him. 

"yeah," you shake your head, grumbling internally. "i'd expect nothing less from him. i'm sorry he didn't listen, though." 

megumi finally looks at you. "you are?" 

you raise your brows. "well, yeah. if you want to be left alone, then he should leave you alone." 

megumi looks at you skeptically. "you're not going to tell me that i shouldn't have gotten mad at him?" 

"um," you frown. "no. you're entitled to your emotions, megs. you can feel whatever you want." 

he frowns, too, but doesn't say anything. he's stuck somewhere you'll probably never reach. 

but you try to meet his eyes anyway. "and satoru'll be getting a lecture from me, don't worry," megumi smiles a little at that, looking a little more like the boy you're used to. "but i just wanted to tell you that you can talk about it with me, if you want. nobody understands being angry with satoru like i do." 

he looks away again. his fists clench, briefly, and he makes a sound at the back of his throat. "i just--why doesn't he leave me alone? he always teases me, even when i'm trying to be serious, or when i tell him to stop." 

you nod in agreement, letting the words sit for a moment. and then you say, "i think that satoru thinks if he never takes anything seriously, then the negative emotions and all of the things he doesn't want to think about won't matter to him. or as much."

"but they do matter." 

"they do. and if he's irritating you, you should tell him that." 

"i try." 

your lip twitches. "satoru's not the easiest person to talk to. but he's a lot like you, you know? in that way." 

megumi frowns. "how?" 

"you don't really like to talk about these things do you?" you ask, seriously. 

megumi thinks for a moment, fingers messing with the bedsheets, and then shakes his head, slowly, like he doesn't want to admit it. 

"satoru doesn't like it either. and he feels things the same way you do--very deeply, and seriously. that's why he always messes around. and why he frustrates you." you stop, thinking about how to explain this to a kid. how to explain it to yourself. "well, you know how when there's only one melon soda left and you give it to tsumiki, or when you let her pick the movie?" 

megumi nods. 

"that's your way of putting her first. because you love her. but it's different then the way that she loves you, right?"

"yeah. she says it, a lot," he rolls his eyes, familiar with the antics of tsumiki.

you smile. "and she gives those hugs where she tries to crack your ribs," you emphasize it by squeezing his shoulder, making him laugh. 

you swallow, shrugging. "you both show your love differently. everyone does. but tsumiki isn't afraid to let anyone know that she loves them, and satoru is, i think. and you're like that." 

he looks down at his lap, contemplating this. satoru might think that you understand megumi better than he does, that the two of you are easy, but you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. 

everything is so clear in your head. but you can't clarify the interworkings of someone as complicated as satoru for megumi. you can barely clarify him for yourself. 

"i don't know if that's the right way to put it..." you sigh. "well, i like to talk things out. like right now. i want to talk about how i feel, and why. that's how i process everything. but satoru doesn't do that. usually, he'll refuse to." you nudge megumi. "and that's okay, sometimes. but i think he's taught you to do the same, on accident." 

"that's not bad, though," he mutters, frowning. 

"no, not all of the time. but it also means that his emotions come out in his actions. like teasing you, or when he tries to get all of us to sleep in his room." 

megumi rolls his eyes again and you laugh. 

"there's no bad way to show the people that you love that you love them, but when you don't talk about things, or you try not to show those emotions, they get stuck." you poke his chest. "and then they break out, like today, and it's too many feelings all at once." 

megumi nods. 

"so when he's annoying you, you have to tell him. or if you need a break from him, or me, or tsumiki, you should say that." 

it's advice for all of you. some secret that you don't want megumi to know about--the part of you that's lying to him. the unspoken things you don't say--emotions buried so deep beneath your surface that they'll never see the sun. 

you can see the thoughts as they pass over his face, still dark, still stormy, but lighter now. 

eventually, he nods, meeting your eyes. "okay."

you give him a half smirk, leaning down just a little. "but you can't be mean about it, alright? i know today was hard, and satoru was pushing you, but it's still not okay to snap at him." 

megumi curls in a little. "i'm sorry." 

"i'm not mad, buddy," you assure him, ruffling his hair. "and neither is satoru. we're just here to help you, you know? but you have to let us in so we can. you can depend on us, i promise. and you have to be nice, because i can't deal with another satoru." 

he laughs, just a little. you rest your head on his. "i'm here if you want to talk about it," you tell him, "today, or anything else that's bothering you." 

"i know." 

and you feel like he does, just a little bit. he's a very smart kid, and you know that when you leave he'll think about it some more--put it into words that work for him. 

honestly, most of the time his intelligence frightens you--like you'll never be able to slow him down, or make sure that you're on the same page. but at least there's some use for it. 

you sit up. "good. now i'm going to leave you alone, but when satoru gets home and he apologizes, try not to yell at him?" you plead, only partly joking. "he's sensitive." 

megumi scowls, but nods anyway. 

you stand up, nudging his leg with your foot and then you step back over the maze of his things, turning the doorknob. 

"y/n?" 

you turn back, brows raised. "yeah, bud?" 

"do you want to... play cards, or something?" 

and finally, you laugh. just a little. 

*

"how'd it go?" 

"megumi said that he didn't like my haircut, and that i needed to review my wardrobe situation." 

"and?" 

"he's okay." 

you sigh out in relief. "good," you say, looking back down at the paperwork you're supposed to be filling out. the teaching courses, and jujutsu regulations, course handbooks, and bills... 

satoru sits down next to you, looking over all of the papers with a frown. "this is disgusting," he says, nudging your hand away from the pen you're lingering on. 

"true."

"take a break," he hooks his leg around yours. "let's talk." 

you sigh again. "we really need to get this stuff done, satoru." 

he shrugs. "we'll do it tomorrow." 

"you said that yesterday, too." 

"and i was right..." 

but you relent, and you turn so that you're sitting facing him on the couch, your legs crossed in front of you. 

"hey," he whispers, softly, grinning. 

"hi." 

"how was your day?" 

"boring. all i did was clean the house and wait for you and the kids to get home." 

he leans in, eyes crinkled. "can you imagine what your life would be like without me?" 

"not even a little bit. you take up all of my time."

satoru smiles, adoringly. he leans his forehead against yours. 

you want to push him away, or roll your eyes, or ask him more about his talk with megumi, or if he checked on tsumiki, but you don't. 

you just let a small, tired smile rest upon your lips and close your eyes. 

satoru is close enough to smell. his warmth is almost mechanical, unmoving. and everything about him feels sort of unbelievable. he's so close. close enough to touch and taste, if you were that daring. 

but you're not. 

"you okay?" you whisper to him, feeling his breath against your cupid's bow. you refrain a shiver. 

"i'm good," he says, voice soft and low. "you okay?" 

"i'm good." 

satoru nods against you. there's a whole minute where the two of you sit just like that, no need for words or movements. 

it's nice like this, you think. with him and nothing else. you don't get a break very often nowadays--and you don't mind it, really--but sitting with him is enough to not care. who needs a break when you've got your best friend, curled against you like a vice you'll never ever touch?

and then satoru asks, "do you think i mess with megumi too much?" 

"yes," you say, immediately, opening your eyes to meet his glorious blue ones. satoru is pouting, so you continue. "but he loves you anyway." 

just like i do, you think, so brief there's no time to push it away in your mind. 

"yeah?" 

"god knows why," you say, rolling your eyes, laughing when he bends down to tickle your neck with his nose, sniffing against you like a dog. 

but you do know why. and the paperwork can wait until tomorrow. 

*

next part | series masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jujutsu satoru #satorugojo #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #a typical family #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru gojō x reader

[eliluvschan]

Sick Boyfie

pairing: lee know x reader

word count: 607

warnings: sick Minho

genre: fluff

a/n: short one today cause i’m sick :(

i woke up groggily to the blankets being pulled off of my body, and Minho tossing and turning next to me.

“Min, you woke me up.” i whisper loudly. he doesn’t respond but instead, whimpers next to me. i turn to see him wrapped up in all of our blankets, the sheets twisted around his limbs.

“Min?” i ask, realising something is wrong. he isn’t awake, but keeps whimpering in his sleep.

i sit up and reach my hand to his forehead. he’s burning up. his eyes flutter open at my cool touch.

“baby.” he groans.

“do you feel okay? you have a fever.” i ask him.

“no, i feel sick.” he says, his eyebrows furrowing together. his legs are curled up against him and he looks so young and in pain.

“where does it hurt?”

“entire body.” he moans, as i frown at him.

“okay. i’ll be right back.” i say, crawling out of bed and flicking on the lamp that sits on my bedside table.

i walk down the hall and shuffle through our medicine cabinet before finding some painkillers. i shake two into my hand, hoping it will knock out his fever.

i then walk into the kitchen and get him a glass of cool water and a snack for him to eat before going back to our room. Soon and Doongie following me suit.

he’s still laying in the same position, a look of agony painted across his face.

“okay. can you get out of bed for me?” i ask. he nods slowly and staggers out of our bed. i quickly shake out the sheets, so he’s more comfortable.

i turn to our closet and grab him a fresh hoodie and pair of sweats. the kitties lay on our bed as they get comfortable and also fall asleep.

“you need to change out of those sweaty clothes.” i tell him. he sighs and holds his arms out, indicating that i should do it for him. i roll my eyes but smile.

i secretly love it when he’s needy like this, and i feel bad for him because he’s sick.

i peel his sweatshirt off, exposing his bare, clammy chest. “wait.” i say and rush to the bathroom. i grab a washcloth and gently clean his chest, neck and face.

i help him into fresh clothes. “now eat this.” i hand him a few grapes that i grabbed out of the fridge. my parents always taught me to never take painkillers without eating something first or else your stomach will hurt.

as he slowly finished the grapes, i hold out the water and painkillers. he swallows them and sniffles as he rolls back into bed.

i climb in next to him, flicking the light back off, but not before grabbing a t-shirt for if he gets too hot at night. i crawl over to him, peeling his hair out of his sight and leaving little kisses all over his face.

“jagi don’t. i don’t want you to get sick.” he groggily says, already half asleep.

“i know, but that won’t stop me from caring for you.” i say, running my hands through his hair as he falls back asleep.

“thank you, kitten.” he mumbles, almost completely asleep.

“i love you too, Min. i’ll always take care of you.” i see him smile lightly in the dark as he drifts into sleep.

i feel the cats climb around us on the bed as i fall asleep myself.

~

#skz fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #lee know x y/n #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know #lee know scenarios #lee know fluff #lee know x reader

[luveline]

can we see what christmas is like with eddie, reader and roan? 🫶

the munson family and their pre christmas priorities ♡ (step)mom!reader, 1k

“I'm sick of being a dad,” Eddie says. “I'm done. You're going to live with your Uncle Wayne.” 

Roan roars with laughter, her hair dusting the floor, her t-shirt dipping down to expose her chubby belly where she hangs from Eddie's hands. “Dad, pick me up!” 

“I'm Eddie now to you.” 

“I'm,” —she cackles— “sorry! Pick me up!” 

Eddie gives her a last good shake before gently lowering her to the floor. She's all flushed cheeks and big eyes, her hair a riot around her head as she wipes stray strands from her mouth. “I'm sorry, daddy,” she says, pouting, her thin brows rising up her forehead. “Don't be mad.” 

“I'm furious.” 

“No, you're not! You're not angry, dad, you're smiling.” 

Eddie forces his lips into a deep frown. “I told you to keep her in line!” 

You huff from your place by the Christmas tree. “Give it up, Eds. Santa doesn't come for grown ups, I already told you that.” You place a final small gift atop the small mountain of silver-wrapped boxes and straighten it to perfection. “So I have to make sure you get what you deserve.” 

“What was I s'posed to do?” Roan asks, sitting up. Her pyjamas are just a little too big, the shirt falling to her thighs and the pants covering her toes. 

“Restrain her,” Eddie says, grabbing Roan under the arms to help her onto her feet. “Let me roll your pants up, babe.” 

“I shrank in the night,” she says. 

Eddie smooths her hair out of her face as he kneels in front of her. “You're so funny. Santa will bring you all kinds of new pyjamas tomorrow, he told me. But don't tell him I told you.” 

“Did you get me anything?” Roan asks. 

If only she knew. “Yeah, we got you some gifts too. But we're gonna put them out when Santa does, okay?” 

“Okay.” She beams. Eddie pulls her pants from under her little feet to roll the hems up, worried she'll slip and smash her face on the wood floors. 

“You're excited,” Eddie says, moving to her second leg, “I can feel you vibrating like a dog.” 

“Woof,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. She's in a very cuddly mood tonight. 

“Oh, what a beautiful puppy I have. She's so cute.” He hugs her lightly, black curls trapped either side of them. Eddie sits back on his calves and she lets herself fall into his lap. “What kind of puppy are you? A poodle?” 

“No, I wanna be a dalmatian!” 

“Of course,” he hums, stroking her hair. “How could I forget? You love damn-nations.” 

You stand up from the tree to poke at them with your foot. “Can we have hot chocolate now?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Puppy's can't have chocolate,” Eddie says, encouraging Roan back to tuck her hair behind her ears. “So you'll have to be human Ro again.” 

She sighs forlornly. “Okay.” 

You make your way into the kitchen, paper chains hanging in the doorway and snowflake stickers holographic against the dark window. It's only 5PM, but the sun has firmly set, leaving the outside world in total darkness. You flick on the kitchen light and immediately head to the stove to heat the stove top kettle where it’s lived this last month on the back hob. “Milk, please?” you ask. 

Eddie's already in the fridge. He passes you the milk, ignoring the mounds of foil wrapped meats and cheeses, his stomach aching in longing. “One more sleep,” he says, hooking a pint of milk on his pinky. 

Roan attempts to climb your legs. You pick her up and put her on the counter, shielding her from the stove with your body. “What's for dinner?” she asks you. 

“How about soup?” you ask. When Roan wrinkles her nose, you add, “With croutons? We could have yummy vegetable soup with crispy croutons.” Still wrinkled. “Or we could have tomato soup and grilled cheese?” 

“With extra cheese?” Roan asks. 

“Sure, princess. Lots and lots of cheese.” 

Eddie opens the kettle. “What was in here?” 

“Milk last night, but I already washed it. I knew we'd be having more hot chocolate,” you say, words shaped by your smile as Roan pulls you in for a hug. “It's so cold, huh, baby.” 

“My nose is cold.” 

“I can feel it!” 

Eddie pours the entire pint of milk into the kettle. It'll be just enough for all three of you to have a full mug, and if he uses the big mugs there'll be no risk of overflow once the whipped cream and marshmallows have been added. 

The milk doesn't need to boil, only warm. While it's heating he takes the hot chocolate powder from the cupboard and throws in a couple of heaping spoonfuls. The milk quickly turns a rich brown. 

“Should I put some real chocolate in there too?” Eddie asks. 

“Duh, dad!” Roan says. 

You second her agreement more kindly, “Yes! Definitely yes. It's always best with the real stuff too.” You rub Roan's shoulders. “Yeah?” 

Eddie's getting jealous, honestly. He ignores you both, shutting the lid on the kettle and easing his way between your arm and Roan's. “Let me in,” he demands. 

You curl an arm behind his back. When you look up into his face, you couldn't look more in love. There's a shine to your eyes, a reverence he can't miss, and he's expecting your compliment before you give it. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” you say, kissing the side of his chin. 

He drops his head onto yours and pulls Roan in as close as he can without knocking her off of the counter. The air has already begun to smell of chocolate, though the smell of honeyed ham lingers. Roan herself smells like no tears shampoo. Eddie sniffs you curiously. 

“Stop sniffing me.” 

“What do you smell like?” 

“Nothing. I'm not wearing any perfume.” 

You smell like yourself. He can't explain it, but he likes it, hiding his nose in the seam of your hairline. 

Roan cracks first, pushing you both away. “How long will it take?” 

“Any minute now,” Eddie says, kissing your cheek before pulling away. “Let me get that chocolate.” 

“You didn't put the chocolate in? Dad.” 

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[vixensbrainrotts]

Lipgloss lover — Ken <Draken> Ryuguji

Content: fluffy imagine

Warnings: too much fluff

Tropes: established relationship, whipped! Draken

Summary: You really thought that he wouldn’t notice?

Vixen’s two cents: Hi! Here’s something based of a real life experience i had (i couldn’t figure out what the flavor of one of my friend’s lipglosses was after borrowing). I love Draken so much, so let’s celebrate my first Draken post together! Lmk if you like this, and if you have ideas for more little scenarios, my requests are OPEN!! Also, im currently on the hunt for moots to proofread and triangulate with! If you’re interested, please contact me <3. Now enjoy!

Ken furrows his brows after you’ve pulled away from the kiss and were now walking towards the refrigerator. He licks his lips precariously and smacks them a few times for good measure. Something is off about this.

“Babe!” He calls out to you, voice gruff and serious. You turn around a little startled and try to hide a smile when you see the frown on his face. “Everything all right?”

He shakes his head in response. “Mmh I don’t know. Something’s weird.” He waves you over expectantly, his wrist flicking fast to convey his urgency.

With a giggle you go over to him and stand between his legs where he was sitting at the table. “Yes handsome?” Your hand glides over both his shoulders, coming to scratch over his nape and up his scalp.

Draken hums in response, both hands sliding up your thighs and coming to rest on your hips, and tilts his head up to look at you. “Kiss me again.”

“Your wish is my command.” You whisper and lean down to meet him in the middle, and you feel his arms slither and tighten around your hips, his fingers tickling your stomach a little.

When you pull away again Draken’s eyebrows are still furrowed, lips still puckered to a pout. “You did something. What the hell is on your lips?” You laugh a little “What do you mean?”

“You taste different, normally you’ve got this whole cherry-coconut wombo-combo going on but now? Fuck me girl, kiss me again and lemme try ‘n figure out what you taste like.”

Your heart flutters a little and your smile widens a little, and you’re very happy to kiss him again. This time he pulls away “Gimme a tip, love. Do I know the taste? Have you had it before?” You smile and nod. “You know the taste yes, but I haven’t worn it before.”

“Fuck.” He mumbles and licks his lips, looking around the kitchen as if that would help. “You want me to tell you?” You ask him and his eyes snap towards you again immediately. “No. One more kiss and if I can’t figure it out then, sure.”

“Ok.” You Kiss him once more, and when you go to pull away this time, his lips chase yours and his arms tighten around your waist.

“Damn it Baby i don’t know. Hit me.” His eyes are still closed from the kiss and he lays his head on your stomach with a sigh. Lovingly, you card your hands through his hair. “Why would I hit you?!” You giggle.

“Hit me with the cold, hard truth.” Your smile widens knowingly at that, and you take a moment to soak in the comfortable silence with him in your arms.

“Green tea.” You state.

“Fucking what?!” His head moves away from your stomach to throw you a bewildered look, and he look almost offended. “How the fuck could I have known that? Green tea? Fucking cracky ass flavor no wonder I didnt guess it!” He complains whiningly, and you offer him a kiss to the forehead as consolation.

“So you dont like it?” You ask with a smile, fingers coming to caress his cheek bones. “Never said that, c’mere Girl.” You kiss him again, and again, and again…

#Ken #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokrev #tr content #tokyo manji revengers #tr headcanons #draken #draken x reader #draken x y/n #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken x y/n #ken ryuguji #ken x you #ken x reader

[hyeque]

“my arm is going to lose circulation if you keep doing that.”

tsukishima glares—or attempts to—at you and scoffs. of course you won’t budge. “it’s not going anywhere, can you let go please?”

you pout, displeased with your boyfriend’s comment. you haven’t seen him all day and only 30 minutes ago had you entered his apartment. needless to say, you currently cling to him like a koala.

he wrangles himself free of your grasp, relieved for his lungs and limbs. walking over to your shared closet—really just his clothes you steal—he rummages before finding something and tossing it your way. “here’s a sweatshirt. that make you feel better?”

you feel your frustration spill over and look at him with a frown. “that’s not the same thing!” you cry, tossing the clothing aside, “why would i want that when you’re right here?”

he blinks, glaring at the sight of your small tantrum. “hey, chill out.” he flicks your forehead before kissing the very spot.

he becomes silent, knowing he can’t argue with your logic. for once, you actually have a very valid point. and maybe, just maybe tsukishima likes when you’re clingy.

you sniffle, watching him settle back at his desk. you’re prepared to go and slip the sweatshirt on but you’re stopped when he softly calls your name.

“come here.” he scoots his chair back and pats his lap.

you stare at him with wide eyes, and wait for someone to pinch you. to wake you up from your dream.

tsukishima blushes a light red, the color spreading through his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “i’m going to retract my offer in a minute if you don’t hurry up.” he threatens, and you can tell he’s flustered by the way he awkwardly has his arms open.

you practically leap into his lap, and he grunts softly at the impact. another blush creeps up his neck and you plant several kisses on his skin. he adjusts you so your legs wrap around his waist as he sits in the chair.

“is that better now?” he asks, his voice rumbling against you at a frequency you know and love.

you curl impossibly further into him. “much better now.” a pleased hum leaves you and you smile.

you hear kei humming a song you recognize as one from your shared playlist and you become elated. he’s not the best singer, but he only really ever hums or sings when he’s around you, and nothing can beat the feeling of being special.

one of kei’s hand slip up your lower back and he rubs small circles up your spine. the gesture makes you drowsy, and you feel yourself begin to fall asleep.

when kei feels the weight of your head on his chest, he almost says your name before he looks down. his heart swells when he sees you fast asleep, hands gripping onto his t-shirt. you look so…peaceful in his hold and he’s glad that no one else but him can hold you like this. see you like this. never in a million years would he want to see you in someone else’s arms.

he smiles, carefully shifting you in his hold so that he can still work. his large hand cradles the back of your head before he presses several kisses to your forehead, his silent way of showing how grateful he is for you. of being able to have you and cherish you and love you like he should.

after awhile he decides to take a break. he picks you in his arms before he moves to your shared bed. he hears you call his name, your voice small and confused.

kei carefully slides in next to you, hushing you quietly. “it’s okay. you’re okay, sweet girl. just go back to sleep. i’m right here.” he says softly, pulling you on top of his chest.

“m‘kay.” you mumble, closing your eyes again.

and you’re sure you’re not hallucinating but if you weren’t so drowsy, you could clearly hear kei mumble ‘love you’ before you fall back asleep.

do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyeque

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x you #tsukishima drabble #tsukishima kei drabble #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukki fluff #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #haikyu fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq drabble #hq fluff #tsukishima headcanons

[lilac-5ky]

i wanna tie the knot (Satoru xFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Forget me not

Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Plot: Your boyfriend takes you on a romantic getaway that will potentially change the rest of your lives.

Themes: MDNI, Established Relationship, Vacation, Teasing, Bickering, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Comedy, Onsen Smut, Sensory Deprivation (bondage and blindfolds), Breeding Kink, Oral (f. receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Yukatas, Snarky!Fem!Reader who is done with Gojo's Shenanigans but loves him regardless, Soft!Dom Gojo, Unsolicited Digimon References, and Bucketloads of Pet Names (baby, princess, bunny, honeypie, sugarplum, and every other food nickname you can think of)

Word Count: 13.3k (i was inspired, sue me. rest of it will be smaller. i think.)

check a/n at the bottom

“Last one up the hill is a loser!” Those were the parting words you left your boyfriend with before you shot in the direction of the fields, wind in your hair and pollen in the air, Satoru’s voice barely audible over the light chuckle you shed behind.

You sprint across a sea of flowers in every shape, hue, and kind—from exuberant red poppies to bashful pink asters—spanning as far as the eye can see. You want nothing more than to spare a moment and halt; breathe into the combined aroma of the autumn blossoms before winter hushes them for good, but you can’t. The faster you run, the smaller his head becomes, until it’s a mere blotch of white on the faraway horizon.

You rest assured in your victory, a breathless smile forming on your lips as you reach the top. You glance over your shoulder, confident that the man who minutes ago (literally) flew you to Ikoma on another of his spontaneous 2-day trips is still there, lamenting ever giving you a headstart. However, no matter how hard you squint, you cannot seem to find him.

“What are we looking at?” A low-pitched voice scares the wits out of you, hummed near the shell of your ear in a way that’s exclusive to the cheeky tone it carries.

“S-Satoru!” You yelp, almost throwing yourself down the stiff slope.

“Satoru?” The man in question repeats his own name, cocking his head to the side with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What are you—”

“I only know of a winner,” he points at his chest, successfully diverting your attention from the hand that rises to flick your forehead with such force that you stagger backward.

Both your fall and his punchline are postponed, one awaiting the other while you’re left floating mid-air, the infinity between your head and his boot serving as a safety net.

“And a loser.” Satoru concludes, his grin as bright as day, when he retracts his foot and lets you plummet into the fluffy flowerbed.

In the time it takes for you to blow a tuft of hair from your eyes and prop yourself onto your elbows, Satoru’s already taken his phone out and snapped as many pictures as humanely possible. You aren’t fazed. You’re used to his constant leg-pulling, as well as his 8895-picture collection of funny faces you’ve made over the course of your 7-year relationship.

Definitely in the 9000s now.

“Most guys would help their girlfriend up instead of calling her a loser.” You frown.

“Most guys wouldn’t date a slowpoke.” He gleefully chimes, zooming in on your face. “Come on. Smiiile.”

You poke your tongue out, and he snaps what is hopefully the last embarrassing frame of the day. Your frown resumes, downturned mouth and eyes narrowed at the wonderful azure sky.

“Good enough. Here, here.” He offers you his hand. “Don’t go crying on me.”

You accept only to give him a taste of his own medicine as you lock fingers and drag him down. He shouldn’t fall, but he does so anyway, collapsing beside you in a bundle of ridiculously long limbs he either sorts behind his head or splays on the grass surrounding him.

“Can’t believe you actually got me.” Satoru says in a pouty voice that goes against the complacent smile sitting on his lips. Idiot. “Woah, the view is much prettier from down here!” He marvels at the drifting clouds, pointing at one that resembles a duck. “Is this what it feels like to be you?”

You could do without his unnecessary comments spoiling the mood, but you’re willing to overlook them for the sake of your trip. With how hectic these past three weeks were—orchestrated curse attacks ping-ponging both him and his students across Tokyo—you doubted you’d have a moment to yourselves for the remainder of the year.

But keeping him on his toes is too much fun to pass up.

“You’d be more likeable if you weren’t such a showoff, Satoru.” You scoff, no malice whatsoever.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I thought you liked me sooo much when you were going all oh, Satoru! Love it so much, Satoru! You’re the best, Satoru! Deeper, Satoru! Y-yes, just like that, ‘Toru last night.”

“Shut up!”

You plug his mouth with both hands, though that doesn’t discourage him from blabbing his version of last night’s events, perfectly replicating the breathy tone of your voice and the soft little moans you let out in between his frantic thrusts.

Your palms relocate to cover your ears, the bright color of your cheeks soon becoming a focal point for his mockery. Satoru plucks a crimson cosmos flower and holds it to your face, twirling it around until you rip it from his grasp. Regret washes over you as soon as you unfold your fingers and see the now-crumpled petals, a little piece of the universe laying lifeless in your palm.

“I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing.” You point at the dark fabric that conceals his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You wave your hand in his face, constantly alternating between the number of fingers you flex.

Satoru catches your wrist and decisively intertwines your fingers. “I see enough to know you look the cutest when you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed.” You declare.

“Are you sure?” His voice is deliberately sultry as he inches closer.

Flakes of color adorn his icy strands like confetti, a stark contrast to the murky blue of his two-piece uniform. You can feel his eyes—those lovely crystal orbs of his—burning holes through the blindfold to meet yours, and in this instant, when his minty breath ghosts over your lips and promises a kiss, you’re absolutely enamored by him.

That is, until he begins poking into your cheeks like a woodpecker, and your desire to strangle the life out of him overtakes the urge to give in.

“Okay! You did it! I’m—”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash into yours, a stolen peck that lasts no longer than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, a soft fumble that leaves you craving for more. “Definitely annoyed.” Satoru flashes a boyish smile as he ruffles your hair and pulls you to your feet with him, his hand carrying you through a path of marigolds.

“Can you… just… slow… down?” You pant out, struggling to follow after his long strides.

But he doesn’t falter.

“Better get moving before you evolve into a Slowbro.” He sing-songs.

“Knock it off! I’m at least Jigglypuff tier.”

“Hmm,” he considers out loud. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you useless, but—”

“Satoru!” You protest. “And I thought you liked Digimon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to know about the cheaper rip-off.”

“Pretty sure that’d be Digimon.”

“And I’m pretty sure even a regular Greymon beats your mascot into a pulp.” He beams.

Sigh.

You roll your eyes, letting him argue with himself about Digimon’s supremacy, until you reach a pool of flowers—myriad befallen fragments of the sky reflecting the vibrant blue of his eyes. You break free from his grasp and kneel among the blossoms, your fingertips skimming across the pointed petals with great care.

“Oh my God, Satoru! You know what this is?”

“Flowers…?” He changes his answer to pretty flowers upon your glaring.

“It’s forget-me-nots!”

The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell. He looks at you with the stupefied expression of a cattle who only knows how to moo and eat grass, invisible question marks spawning around his head.

“Their blooming period ends in May,” you explain. “Can’t believe we’d find some in October, and these—” You chop one of the stems and extend it to him. “These are so beautiful.”

Satoru glances between the flowers and your impressionable eyes, in which tiny stars seem to twinkle, his tone serious as he points out, “You must really love me.”

Your mouth hangs while you mull over your own words. Nope. Nothing you said remotely hints at the conclusion he alone reached.

“About time you showed me some respect.” Satoru huffs. “Don’t know about the royalty part, but—ah, it really can’t be helped. I’ll accept them if you insist.”

“Hold on a second.” His fingers close around a fistful of nothing as you retract your hand. “What respect, what royalty are you talking about?”

“Hm? You really don’t know?” You shake your head, and he brings out his phone, trading it for the flowers. “Says it all riiiight here.” He taps at the wall of text that lights up his screen.

Forget-me-not, also known as Myosotis flower, represents true love and respect and is an indisputable symbol of royalty. To King Henry IV—

“Tsk, these don’t even smell.” Satoru exclaims once he presses them to his nose.

“Not all flowers smell.” You turn off the screen and hand his phone back to him. “Your ability to google stuff and sell it as common trivia never ceases to amaze me.”

He lowers the stem to his lap and looks at you. Or so you think. You really can’t tell when he’s wearing that thing. “And? What do you make of it?”

“You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?” Your hands slide across his shoulders, fingers knitting behind his neck. “I love you, you silly, goofy, pervert specimen of a man.” You smile softly. “And I do respect you—sometimes—but best case scenario, you become prime minister. Better get that royalty idea out of your brain.”

“Not even if a mysterious big-scale accident takes all royalty on this planet out?” Satoru quips.

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

The sharp edges of his grin dissolve as he tilts his head enough for your lips to meet, tentative flicks of his tongue granting him access to your mouth. You feel the hard press of his chest once his arm wraps around your waist, nullifying the barriers that stand between you and the resounding beating of his heart.

There’s no innate technique in the way he touches; no immense amount of cursed energy in the way he kisses. None of the things that make him Gojo Satoru, the sorcerer who is hailed by all—and even himself—as the strongest are there. Only the raw vulnerability of a boy who’s used to carrying the order of the world on his shoulders and on a whim lets it crush him, because when he holds you, none of it seems to matter; because when he’s with you, he’s free to be Gojo Satoru and no more than that.

You watch through heavy eyelashes as he breaks a small stalk and brings it to your hair, securely tucking the flowers behind your ear. Warmth spreads from his slender fingers to your already feverish complexion. His palm cups your cheek, thumb swiping along your jawline with a soft expression perched on his lips, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

“You deserve some love too, my…” Satoru ponders for a second, eventually snapping his fingers, “little MegaDarknessBagramon.”

A chuckle gets caught in your nostrils. “Your what now?”

“MegaDarknessBagramon.” He repeats without stuttering. “Way better than your fairy balloon cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you made this one up?”

“Did not! MegaDarknessBagramon is—hmph.”

You cut him off with a fond kiss on his agape lips. That’s the only way to truly shut him up. At least in public.

“We should get going. I wanna go sightseeing before nightfall.”

You wander through the city for hours upon hours, losing yourselves among the countless maple-strewn paths and quaint religious sites of the countryside. Ikoma is a quiet place. No matter how many pebbles you lift or castle ruins you peek under, you won’t find a speck of evil lurking beneath. It’s as if the land is at peace with itself, and the people who tend to it do so without any curse tainting their souls. For once, Satoru’s presence feels redundant.

His hand stays on you the entire time you stroll through the temples and marketplaces, be it as fingers that childishly swing your palm up and down—left and right—or as an arm draped over both your shoulders, stirring you in a different direction whenever his phone rings. And it does ring. A lot. So much that you actively consider flinging it at the bottom of the Sunoura River.

The conversations are rather one-sided. Satoru mhms and uh-uhs his way out of everything the voices on the other line suggest, his expression contorting all the while he mocks Nanami’s grave tone, Yaga’s dismay, and Ijichi’s apprehension. He tries his best to keep you involved—putting Megumi on speaker while the boy informs him of how Nobara gave Yuji a concussion when she mistook him for a pickpocket—and presses playful kisses on your cheek when you unwittingly pout at his neglect.

This is the one drawback of dating such a sought-after man. You have to share him with the rest of the world, and even though you know exactly how many livelihoods depend on him, you selfishly want your boyfriend to yourself.

After his sixth answered call, something inside you snaps. You shake his hand off—he barely pays mind—and fish your phone out of your jacket, dialing the first number in your contact list. My Noodle Man. With a heart emoticon, he, himself, input. Still better than the long array of toothachingly sweet nicknames he’s come up with for you over the years.

Drawing the device away from his ear, Satoru glances at the incoming caller ID and shoots you what ought to be a perplexed look.

“Pick it up!” You mouth the words without voicing them.

The world comes to a standstill while you (presumably) stare into each other’s eyes. Star-shaped leaves rain down from the trees, a minor contribution to the red and gold garb that dresses the once pebbled pathway. It’s all too scenic—if one ignores the busy tone from his phone’s speaker, which echoes wide across the hollow forest, gracelessly interrupting Utahime’s incoherent squeaks.

Are you even listening? Gojo?

“Mhm!” He breaks into an awkward chuckle. “Sounds good to me.”

What? What are you on about, you white-haired swine?

“Hey, how ‘bout you hold onto that, and we talk about it when I return?”

You seriously doubt he knows what that and it are.

Satoru doesn’t leave Utahime the chance to reply, rushing through his words at the speed of light. “Okay, great! Gotta go now. Laterrr, bye, ciao, adieu!”

Don’t you dare hang—

“Too late for that.” He comments, an afterthought that doesn’t reach its target audience before fading into his next received call.

“Baby! How are you?” The grin on his lips is so blinding, you swear it accompanies a halo.

You draw a deep breath, fingernails digging sharply at the tender flesh on the inside of your palm. “Satoru.”

“What is it, baby?” He dares ask as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at him the entire time, arms folded over your chest and eyebrow trembling above your narrowed eye.

“Satoru, the fact that I can only speak to you through the phone is insane!” Your voice climbs up a whole octave over the final word, annoyance interlaced within your tone.

“Huh?” He smiles sheepishly, head drooping to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m standing right in front of you, begging you for an ounce of attention, and you haven’t put the phone down for ten goddamn seconds since we left the shrine, which, by the way, happened two hours ago!”

His smile dwindles, and you worry you might’ve been too harsh. It’s not like he has a choice. Regular people get to dictate their own fate, filling up their plates with however many or few obligations and freedoms they can stomach. Not Satoru. His share of responsibility was assigned to him at birth, and as aloof as he can be, he’s not the type to let all hell break loose just yet.

“Hey, um—look. If you were busy, we could’ve just taken a rain check and stayed in town. You know I wouldn’t mind holing up at my place, ordering some Chinese, and frying our retinas with another movie marathon. No need to string each other along for—what are you doing?”

Without evidence of anyone or anything approaching, Satoru twists his neck in every direction possible, searching far and wide among the tree foliage and the water streaming on the sides of the walkway, going as far as to check the gap between his own legs. Instinctively, you repeat his routine, glancing over your shoulder when you realize he’s got his eyes on you—not on you, but through you.

“Are you sure you are here? Can’t see you.” Satoru brings the phone to his lips, executing an amateur’s set of jumping jacks while waving his hands around and shouting your name at the top of his lungs, doing his absolute best to appear clueless when he passes you by and uses your head like an armrest. “Don’t tell me you got out-heighted by the trees.”

Are you sure you want to permanently delete the contact My Noodle Man <;3?

Cancel

“I’m leaving.”

You manage exactly two steps before you are halted by two arms whose length smothers you—a proper vice that closes around your shoulders and immobilizes you against what feels like a colossal tree trunk but is your (occasionally) loving boyfriend’s chest.

“Let go, Satoru!” You try to shake him off, but your conviction is about as strong as the frail set of bones he aspires to crush.

“C’mon, you just got here!” Satoru begs, his mouth so close to your ear that you feel his voice shooting straight into your heart, goosebumps erupting down your spine. “Don’t leave, mm? Mm? Pleaaase?”

You groan, dragging your feet forward, but it’s impossible to progress when a well-over-six-foot boulder weighs you down. He’s viciously clinging onto you, nuzzling to your cheeks one at a time, and humming at every kiss he prints on your grimace. His frosty spikes tickle, softer than silk and fluffier than the clouds above.

Couldn’t he have been like this five minutes ago?

“Doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.” Bitterness pools in your mouth from where your teeth bite into your gums. Your voice faint. “You’ll be on your stupid phone, anyway.”

“Is that why you’re acting all upset? You want my attention?” The lack of answer prompts him to continue, a low chuckle setting the mood for what comes next.

“If you want my attention, then… all you have to do is ask for it.”

It’s at this point that you realize more than your upper bodies are touching, his knees slightly bent for his hips to press against your ass—and with them, you feel something else pressing too. Something that oughtn’t be there when all you’ve been doing is bickering and fooling around with each other.

You gulp hard, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. His head rests fully upon the elbow on your shoulder, covered eyes definitely taking in the blush that’s become somewhat of a second nature since you got together. He’s effortlessly seductive, and you’re thankful for both his typically childish demeanor and the blindfold around his forehead, or else you’d be in big trouble denying him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” Satoru coos in a condescending tone.

You try to look away, but he won’t let you, jaw tilting atop his other arm. There’s no hiding from him, and the stupidly smug smile that begs you to erase it.

“…yes.”

“Yes what? Cheating won’t do. You need to say it.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who won by teleporting to the finish line,” you mumble.

He doesn’t yield, and you know you’re going to be stuck there for a long time unless you stroke his ego. “Fine. Please gimme your undivided attention, oh grand sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He croons contentedly. “Now, how much do you want it?”

“I changed my mind. I want a divorce.”

“We need to first be married in order to divorce.” He points out, rubbing salt in your wound like your next reply won’t be “You’re the one who refuses to settle down,” but it’s not. Just this once, you bite back your tongue.

Your restraints loosen as Satoru shakes his phone into your face, demonstrating how the device turns off with a click of his thumb. An airy laughter rings in your ears, and just like that, he reverts to the kind of man who giggles at knock-knock jokes and thinks it’s peak comedy when he mixes gummy worms in your cereal.

“No more calls!” He declares. “For a limited time only, strongest sorcerer Gojo Satoru is at your service.”

You snort, fighting back a smile that ends up crinkling around your eyes. “You make it sound like you’re a genie.”

“Hmm, you could always try rubbing me and see what happens. Might grant you a wish or two.”

You laugh at his attempt to flirt, trying and mostly failing to distract yourself from what was previously pushing against your body. It should embarrass you that two of your two wishes are sexual in nature, but that’s entirely on him, his innuendos, and the raw lust you’ve missed seeing transform his eyes from the sparkling color of the sea to one found a thousand meters under the surface.

Maybe three.

“Where’s the catch?”

“What catch?” He chirps.

“I know you, ‘Toru. With you, there’s always a catch.”

One moment you feel his breath on your skin, and the other you see him standing before you, his arms flexing behind his torso while he tips forward—a toothy grin stretching on his lips.

“Well, a fee is always due where there are services involved.” He takes a page from Mei’s book.

“The Gojo family vault running out of cash, so you lookin’ to extort your girlfriend?” You quip. “Go on. Name your price.”

“Oh, y’know.” His shoe traces a circle on the ground. “Just you saying what an amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome boyfriend you have for the world to hear.”

You browse the acres of trees surrounding you; there is not a soul to be seen or heard within a close radius. What world?

“You said handsome twice.”

“Intentionally.” He deadpans.

You return his playfulness by saying he forgot to add infuriating to the list, even though you’ve already decided to humor him. Cute is more like it.

“My boyfriend is the most—”

“Does your boyfriend have no name? Take it from the top.”

You sigh, “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, wonderful—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Satoru intervenes, raising his forefinger in objection. “Forgot charming!”

Your teeth clatter, gritting a growl.

“Only one life left. Better get it right this time or,” he draws an imaginary line across his neck, faking a choking sound as he’s supposedly decapitated.

With both hands around your mouth, you shape a cone and shout so loudly that countless birds betray their hiding spots between the tree branches as they pour out into the sky. “My boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is the most amazing, handsome, charming, wonderful, funny, kind, and handsome again, boyfriend in existence who totally didn’t put me up to this!” In a quiet voice, “Happy now?”

“Full marks!” He gleefully shoves a thumbs up in your face. “Now I’m all yours and will be for the rest of the night. Feel free to make the best of me while you can.”

“Then, can I get my first wish granted now, Mr. Genie?”

“What is it?”

He stands still as you bring your hands to his face and cup his cheeks, fingers teasing the seams of his blindfold. “Lemme see your eyes.”

“Hmm? You wanna see them? Why—you missed them?”

A nod. “Don’t put me through that same speech again. They are pretty, and yes, I miss them. We haven’t been seeing each other as often, so. C’mon. Lemme see them.”

You try to lower the fabric, but the harder you pull, the more it seems to resist. “Satoru…?”

“Mm?” He licks his lips. “What is it, sugarplum?”

Your eyes roll so far back into your skull that you’re afraid they’ll slip down your esophagus. “I said, I wanna see your eyes. May I?”

He cocks his head in consideration, entertaining an affectionate smile before he denies you with a cheeky little nope!

“Why not?”

This is the first time he denies you.

“For a multitude of reasons.” He states wryly. Uncharacteristically for him.

You wait for an explanation—a slight opening between his lips. His tongue lays flat against his teeth, darting upward as if he’ll finally say something, but he doesn’t. This happens about four times before he sternly announces, “The sun.”

“The sun…?” You glance at the sky, a veil of darkness slowly descending upon the peachy gradients of the melting clouds. “You mean the one that just set?”

“I wasn’t done talking. My other reason is…” He motions for you to get closer. You lean in as instructed, patiently hanging on his lips as if he is about to open the envelope and reveal the name of a talent show winner, yet his answer isn’t any more satisfying than the previous one is. “The people.”

“Satoru, we haven’t seen a live human in over an hour. What are you talking about? And since when were others an issue?”

“You don’t know what it feels like to be me!” Satoru exclaims in an exaggerated tone as he shakes your hands off and turns in the opposite direction. “Having everyone stare at you wherever you go, people asking, Sensei, please! We need to see your wonderful eyes! and getting called Six Eyes like you’re a piece of meat. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be any better than them, Y/N.”

You blink a number of times, “stunned” being too little of a word to describe your surprise at his sudden burst. He always had a knack for the dramatic, but with the way the back of his palm is pressed against his forehead, he’s closer to an Academy Award than ever.

“Satoru.” Your hand moves to his shoulder without ever closing the distance. Damn infinity. “What is up with you today?” You ask half-jokingly, half-concerned. “Acting insecure; you are the one who doesn’t miss the chance to show your eyes off to everyone, and when I ask you to show them, you pull this—why?”

“It’s because I only have eyes for you.” He smirks full of confidence, roughing up your hair and then bringing his thumb below your chin, holding it up for a kiss. You don’t even stop him. Hell, you don’t even close your eyes. You are too baffled to.

You regain agency over your words only after he starts parading away from you, his feet spending more time in the air than they do on land. “Hey, wait! What was that? What does you having eyes only for me have to do with anything?”

His chuckle precedes his answer. “You’ll see when we reach the inn. Last down the foothills is a double loser!”

“Ahhh, that was soooo good! I feel—ugh, reborn!”

Satoru’s joints click as he stretches both arms behind his back and over his head, the striped sleeves of his gray-colored yukata rolling down his elbows. He doesn’t mind that he’s blocking the doorway or that the long face you’ve been sporting since you parted at the lobby threatens to hit the floor at his theatrics.

Your onsen experiences differed by miles. While he was off soaking and splashing by himself at the vacant men’s baths, you were forced to endure 45 excruciating minutes in the company of a group of bachelorettes who wouldn’t shut up about the “dreamy masked man” who booked the single most expensive suite in the compound, rewriting his life story with lewd fantasies that—for as long as you could help it—would remain as such. Unrealized.

“The temperature was just perfect, the right amount of hot without scorching, and the minerals already circulate through my bloodstr—ouch!”

You shove past him and his impromptu review of the hot springs, temporarily giving up on the blockbuster that your mind crafts—Blood Bath: Revenge of the Hot Spring Killer 2—in favor of a spot where you can drop off your toiletries.

The room, or rather, the rooms, are vast in space and rich in furnishing. Opaque sliding doors separate the main area from the wardrobe and the bathroom, drawn to provide a direct view of the ryokan’s rock garden. Tatami mat flooring is indiscriminately strewn, replaced by granite tiles around the indoor hot tub. Raised alcoves host colorful ikebana vases; a couple of ukiyo-e scrolls depicting Mount Yoshino hang from opposing sides on the walls. Lastly, futons are neatly spread in the far back, with a short-legged table spanning at the center of the sitting space.

Bingo.

You settle beside it, laying your belongings on the floor while scrutinizing the couple’s gift box on top, regional specialties packed beside a ceremonial tea set that bears the inn’s logo. You flip the box on its back and attempt to decipher the cursive letters just as Satoru steals it from your hands, wasting no time ripping through the luxurious wrapping paper and tossing a block of brown-colored kuzumochi in his mouth.

“Gotta mmph hring Hahami ‘n’ Meghumi ‘ere.” He refuses to keep his remarks (or food) in his mouth, flour dusting the corners of his lips. “That oughta brighten ‘em up.” He says once he swallows, bringing his cup of welcoming tea to his teeth and cringing away at the sheer bitterness of the matcha. “Bleugh, this tastes like poison!”

You break into a quiet chuckle as you scrub his chin, sleeve curled over your fist, and thumb running stray along his frown. Cute. No, beyond cute. Adorable.

“Don’t blame the tea when your blood type is caster sugar, Satoru.”

“But that’s the secret to my sweetness.” He quips, returning to his previous floured-lip state as he flings a second kuzumochi into his mouth, supposedly to wash the bitterness away. “Think they sell more of these in the gift shop?”

You roll your eyes, humoring him with a teasing sure.

Making it back to your spot, you down your share of matcha in one go, savoring the delightful tartness the beverage leaves on your tongue. “‘Tis not even that bad.” You comment, pouring yourself a refill.

A certain form of silence prevails over the space, during which words aren’t spoken but expressed through various hums of content, with Satoru loudly nibbling on his loot and you quietly sipping on your tea. Moonlight filters the atmosphere through the semi-transparent shoji doors, casting playful shadows that dance along the subtle movements of his fingers.

He’s the puppeteer, and you his devoted audience, easily convinced that there’s genuine mastery in the way he handles his instruments and earnestly keen on trying them out before their numbers are further decimated. A pinch is at the ready, your thumb and forefinger making strategic advances towards the box of delicacies when a counter-offering presents itself to your lips.

“Say ahhhh!” Satoru waves the kuzumochi in your face, your teeth losing to the speed of his fingers as he retracts his hand at the last minute. “C’mon, c’mon!” He giggles, again dangling the bait. “Open wider. Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Your nose scrunches up. You don’t trust his intentions, and you have every right not to, considering he makes you chase after the confectionery with an open mouth, utilizing his infinity to keep you at bay whenever you get remotely close to succeeding.

“Satoru!” You yelp unamused.

“Sorry, sorry!” His apology sounds the opposite of truthful. “Promise, that was the last time. One big ahhh f’me! Ahhh—c’mon, it’s really good! You won’t regret it.”

And it’s no surprise you come to immediately regret it, your tongue hanging loose from your mouth, barely connecting with the dessert before your aghast eyes witness it being devoured by him, so quickly that you lose the opportunity to protest.

There’s no one to blame but yourself, though that doesn’t stop you from pouncing and tackling him to the floor. Two fists grab at the lapels of his yukata, fingers curling around the fabric, while you violently shake him like an unresponsive vending machine, urging him to spit out your eaten cash.

Satoru snorts, and he chuckles, and he laughs, a boisterous symphony of sounds pitted against one another as he, himself, refuses to fight back, merely showcasing the empty contents of his mouth and baring his teeth into a haughty grin that agitates you even more.

“You need to step up your game, munchkin. Or else you’ll never get your prize.”

“And you need to stop tricking me every chance you get!” You hiss, a sigh casting your head backward as you swipe the hair from your forehead. “If you played a fair game, then maybe—just maybe—I would actually win!”

“Aww, baby.” A lofty purr makes you awfully aware of the fact that you’re still straddling him, knees planted on both sides of his hips and thighs squeezing tightly around his crotch. “That’s so cute! Thinking you could ever stand a chance against me.”

“I could!”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Satoru’s palms glide along your curves, taking full advantage of the position to rub circles that spread over your ass and close around your thighs; slender fingers tantalizing as they ghost over your exposed skin. “I’m quite strong, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He makes you a living example of his words, giddily watching your self-control crumble when he forces you down against his body. A complacent smirk rises on his lips, countering the soft gasp that evades yours.

“See?” He chuckles. “Unmatched.”

“You’re quite annoying too.” You huff, biting your lips into a straight line while you deviate from staring at his face—a grave mistake.

All the wrestling has caused the lapels of his yukata to recede, the fabric so loose it barely counts as hiding a thing. Delicate collarbones pave the path toward his toned chest, rosy claw marks littering his creamy complexion (and it swells you with pride to know you’re the only one to have ever blemished his spotless body) down to the few unruly frosty hairs that span over his sculpted abdomen, and lead lower—much lower than your eyes can currently follow.

Goddamn it, Satoru.

“Is that why you’re grinding against me? Because I’m annoying you?”

His accusation makes your heart sink inside your chest as you are found guilty of a crime you unwittingly committed. Your hips were swaying back and forth against his hardened cock, guided by a firm grasp that failed to emulate the typically lazy manner with which he’d keep you anchored whenever you rode him.

(Aww, bunny. Keep bouncing like that, and you’ll hit your head. Me? Help? Don’t be silly. How you gonna grow stronger if I put in all the work, mm? Better be satisfied with what you have throbbing in ya already. Now, where were we? Right—Ijichi and his…)

Except you were in the middle of a fight, and you’re supposed to be holding a grudge that seems to matter less by the minute.

“Hey, baby?” His thumb harbors softness when he cups your cheek, candied voice flowing from pretty, pink lips that glisten under the pale moonlight. “Think you can be annoyed with your clothes off?”

You almost succumb to his will, the lines between vexation and lust becoming increasingly blurred as you try to get your point across a final time.

“Y’know, I too like sweets!” Your declaration practically melts into his touch. “Just because I let you do the honors doesn’t mean I don’t want to try some. It means I’m a better girlfriend than you.”

“No arguing here.” Satoru beams. “Don’t think I could be a better girlfriend if I tried.”

“Satoru!” You exclaim for the millionth time that day.

“Too early to be screaming my name.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I’m not?” He gasps, hand moving to his chest as if your words actually damaged his impenetrable ego. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. My girlie is such a meanie.”

Your eyes perform a semi-circle, knowing better than to venture beyond his neck. His face is cute, in that boyish way everyone swoons over, but his body is another story. The kind you read with the blinds lowered and the lights dim, colored cheeks, and giddy chuckles muffled by your bedding.

Sigh.

“How can I take you seriously when you say such things?”

“Never said you have to do it seriously. Just takin’ me is good enough.”

“Stop that!”

Swatting his hand from your face, you feel it join its twin behind your ass. You don’t want him to catch on to how affected you are simply by mounting him, but as your hips are forcibly rocked into his crotch, the wet patch your slick paints on his yukata reveals all that your tongue struggled to keep hidden.

“Jerk!”

Satoru grins, holding you tight against his lap as he sits the both of you up. Your noses are suddenly found brushing, and his lips expel a heavy breath your lips eagerly inhale, the proximity dizzying. “Maybe if I gave my girl some sugar, she’d turn sweeter.”

“Ugh, this is exactly what I meant!” You growl in frustration. “Satoru, I swear, if you use one more lame line on me, I’ll—”

Whatever was supposed to come next is drowned out by his tongue as it presses against your mouth, enticing your lips into an all-consuming kiss that threatens to eat you alive. Warm palms hook below your legs, turning scorching as they roll your yukata above your thighs and help secure your knees around his torso, caressing every inch of supple flesh they unveil.

You’re overcome by need in an instant, and judging from how ardently your boyfriend’s cupping your cheeks, as if he’s either trying to breathe life into you or suck it out of your lungs, it’s safe to say it goes both ways.

His cock rubs against your clit through his clothes. He’s so hard, and you are so wet that one thrust would be enough to sheathe him fully into your cunt and meld you into one. But that won’t do. If there’s one thing Satoru doesn’t rush, that’s the way he fucks. He wants to savor everything—every kiss, every touch, every whimper, every moan, every last drop of your essence that dribbles onto his fingers and drenches his tongue like the finest, most delectable nectar meant solely for him—before indulging the twitching sensation in his balls.

There’s no reason for today to be any different.

A string of saliva is cut in the middle as Satoru pulls away, your half drooling down your jaw and his collected by his tongue.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, baby! You were saying?” He coos in an awfully smug tone that barely registers over your incessant panting.

“Hm? Nothing? Thought so.” He deduces after turning his ear to your mouth, and for a second, you’re tempted to bite his earlobe right off.

But somehow you don’t, and in his book, that counts as obedience, which in turn qualifies for a reward.

He plants a kiss on your nose, tender enough to distract you from the no-good smirk plastered on his lips. “How about I do that other thing you asked for?”

Your mind traverses a foggy terrain. You’ve asked him for a lot of things in the recent past. Not overloading Aiko’s bowl with cat food the minute he sees it empty. Not surprise-hugging you when you’re walking alone at night and are unaware of his presence. Not rapping your morning routine to the tune of the hemorrhoid cream commercial. Not calling you munchkin or dwarf when it’s him who’s the long-lost descendant of the legendary tree people.

The list goes on and on with plenty of whimsical examples, and you realize, there are more things you’ve explicitly asked him not to do than do, with your one recurrent request being that he get you a ring made from neither fried dough nor grass blades.

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, thinking you’re oh-so-clever when you try to peer at him through downcast eyelashes, only to be shot down by his technique. “Uh-uh! No peeking!” The last thing your eyes see before they’re covered by his left palm are two fingers that hook under his blindfold and tug it upward.

“Why the secrecy?” You ask impatiently. “Afraid I’ll be blinded by your beauty? Must I remind you I’ve seen you sleeping with your mouth open? The magic is gone.”

“Is it?” His chuckle louder than the elusive sound of his blindfold coming undone. “And here my eyes were thinking you’ve turned even more beautiful than the last time they saw you. How unfortunate.”

There’s a certain humility that comes with someone as ethereal as Gojo Satoru calling you beautiful to your face, but right now, your mind remains fixated on one word and one word only. Eyes. My eyes. His eyes.

“You took it off?” Excitement colors your tone. “Lemme see!”

“Baby, baby, baby.” Satoru playfully chides. “When will you learn to be patient, mm? Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

Seven years is an awful long time to be waiting around.

Eventually, you feel his hand be drawn away, but before light can enter your eyelids, darkness engulfs them again. Cold satin now covers your brow, the kind of silky material you’ve previously only been able to experience via your fingertips as they yanked and hurled it across your bedroom walls.

“Tada!” The unmistakable sound of palms clasping. “You can open them now.”

“Satoru, what—what is this?” You mutter, tight-lipped, as if your ability to speak was also impaired. “I asked to see your eyes, not play suikawari.”

“Aw, shoot. Should I go ask for a watermelon?”

You sigh, fingers withdrawing into fists atop your thighs. You wonder how many years of jail time killing your boyfriend warrants, but then again, you doubt you’d possibly achieve what countless others have failed at.

“You wanted a rematch, didn’t you?” His hands move against your own, soft thumbs rolling reassuring circles around your wrists. He brings them to his lips, printing a kiss on each knuckle set. “Better strike while the iron’s hot. Besides, this game’s so easy, even you got a chance at winning,” he scoffs a laugh at how quick you’re to escape, pulling your hands back as if you were struck by an electric current. “All you hafta do is sit back and answer a few questions. Pretty easy, right?”

His voice rings close to your ear. You realize he’s in fact closer when he takes his affections to your cheeks, shamelessly bribing you with the sweetest kisses he can muster.

It’s working.

“I didn’t agree to this.” You state as his jaw perches on your shoulder, strong biceps caging your body while he reaches around your waist to undo the bow of your yukata.

“Really?” His breath travels south, hot steam depriving you of the opportunity to feel any real cold as you’re slowly stripped of your garments—and yet you still shudder when his lips close below your throat and suck onto your sweet spot. “‘Cause you seemed pretty agreeable when you were all ready to jump my bones a minute ago.”

“Th-that’s because—”

The fabric slides down your shoulders like butter, melting into the soft curves and pebbled peaks of your tits before it pools around your hips. His thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to his swollen cock head while he cradles you, eating you up with the eyes you so fondly reminisce.

“Aw, pumpkin! Won’t you look at that!” Your cheek is captured between his fingers, lightly pinched. “You’re blushing through the blindfold.”

You feel so vulnerable, and you aren’t sure whether that’s because you’re straddling your fully clothed boyfriend while being fully naked yourself or because everything around you is amplified, from the way his finger pads dance around your nipples, to the fruity shampoo remnants lingering in his tousled hair.

“‘Toru, I—”

You cut yourself off. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who has to beg her own boyfriend for dick.

“Will you still be blushing as I fuck your cute face?”

But you’re about to be.

“Hey, I was just joking!” Your hands are seized without accomplishing their goal of removing the blindfold. “Don’t want you losing before the game begins, do we?”

“‘Toru, just—I don’t care about any stupid games, okay?” You whine, voice purposely pathetic in case he feels generous enough to cave in. “I just want you. I need you. Please?”

“And you will have me, baby.” Satoru soothes, shifting both your hands to a single grip while he digs into the pile of clothes at your side. “A promise is a promise. I’ll pamper my precious girl to her heart’s content if that’s what she wants.” A string too thin to be a rope wraps around your wrists, piecing them together. “Love her all night long; teach her all the things she misses when her eyes are wide open. My sweet honeypie, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d also like it if you quit it with all those corny nicknames.” You answer, having absolutely no idea as to how the floor is replaced with the futon when you haven’t budged an inch. At least you think you haven’t.

“You love them.” The grin strong in his voice as he lays you down and climbs on top of you, pinning your bound wrists above your head. “Like you love me, my little sugarboo.”

“I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Wow, this early? Have barely touched you.”

“I’m rolling my eyes again!” You repeat at a higher volume.

“Of course you are. This isn’t too tight, is it?” A finger curls between your binds. You shake your head, and he pecks it, gently caressing your hair while situating his knee between your thighs, bouncing it against your pussy. “You’ll see, you’re gonna love every minute of this,” Satoru continues, his hand playful as his fingers toy with yours.

You have little to no agency over your body when Satoru lifts your leg and folds it onto your stomach, his lips held against yours and his tongue slotted in between. He kisses you slowly, like he has all the time to unravel you, and in a way, he does. He could stretch this moment to infinity, savoring your lips until they’re all swollen and coated with spit, his name replacing every word in your vocabulary while he wanders lower, dragging his warm mouth against your skin and smearing wet kisses down your tits.

“The mochi weren’t half as sweet as you,” he murmurs, soft lips clamping over your nipple, the suspicion of sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I’ll buy you some in the morning.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you huff, your chest heaving with one heavy breath after another as he takes hold of your other nipple, alternating between pinching and rolling it around with his thumb, repeating the same ritual of licking and sucking as the nipple in his mouth changes.

“Mm, but I want to.” He insists. “I want to spoil my baby and give her everything she wants. I’d give her the world if I could.”

And yet, you won’t marry her.

His smile ghosts over your flesh, gradually fading as he approaches your navel. “But first, I need to fuck her pretty pussy, mm? That’s what my princess wants, doesn’t she?”

Reluctantly, you nod, a lump forming in your throat when his fingers find purchase beneath your thighs and spread them apart. His biceps curl around your calves as he mounts your knees on his shoulders, peppering your inner thighs with more featherlight kisses that continuously inch closer to your entrance.

He is so attentive when he wants to be, but in his core, Satoru is a selfish lover. He gives, and he gives, and he gives more than you can take, his satisfaction lying in your cute little moans and the tiny arch of your back whenever he pushes you to your limits.

“Thank you for the food!” He croons, and you swear to hate yourself for almost chuckling at his distasteful joke.

He was always like that, to the point where suggesting he bewitched you into falling for him isn’t an exaggeration so much as an undeniable reality. Him, who with his cheeky smiles, exaggerated gestures, and mirthful snickering, conquered your thoughts and claimed the mushy land of your brain as if it were the moon. Him, whose dimples crease around his lips every time you kiss and whose bright blue irises bloom behind your shut eyelids. Him, who’d remain the most extraordinarily beautiful person, even if your eyes never opened again.

Him, whose plump lips round around your clit as he finally takes it in his mouth, suckling on the small bundle of nerves as if he expects it to dissolve into liquid sugar.

“F-fuck!”

Your hips buck into his face, lifting from the covers while your hands maintain their position. If it weren’t for his stupid infinity, you’d be threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as far into you as humanely possible, but for now, you can only chant his name, feeling his shoulders tense up while his hungry tongue runs laps between your slick folds.

“I’m so lucky you aren’t bound to a region. I’d have to stockpile on you every single day.” Satoru hums against your clit, the vibrations from his mellifluous tone translating into pleasurable tingles up your spine. “My favorite specialty,” he chuckles, sounding so lovable that you can’t hold it against him.

He doesn’t kid about you being like a dessert to him, his tongue greedily soaking up all the juices that gush from your hole right down his chin. He moans in pure delight, perhaps more than you do, the uninterrupted flow of compliments making you feel at least worthy of a Michelin star. So pretty. So sweet. So perfect. The same combination of words he’s been repeating since you first got together, as if his fascination never truly ran out.

The sounds get more salacious while he fucks his tongue into your entrance, and you throw your head back, feeling so unbelievably light that if it weren’t for his hold on your thighs, you would be floating straight to the ceiling. His thumbs stretch out your lips for him to reach deeper, pointy nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit while he persistently works your body to its high, making out with your nether lips like he’s kissing your actual mouth.

“Feels s-so good, ‘Toru,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs from closing around his head.

“Yeah? Like that?” Satoru chuckles, and it would’ve pushed you over the edge if his tempo wasn’t disrupted. “I like it too. Love eating your little pussy. I can tell she loves me too, doesn’t she?”

You can’t believe that the man who’s making all the stars of the night sky appear in the confinement of your tied eyes is the very same man who’s addressing your pussy as a she.

“Hm? You’re hurting my feelings here.” He sounds pouty, though you can picture the sadistic glint in his eyes as his teeth sink into your clit, softly enough to not induce any pain, but hard enough to bring your hips to a stutter.

“Y-yes, she does—fuck, my pussy loves you, S-satoru!” You cry out.

“Hah, that’s more like it.”

Your voice shatters into a million broken sobs which only motivate Satoru to keep going. He nibbles on the sensitive nub, darted tongue inflicting short and rapid flicks that cut right through the coiling tension in your guts with precision that’s exclusive to him and the countless times he’s had you fall apart with his mouth alone.

Your fingers clench while your toes curl, thighs trembling as succulent juices spurt all over him, and, God—how you wish you could see his pretty face ruined like that.

“Mm, baby, you always cum so much for me.”

Without letting a drop go to waste, Satoru licks a luscious stripe between your slit, rolling your essence in his mouth to relish the taste.

“Y’know, I could just make time freeze and eat you out for hours. Days,” he lays a kiss on top of your mound. “Weeks,” one for every thigh. “Months,” his lips on your clit making you wince from pleasure. “Years.” He snickers, marveling at how easily you respond to his touch. “You’d want that, sweets? All that pleasure, just for you. Think you could take it?”

Not knowing better, you nod, and he laughs. You aren’t familiar enough with Jujutsu to be horrified by the prospect of reliving the same moment over and over again, literally getting fucked dumb in a way his technique has never achieved on another.

“Alright, time to turn off the cheats.” He announces after you manage to regain your breath, and it isn’t until his question that you’re reminded of the whole “game” ordeal.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What?” Your voice scratches its way out of your throat, coarse and laden with desire.

“You asked me the same question earlier, remember?” His fingertips tickle as they drum against your stomach. “At the plateau?”

I’m surprised you can still see my face behind that thing. How many fingers am I holding up?

“The one you didn’t answer?”

“Four, five, two, four, one.” The number of fingers he presses on your skin changes depending on the number he calls. You’d be impressed if you’d actually kept track of the digits you’d shown him, and they weren’t picked at random.

“So, how many?”

You try to pull yourself together, calmly considering your options. He wouldn’t start with five or four. The first three numbers are more likely, and taking a leap of faith—

“One.” You lock in your answer, with an excitable cheer following suit.

“Wow, my girl is so smart!” Satoru praises. “Got it on her first try!”

“Quit treating me like I’m one of your students.”

“Oh, trust me.” He runs his middle finger down your abdomen, emphasizing his point with a tap on your clit. “I’d never treat any of my students the way I treat you. Or anyone else for that matter,” he trails off, gathering some of the slick that’s trickled out of your slit, and brings it into his mouth, finger coated with spit the next time he touches you.

“All of my special treatment is reserved for my special girl.”

His finger prods lazily into your cunt, thick enough for every ridge to be lusciously dragged against your velvety walls, and long enough to delve straight into your pulsing core.

To his disappointment, there isn’t much of a reaction—save for the occasional hitched breath. You can take it. For seven years now, you’ve been trained on his deft fingers and the many tricks they play, but when his thumb begins circling your clit in tandem with his thrusts, your facade cracks.

“Aw, you didn’t think it’d be this easy, did you, bunny?” Satoru coos in fake sympathy, as his thumb zigzags feverishly about your clit, the finger in your cunt curving in a repetitive come-hither motion.

“‘T-toru, please—ngh!” You whine, your lower half squirming on its own accord. “You said you’d let me win!”

“Let you?” A complacent smile takes shape on his face, and although you cannot see it, you can hear it chiming in his tone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Y-you evil man!”

He giggles at your supposed insult, one moment asking if that’s the best you can do, and the next cheering you on by saying he’s rooting for you.

Asshole.

Heat runs rampant between the lowest pit in your stomach and the apex of your flushed cheeks, the blindfold soaking sweat off your forehead like a headband. You are close; pressure steadily building only to wither away once Satoru retracts his hand.

Asshole!

“Sorry, pretty. Got a little carried away, but no hard feelings, hm?” Your tormentor asks, rubbing your clit at a pace far too slow to be soothing. “Now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“T-two.” You answer, your sanity chipping the longer your hole remains puckering around nothing.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”

You kiss your teeth as Satoru angles his wrist with your pussy and shoves two of his fingers in, curling them against the spongy spot that swells with each pump, and when that isn’t enough to muffle your cries, you bite down onto your lip, choking on every sob you’ve been withholding. Last thing you want is to give your next-room neighbors another reason to fantasize about your boyfriend.

“It’s fine. You can let it all out.” Satoru reads your mind. “Room’s soundproof, though there isn’t much you can say, right?”

Your walls flutter around his fingers in utter bliss. You hate (love) how his words get to your body before your brain can process them; every remark you’d typically deflect, seeping under your skin and igniting as fire in your loins.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, maintaining a steady rhythm even with his thumb swiping at your clit. “I’ll be the one doing all the talking from now on.”

“Sh-shut up!” You manage to say before returning to your three-word prayer of little oh-my-god’s and ah-ah-ah’s.

“But you love my mouth.” Satoru argues back. “And now you love my fingers. How long they feel stretching you out, how deep they can go.”

He’s buried to his knuckles, slowing down for the sake of plunging his digits further into your wet cunt, the lewd squelching bouncing across the walls along with the obscene sounds you let out.

“You’re practically fucking yourself on them.”

Your boyfriend’s words cloud your brain, your body acting purely on instinct as you begin to hump his hand. Satoru doesn’t stand in the way; rather, he assists with a sturdy hold that has your hips slamming against his fingers, repeating the motion until your creamy essence comes pouring down warmly over his palm.

You aren’t sure whether the white speckles in your vision stem from the gates of heaven welcoming you to the other side or the light fixtures on the ceiling, becoming certain only after the outline of a halo brushes against your forehead. It’s hard to call the man slumped above you an angel when his one hand is cupping your cunt, the fingers of the other tasked with undoing the knot around your wrists.

You are free to move—or about as free as one can be when every joint in their body begs to drag them down, your limbs strewn over the sheets like those of a tattered rag doll. The blindfold is still on, albeit slightly lowered over your nose. A little more wriggling and you can take it off, yet that too requires effort you lack.

Satoru says something that fails to register in your trance. He’s mocking you. He’s praising you. He’s mocking you while praising you, and praising you while mocking you, because those two go hand in hand in his brain—a proper carrot and stick. You think you should be thanking him or cursing him, but your words turn out a jumbled mess—nothing worth writing home about.

“Ready for the final round?” His voice finally conquers the ambient—heavy, almost as though his own ministrations have worn him out, and distorted by every prolonged inhale and sharp exhale he takes.

“Do I have a choice?” You provoke.

“Sure you do. Just—hah, not when it comes to this.”

A low fuck evades him, and you are oblivious to the way he’s been fisting his cock this entire time, smearing your slick over his length and squeezing the reddened tip in the ring shaped by his thumb and index, biting onto his tongue whenever your name comes remotely close to spilling from his lips. Only he knows the endurance he’s shown keeping himself from busting in his hand at the sight of your fucked-out form, trembling thighs calling to him in a carnal manner your lips could never muster.

You look ravishing, and ravishing you is all he aches to do.

“How many—” Satoru begins, only to be cut off with a croaked three that jumps an octave the moment his fat tip prods into your folds. “Three?” His fingers burrow into the supple flesh of your thighs as he splays your legs over his bare chest. “Could’ve sworn it was at least eight. Guess I need to make it go a bit deeper, huh?”

His lips lay soft against your ankle, trailing honeyed kisses down the expanse of skin that lose finesse once they near the crevice of your knee. An idea blinks in his brain as he grabs your thigh and presses it down against your stomach, repeating the same pattern of tenderness on the other until you are folded in half.

He stares down at you, and for a moment, that’s all he does. His eyes—the prized six eyes that are the very synonym for quintessence—well with adoration over the point where your bodies connect, the tight fit of your cunt prompting him to lose control and fuck an entire generation of sorcerers into you.

All in good time.

A quiet whisper reminds Satoru of his promise, hips drawing back before they snap right into you, the crude sound of his balls slapping against your ass reverberating across the room. You moan in unison, your fists thudding against the floor as his thrusts send you flying past the covers.

It’s too much. It’s too little. You want less. You want more. Your desires bend and twist around one another like indecisive vines, settling on a direction only after he leans forward and fixes the cushions behind your head.

“Congratulations.” The gentle action of his hand combing through your hair contradicts the cock throbbing inside your pussy. “To think my baby would make me eat my own words—well; I can get behind dating a winner. Especially when they’re as beautiful as you.”

“S-satoru!”

You look away—if resting your flushed cheek on the significantly colder pillow and fixing your gaze at whatever lies beyond the blindfold counts as looking—the sincerity in his words moving you more than it should.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are embarrassed.” Satoru chuckles, punctuating his own question with a sensual roll of his hips that drags against your clit, coaxing the tiniest of moans to slip from your pursed lips.

“Hmm, is it because I called you beautiful?” He leans onto his elbow, relying on the weight of his chest to keep you pinned down. “Nah, can’t be it. I call you beautiful on a daily basis, don’t I? Then—hmm—is it ‘cause I’m so nice to you? Because I’m the best boyfriend you could ask for?”

“Q-quit it with all that self affirm—oh my god!”

Tears prickle your eyelash line at the familiar way his cock glides between your walls. He’s in so deep, relaxed thrusts pushing against your abdomen from the inside, with your cervix serving as the last line of defense for your merge, gallantly bearing every kiss his tip prints on your core.

“C’mooon, you gotta help me out. I’m all outta guesses here.” Satoru whines in your ear, his voice a pitch too high. “Is it because you can’t see me? Because this feels so good? Or because,” his hand sneaks between your bodies to work languid circles around your clit, “you just love me that much?”

“Aw, so that’s what it was?” He interprets the clenching of your pussy as he wills. For once he isn’t off the mark. “Okay, look at me.”

Even when you weren’t embarrassed before, you are about to be as heat pools in your stomach anew, threatening to make your score three to zero. You feel yourself turning liquid, dissolving between ripples of pleasure, drowning in you and drowning in him, and he’s both the riptide pulling you in as he’s the lifeline washing you ashore, the salty tang of the sea clinging to the fingers fumbling about your chin.

“I said, look at me.” His tone serious this time.

Every sense of yours is held captive as Satoru’s lips finally smash into yours, the taste of your essence refusing to die out no matter how many times your tongues swirl around each other. Your breathy moans are traded for his needy grunts, compiling into a broken record that plays sinfully in your ears, the whiff of sex lingering potent in the thick air between you.

He doesn’t fuck into you so much as he grinds against you, allowing you to grab at his biceps when your legs start to shake, the white clouds in your peripheral dispersing behind the sky blue of his eyes, placid orbs electrified by lust.

“Hi,” Satoru greets with an amiable smile, the blindfold dangling from around his forefinger.

“H-hi,” you return, your palms creeping up his face as if to appraise it, soft thumbs pushing the dampened strands away from his forehead, a thirst within you at last quenched.

“It’s-a me.” He says stupidly, basking in the affectionate way you cradle him.

“If you crack a Mario joke I’ll kick you in the nuts.” You warn.

“Oh no! How dare you genocide my children?” He gasps, and you can’t help but chuckle, eliciting a moan from him as your walls tighten around his cock. “M-minus one Gojo junior.”

Another laugh. Another moan. Another kiss.

“Would you put a baby into me if I didn’t?” You trace against his lips, uncertain of the answer you want to hear.

There’s no reason to be discussing having kids when you haven’t even tied the knot, let alone when more qualified candidates exist to continue his clan’s lineage. Maybe Shoko—she and Satoru have always been close, and a healing technique sounds like a valuable inheritance. Utahime—you aren’t sure what her abilities are, but they too go back. Even Mei, her family have a sizable fortune, and their genes combined would—

Mischief sparks in his eyes, tugging at the corners of his mouth and spreading to your lips as he kisses you—not his close friend, not his self-declared nemesis, and certainly not his senior. Just plain old you.

“If that’s what the future Mrs. Gojo wants, then—”

“What do you—”

Before your questions can manifest, Satoru picks up a tempo that knocks the air out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your mind. Big palms wrap your knees around his torso, sculpted pecs smothering your plushy tits while he vigorously drills his cock into your sopping cunt, having the nerve to laugh at your whimpers in between strangled noises of his own.

“You feel so good f’me, baby. S-so fucking good, aren’t you? My good—nah, my perfect girl. Our kids will be perfect too. G-gonna have lots of ‘em, mm? Gonna-fuck, gimme a whole class to teach, right?” He blabs deliriously, broad shoulders flexing as your nails rake them.

You want that. Everything he’s willing to offer, a future where his last name precedes your first, and chubby babies that bear his disposition, his ideals, and his smiles follow on your trail like little disoriented ducklings; one where he’s your husband, and you’re his wife, and you’re tied to each other for life.

Satoru’s lips drift toward your neck, biting sloppy marks that have you writhing below him. And when his cock hits that one spot inside of you, the one he’s been abusing all night long like a kid with a brand new toy on Christmas Eve, “Oh my God—G-god, p-please j-just like that, shit shit f-fuck!”

“Why bring religion into this?” He mumbles, voice inadvertently sultry and cumbered with every bit of self-restraint he showed before entering this frenzy where his climax is the only thing that matters. “Just—hah, say my name. Let the heavens know who helped you ascend them.”

The next time your eyes meet, he’s grinning, pink lips bitten cherry red, and he’s pretty; so pretty; too pretty.

“C-can’t say th-things like that!” You struggle to maintain control over your bobbing head.

“Why not? Your little heart can’t handle it?”

“Sh-shut up, dumbass!”

His eyebrows unite amid his forehead, even his frown attractive.

“That’s not my name.”

“S-stupid!” You yelp, mainly addressing the myriad stupid butterflies that chose to swarm your stupid stomach at his stupid commentary.

“Mmm, I think you’re the one getting fucked stupid here, sugarplum.”

Satoru zooms on into your lips, playfully swiping his tongue in between. You can’t cum any more; it’s physically impossible. You think. But “impossible” isn’t a word in his vocabulary; every snap of his hips causes you to ride on a rollercoaster with no end-destination, only a consistent state of newer highs.

“S-satoru.” His name rolling off your tongue works like a charm, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down as he presses your foreheads together.

“Again?” He pleads. Quietly. A pin capable of overshadowing his tone.

“‘Toru.” Two smiles turn into one. “My ‘Toru.”

“More.”

There’s not a single gap between your bodies; every piece of him fits into every piece of you like a puzzle, but somehow he seems to get closer, squeezing into your hips a little tighter and kissing your lips a little rougher.

His heart beats wildly against his chest, red leaking onto his cheeks and blue spilling from the ocean in his eyes. He looks at you with love—so much love that it’s seared into your very being and becomes your own identity as the only woman Gojo Satoru ever truly, madly, deeply loved.

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

It’s the combination of those four little words that pushes Satoru over the edge, his hips jerking violently while his cock pumps ropes upon ropes of creamy cum inside your spent pussy, filling you up until you can’t be filled any more.

He collapses on top of you, head reduced into a fluffy snowball that takes refuge in the crook of your neck, and that’s your cue to hold him close, pampering him with all the affection you’re otherwise so frugal about. He’s touch-starved to the point of shaking in your embrace, nearly purring as your arms loop behind his back and your lips touch his shoulders, peppering incomplete kisses across his hot skin.

Your hands relocate to his cheeks as he regains enough composure to face you, an idiotically bright smile stretching from one ear to the other. He nuzzles your palms, pressing kisses at the center of each and then rubbing his nose against them like a content kitten who just received the world’s greatest belly rub.

Aiko should learn from him.

“I love you more, hunny bunny.” Satoru beams, soft rays of sunshine pouring from the cracks in his dimples. “Non-negotiable.”

You bask in the afterglow together, locking toes as if you’re trying to hold hands and making out like two teenagers in heat. Correction: two idiots in love.

Your so-called honeymoon period never ended, probably because you never ran out of things to love about each other. Right now, you’re loving how Satoru’s dick remains plugged inside your pussy despite its painful twitching, for the simple reason you asked him to stay like that a little longer.

You love how Satoru tries to keep his eyes open when you kiss just so you can appreciate them a while longer, and you love the light giggle that tickles your lips as you remind him that only sociopaths kiss with their eyes open.

You love the way Satoru buries his head between your tits and squeezes them against his cheeks, apologizing to his “girls” for not giving them the proper attention and promising expensive lingerie and whipped cream treatments when you get back to Tokyo.

You also love how when Satoru pulls out and sees the mess he made out of your hole, his seed rolling between your thighs in an endless stream, his first reaction is to grin, and his second is to teleport across the room, cleaning you up before you can realize he ever left. You love that the answer to the question “how?” is a cocky “because I’m Gojo Satoru,” which seems to be the answer to most things concerning him.

The list of things you love about your boyfriend grows exponentially after Satoru puts the two of you in bed and pulls you into his arms. You love his hugs. How you drown in them, how he engulfs you better than any dress, shirt, or skirt can. You love the comforting scent his pores exude and the temperature of his naked skin on yours.

You love the narrow hugs that date back to lazy mornings in your student one-bedroom apartment, splayed in a bed that could barely fit his enormous legs, and the wide, almost too comfortable ones you share in his king-sized bed. You love the silly, whiny tone that typically begs you to miss work and try to outlast eternity with him, now declaring it’s “sleepy time.”

You love the Satoru that chased after you until you loved him back, and the Satoru who patiently waits until your eyelids close first so you don’t go a minute without him.

“‘Toru?” You mumble into his chest, seconds before the last semblance of conscience fades away. “Did you turn it off? Your technique, I mean.”

“Did I?” Snowy lashes flutter slowly above his tired eyes. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to see in nine months.” Satoru kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my little cuddle muffin.”

On second thought, there is one thing you hate about him.

“Goodnight, Gojo.”

“G-Gojo?! Hey, what happened to ‘Toru? Baby? I know you’re not sleeping—hey, wake up, I was just joking! Come on!”

43 Missed Calls—Principal Nanimon

You have 9 new voicemails.

Press play.

“Satoru!” The phone rattles in his grasp, nearly falling into the wooden plate splayed on his lap. “I think I told you to keep your phone on at all times! You are a sorcerer; show some responsib—”

“What is he going on about?” Satoru yawns, scratching the back of his head, and then scrolls to the next voicemail in line.

“Satoru! This is your final chance to answer before I—”

“Final my ass, there’s like—what, seven more of ‘ese?” He comments with a mouth full of fruit that the room service so kindly delivered a few minutes ago. Delicious. Another reason for him to drop a five-star review.

It’s no surprise when the third voicemail starts with the exact same enraged pronunciation of his name and continues with empty threats that want him scrubbing the entire school grounds. Yaga seems to have forgotten their teacher-student relationship ended a decade ago.

Neeeeeext.

“Satoru, I saw what Nanimon is, and I am not happy.”

“Oh? So he outgrew Windows XP?” He chuckles inaudibly.

Licking the sticky nectar off his fingers, Satoru pads toward the window, standing guard between the vicious sun rays and your sleeping form. You appear immune to Yaga’s ear-shattering voice, eyelids shut, and sheets kicked off your nude body, with your hair coiled around your head like a hornet’s nest.

Muffling the speaker with one hand, Satoru leans to untangle the hair from your open mouth. He thinks he might be partial to your charms, because even when he’s holding onto your spit-laced locks, he can only smile at how cute you are drooling in your sleep.

“Satoru? Satoru!” A voice far too guttural to be yours calls out to him, until he realizes Yaga’s voice has broken out of the voicemails.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru greets once he puts some distance between himself and the bedding. “Good morn—”

“Satoru! What do you think you are doing not answering my calls?” The man fumes.

“Eating persimmons while watching my adorable girlfriend sleep,” he answers earnestly, switching apps and snapping a quick picture of your face. “She’s so pretty—ahhhh, I feel so lucky! Want me to show you? Do you even remember what a real woman looks like?” He taunts.

“She’s still your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” The phone changes ears. “Man, your memory is really failing you. How about I pay for you and Principal Gakuganji to go on a little vacation? I know this amazing resort for senior citizens; their cognitive enhancement therapy did wonders for my great-great-great uncle. Just say my name; they’ll treat you—”

“Satoru, this is important!” Yaga cuts him off. “You’ve been off the map an entire day,” fourteen hours, he corrects, “and haven’t popped the question? What are you waiting for?”

His gaze rakes over your exposed body, trailing the necklace of mauve lovebites around your neck. Smiling, “We’ve been busy.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the ring.”

“Nah, it’s right here.”

Satoru reaches inside his yukata’s sleeve and examines the small jewelry box, tempted to ruin the surprise by grabbing the blue diamond ring and placing it around your finger—right here, right now. It will look so much prettier on you than it does gathering dust in its confinement.

“What about you?” He stores it away and resumes his call. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

A sigh. “It’s all ready on our side. Are you sure she’ll say yes? You sound confident, but a woman’s heart isn’t the same as jujutsu, Satoru. When it comes to love, the mouth is the source of disaster, and when it comes to you, it’s better to just give her the damn ring and say nothing.”

“And Sugiyama Kiyotaka says it’s fine as long as we understand each other. I get your point. Don’t need love advice from an old man with a doll fetish. I know what I’m doing. Besides, she’s the only one for me. She will say yes.”

A low roar reverberates from the speaker like a faulty engine that’s about to combust, and when it does combust, the entire room shakes. “Satoru! You’re gonna be a married man soon. Better shape up or—”

“Blah blah blah,” Satoru mocks. “Don’t you have anyone else to nag? I think Ijichi forgot to file that—”

“‘Toru?”

The sweet sound of your voice gives him all the reason he needs to hang up the phone after a hasty, “Don’t call me if you don’t need me, and if you do, then don’t.”

“Babyyyyyyyyyy!” He drags out the syllable as much as possible, an invisible cloud of dust appearing around his body when he falls on the empty space beside you, open arms wrapping your shoulders in an excruciatingly tight embrace. Kisses—lots of kisses slobbered all over your face while you are too drowsy to repel him.

“‘T-Toru! S-stop!” You chuckle hoarsely, reciprocating the sentiment however you can. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one important,” Satoru grins, balancing his chin against your chest. “Ready for today? I got a very fun day planned ahead of us.”

A/N: If you made it this far, then congratulations! You finished reading my first Gojo fic (that made me fall in love with him jsjsjs)

As I mentioned above, chapter 1 is a flashforward to the main storyline that will start kicking chapter 2 onward. Expect laughable misunderstandings, questionable comedic moments, cat rescuings, college tutorings, and the angst behind Gojo's refusal to get married.

Hope you'll stick with! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments, are always appreciated 💙

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #i wanna tie the knot #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 3

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.8k words - A03 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, established throuple, relationship issues, eating issues, depression, anxiety, angst, reader is bad at feelings, caretaking, bathing, blow jobs, face fucking, praise kink, emotional hurt/comfort. The guys find you at the hotel.

When you open the door, Johnny’s heart breaks. 

It’s obvious you haven’t been well. The circles under your eyes are sickly and off color, worse than when you stay up to wait for them to get home, and you look weary, overwhelmed, exhausted. Your hair is stiff, pulled out of your face but heavy around your forehead, and your skin is dry, an easy tell that you haven’t been drinking enough water. Johnny suspects that your clothes are dirty as well, judging by the stain on the front of your shirt above your breasts, and his heart skips when he realizes it’s his old t shirt, the one you usually wear around the flat. It all makes Johnny’s head spin, makes him feel like he’s got a thousand pounds sitting on his chest and when he looks closer, he can just see the broken capillaries spreading across your cheeks like spider’s webs. Did they do this to you?

“Oh, love.” He whispers. Your eyes water, and he feels the weight of his own fear, his own sadness tenfold. You’re hurting. You’re hurting so badly. How did they not see this? 

“Let us in.” Simon demands, and you chew on your lip. “Please. Whatever it is, we can fix it darling. Just let us in.” Simon’s voice softens, slipping into something he only reserves for you, and Johnny reaches for your hand, it’s ice-cold chill startling against his own.

When you don’t pull away from him, a small seed of hope blooms in his heart.

Something wakes him from his sleep. Maybe it’s the low drone of the television from the living room, or the fact that the middle and left sides of the bed are completely empty. He sits up, groggily, straining to listen, but all he hears is the laugh track of a sitcom. 

When he enters the living room, he raises an eyebrow. Simon is sitting in his boxers, on the floor, back against the couch, remote in one hand, and your hand in other. Your fingers look so small intertwined with his, your arm draping down over his shoulder from where you’re lying on your belly, mouth open, dead asleep. He rubs his eyes. 

“What’s this?” He keeps his voice low. 

“She couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want ta wake you, but she was keepin’ me up, thrashing around.” Johnny frowns. He traces a thumb across your forehead, moving a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Simon strokes his fingers up his thigh, rubbing the back of his leg, his skin hot in the thick of the summer night. He glances at the clock on the stove before settling on the rug too, notching his head next to your arm, and Simon shifts to accommodate him before turning to press his lips against his forehead. 

“Was it a nightmare?” 

“She’s still havin’ em.” Simon whispers, and he leans to pull him closer. “Didn’t want to talk about it.” He sighs. 

“What’re we watchin’?”  

You settle on the edge of the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, eyes unmoving from the floor. Simon stands against the dresser directly in front of you, arms crossed, body stiff and thrumming with concern, strung tight with stress. The room is quiet, lit only by a small lamp that you have flicked on, and he tries not to look too closely at anything, at this place you’ve been living in when you should have been at home. 

“Love?” Johnny clears his throat, sitting down next to you, tilting his head to catch your gaze. He avoids looking at your blood crusted cuticles, or the crescent moon marks that are imprinted in your palms. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrug.

“Yesterday.” Simon shifts his weight, as in tune to the waver in your voice, the tell of the lie, as Johnny is. He shoots Johnny a look, before going down on a knee in front of you, hands gentle, a palm cupping your calf and giving it a squeeze before releasing. You don’t pull away. A knot of tension releases between the two of them.

“Will you tell us why you left?” Johnny tries to keep from pleading, but he knows he will beg you if he has to. Beg you to tell him why, beg you to come home, beg you to let them back in. Your eyes dart back and forth between them, your fingers nervously pulling at the ends of your hair, and Simon cuts him a stern look, a very clear message: Slow the fuck down. Don’t push her. Tears drip over your cheeks onto your knees and then your voice cracks.

“You were g-gone for almost thirty days. What if, what if you never came back? What if you just picked up and left? Started over? You ha- have each other… you don’t need me.” A chasm splits open inside Johnny, splintering across the three of you, the weight of your fear and doubt bubbling to surface, pushing past the truths they’ve worked so hard to make you see.

“We could never do that. You’re a part of us.” Simon’s tone is serious. 

“You mean the world to us, darling. We don’t want to live in it without you.” Johnny says, fingers grazing along your shoulder.

“Don’t lie.” You croak, and he frowns.

“He’s not lying.” Simon says but you don’t respond.

“We love you.” Johnny whispers, and your eyes slam shut, tears spilling out between your lashes. “You know that, don’t ya?”

“N-no.” you cover your face with your hands.

“Yes, you do.” Simon pulls one of your hands away from your face, taking it in his own. “I know it’s hard, when we’re away-”

“No you don’t!” you sob as you cut him off. “You have each other! You always have each other. I f-feel… I feel like I’m on the outside.” Your breath hitches. “I always feel like that.” You tell them miserably and Johnny’s heart breaks for you.

“You’re supposed to talk to us, when you’re feelin’ bad about things.” Simon’s voice is gentle, as he tries to soothe you, tries to ground you. “Look at me, darling.” You turn your head, eyes up and full of trust, searching between the two of them.

You still trust him. You still trust Simon. There’s hope. 

“I know.” You whisper.

“It doesn’t work unless we’re honest, and we tell each other how we’re feeling, even when it’s like this.” Johnny keeps his tone soft, but it’s heavy with emotion, drowning beneath your own sadness, the feeling of your despair.

"I know that. I do… but it doesn’t change anything.” Panic erupts through his veins like he’s been doused with cold water. Doesn’t change anything? Doesn’t change what? That you left? “It won’t change the fact that I’ll always feel like this… like I’m separate from you.” You blink furiously, tears trickling down your cheeks, chest heaving with shallow breaths, and Johnny feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Alright, darling. That’s okay.” Simon settles you, and Johnny gives him an incredulous look. Alright? Alright?! On a base level, he knows what Simon is doing, but it does nothing to quell the storm of feelings rising inside of him. They could lose you. What if they can’t fix this?  “Johnny’s gonna get ya some food.” He grimaces and pulls his phone free to search for the room service menu, looking for something that will be easy on your stomach without overwhelming you. “D’you think you could manage a shower while we wait for it to be brought up?” He holds his breath. You could say no. You could tell them to get out. It took your deepest level of trust, to let them care for you like this, and in this moment, it felt like it wasn’t there.

When you don’t say anything in response and nod instead, he lets the air leak from his nose slowly.

“A bath.” You whisper, eyes still trained on the floor. You look at them intently for a moment before you get to your feet without another word and disappear into the bathroom. When the door clicks shut, Johnny whirls.

“I want to take her home. She’s not thinkin’ clearly.”

“We have to go at her pace, you heard what she said.” Something sad flickers across Simon’s face before he smooths it away. “She needs time, to remember. That’s all.” He tries to reason, and Johnny knows he’s right, but he can’t fight the burning sensation in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve been alone, in this room, for the last week and half, falling apart without them.

“Si. She…”  He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I know, Johnny. I know.” His partner’s fist is clenched around the balaclava, eyes tight with worry. They both look towards the closed door, and then Johnny glances down to the glaring light of his phone.

“There’s no soup.”

“Toast?”

“And a fried egg, if she can get it down.” Simon gives a curt nod of agreement, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted. Yeah?” Johnny presses his nose to Simon’s neck and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“Yeah.” He motions to the bathroom. “Join ya in a minute.”

By the time he has the food ordered, you’re already sitting in the tub, water thundering from the faucet, knees pulled back up under your chin, skin dotted with goosebumps. There’s enough room for him to get in behind you, like he usually does, but he doesn’t want to push you, so he reminds himself to be patient. Simon is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, murmuring something softly that you’re occasionally nodding at until you speak.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” You croak.

“It’s alright, darling. We’re just happy you’re safe.” Simon reassures, and when you don’t say anything else, panic swirls in the pit of Johnny’s stomach. Be patient. He needs to be patient. 

He can be patient, but he doesn’t have to fight fair. Not when it comes to you.

“Can I wash your hair?” he asks you sweetly, and you nod almost immediately. Later, he hopes, once you’ve pulled out of this and you’re all together again, you’ll give him shit about using your weakness against you like that. He hopes. 

You tilt your head back eagerly, eyes slipping closed while the tips of his fingers massage your scalp, and he alternates between soft and firm pressure, making sure he gets the lather as deep into your roots as gently as he can.

“I missed you.” It’s barely a whisper, a light whistle on your lips, but they both hear it, and Simon reaches for your hand, large fingers folding over yours, his touch gentle and slow while Johnny rubs the pad of his thumb along your shoulder blade before he speaks.

“Not as much as we missed you.”

“Oh shit.” You giggle from where you sit between Johnny’s legs and he presses his palm to your mouth playfully, lips grazing along your shoulder. Simon’s footsteps thunk down the hall, his voice calling both of your names. 

“Shhh.” Johnny murmurs, the warm bath water wrapping the two of you in a soft, sublime feeling that’s gone straight to his head. When the bathroom door swings open, you raise an arm like you’re dancing, and beam. 

“Welcome home!” Johnny tries not to laugh at the serious expression on Simon’s face, and he snakes an arm around your middle to pull you all the way back into his chest. 

“Having a relaxing day?” Simon dead pans, and you nod, back of your head against Johnny, face turned upward to stare at Si who’s dressed in uniform, no doubt completely exhausted after a long day of travel to the ‘local’ office and back. Water beads off your skin when you push off from Johnny to rise to your knees, and he can’t help but reach out and trace a line across your hip while your palm slides up the front of Simon’s pants, leaving wet spots in its wake as you lick your lips. Johnny leans all the way back, fitting into the curve of the tub, arms on either side, and watches you pull the zipper down to free Simon’s cock from his briefs. When you glance back at him, he gives you a smile in return, excitement settling in his stomach as he watches you, his own hand sinking beneath the surface of the water to palm his cock, his eyes never leaving where you’re stroking Simon, your head tipped backwards and eyes up. 

“Darling…” Simon grunts, the word a harsh exhale, and your mouth cracks into a smile where you’re wrapped around him, your tongue flat against your teeth, jaw relaxed as you work. His hand drifts down to the top of your head when your lips part around length of his cock and a shiver runs down Johnny’s spine, the weight of love, of adoration vibrating in his bones.

His. This was his. You were both his. 

Your free hand reaches for him in the water, and he laces his fingers in yours with a reassuring squeeze before sitting up on his knees himself, his body pressing against you, gentle fingers wrapping around your throat to still your motion. 

“Hold still, darling.” He coaches, reaching for Simon’s belt loop to pull him closer, folding his grasp along his hip until he’s pressing into the back of your mouth. “Fuck her throat, love. That’s what she wants.” You try to nod enthusiastically, and Johnny chuckles, brushing a kiss across your cheekbone. “Isn’t she sweet?” He asks, and Simon’s hand tightens in your hair, just a tad, enough to hold you steady as he begins to rock his hips back and forth. “That’s it.” He encourages, hand never leaving Simon’s hip, the other still gently cradling your throat. He talks Simon through it the entire time, his own cock hard against the curve of your ass, his thumb occasionally smearing across your lower lip. “Fuck, Si.” He marvels, “Doin’ so good for her. Givin’ her what she wants.” He releases Simon’s hip and strokes a finger down your lower belly and across your thighs before teasing your clit, and your breath stutters through your nose when he presses against the swollen bud, your body tensing against his. He noses along your jaw while he works your clit in a circle, matching his rhythm to Simon’s pace. You make a strangled sound in your throat when Simon slows, and Johnny smirks, mirroring the speed until you’re whimpering, throat stuffed full and your thighs trying to rub together around his hand. He’s not going to let you come, not yet, so he pulls away and you whine, eyes widening in protest, but you stay steady, jaw lax to accommodate Simon, and Johnny praises you. “Good girl. Takin’ him so well.” Simon grunts, and then his mouth drops open as his hips begin to thrust unevenly until he’s coming, a little moan slipping from you when he spills down your throat. 

He bends to kiss you afterwards, swiping his tongue into your mouth, lavishing you slowly until you’re pulling at his belt loops again. 

“Want to get in?” 

“You know I won’t fit, darling.” He perches on the side of the tub, leaning down to brush his lips against Johnny’s, fingers dipping into the heat of the water. 

“Well?” Johnny prompts, and Simon grimaces, watching you as he speaks. 

“Tomorrow. Sixteen hundred.” He feels your muscles go tense, your languid state draining from your body, tension running through you in its place. He squeezes your arm affectionately, pressing a kiss above your ear. 

“It’s alright, love. Won’t be too long.” 

“It’s the apartment.” You say quietly from where you’re now laying on the bed, wrapped in a robe with your hair twisted into a towel. You eye the pieces of toast that are on the tray with a sigh. He holds one out to you, like an offering, and your lower lip trembles. “My stomach hurts.” you protest.

“I know it does, love. But you’ll feel better after this, I swear it.” Your hand reaches for his, and his heart soars, but he tempers his relief quickly. “Please? For me.”

“What about the apartment?” Simon interrupts and a shadow moves across your face.

“It was yours, before. It feels like I don’t belong there, sometimes.” Like you don’t belong? The contrast startles him, forcing his spine straighter and he considers your words. How could you possibly believe you don’t belong? 

“Then we’ll get a new one.” He blurts, without even fully thinking it through. He only knows he’s desperate to reassure you, desperate to show you that they’d do anything for you. Your face shifts, from forlorn to hopeful, surprise crinkling the corners of your eyes as you glance between them.

“We’ll get a new one.” Simon agrees, and Johnny presses your knuckles to his lips. “You do belong, darling. You belong with us.”

#dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #peaches writes #ghostsoap #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap

[seeingivy]

my love, mine all mine

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: HEAVVVYYYYY ANGST. does contain one part where a man is being icky/hitting on a girl in a gross way. viewer discretion advised. protect your peace.

an: ok yall. chapter is named after a mitski song we know it's not good. don't hang me at the stake now.

songs mentioned: my love, mine all mine by mitski

previous part linked here

--

“This is disgusting.” you mutter, as Armin leans over and takes a picture from what might literally be the worst angle ever. 

Connie Springer, human menace, has been sleeping on your shoulder for a majority of the flight to Seattle. And drooling on your hair in the process. You make a mental note to kick his ass when he wakes up for being responsible for the globbed up hair you'll have when you see Eren again. 

“He’s been sleeping for almost the entire flight. And he slept all day before the engagement too.” Armin murmurs, flicking the picture in between his fingers as he waits for it to develop. 

“Typical.” you respond, readjusting so his head falls on your shoulder more comfortably. 

You lean your head against his as he continues to snore against your shoulder, the desperation, the anticipation of what you’re going to do sitting heavy in your head. You’ve run through it a hundred times, the words stringing together in your head. 

You’re staying with Eren for the weekend. His birthday falls at the end, but he’s too busy to see you guys, so you’ll take him out the day after. 

After making ten very aggressive phone calls to the Seattle Aquarium and throwing a nice amount of money their way, they agreed to close off the aquarium for the weekend, so that you and Eren could have it all to yourself. 

So that you could drag him there after he was finished on set and lie down flat on the cold floors to just watch the fish swim above you. So no one else is there when you tell Eren that you still love him, so you’re both surrounded in your own little fishbowl. So that he understands you never did stop loving him. That you won’t ever. 

You pause. The guilt sits deep in your stomach, eats at the smallest parts of your conscience and corrupts it. The desperation, the anticipation - it sits heavy in your mind. But the doubt, the guilt, and the anxiety does too. 

You either get to have Eren forever or you lose him for good. Because Eren is dating another girl and it comes down to something really simple. 

If he likes her more or you. 

“You okay?” 

You look over at Armin and his perceptive blue eyes are peering into yours, his forehead scrunched up near his hairline. 

“I-I have a dilemma, Armin.” 

“Do tell.” he responds, propping his elbow against the armrest and leaning his cheek on his hand. 

“I….I want to do something. But it could hurt someone.” 

He frowns, squinting his eyes at you in confusion. 

“I feel a certain type of way. And I want to tell someone. But being honest means I could hurt someone else. Sh-should I still do it?” you ask, cracking your knuckles between your fingers. 

“Will it hurt you if you won’t say it?” Armin asks. 

Yes. 

It’ll hurt you if Eren goes on thinking that you don’t love him the way you do. That walking away from him wasn’t the biggest mistake of your life. That him pulling away kills you, because all you want to do is keep him close. 

You can’t keep it all in, regardless of what the outcome will be. And for all it’s worth, you have the feeling that when you’ll see him, it’ll get the better of you, that it’ll be a matter of when you tell him, not if. 

“Yes. I-I don’t think I can keep it in Armin. I’ve been sitting on it for a while.” 

He brings his hand down on yours and squeezes. And then his blue eyes are shimmering, in the pale fluorescents of the plane lights, and you can’t help but smile back. It’s surging through you - the want, the need, the love you hold for him. 

And there’s only three more hours till you’re there. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally telling Eren you still love him.” he asks, so nonchalantly as he slides the picture of you and Connie, fully developed, into his wallet as he turns back to you.

“Am-am I that obvious?” 

“I mean. You feel a type of certain way? We’re going to see Eren? It wasn’t that hard to piece together.” 

“No. You’re just perceptive.” 

Armin brings his hand down on yours again, squeezing hard, as he smiles at you - so bright and cheery that it makes you excited. 

“God, ‘Min. Why are you so excited? You’re kind of supporting me being a homewrecker right now.” 

“I-I don’t know. Hyla, I’m sure she’s great and all, but I just don’t think she fares up well to what Eren needs. Not like you do.” 

You can feel your cheeks burning at his admission, the compliment and the implication solidifying in your mind. That Armin, Eren’s best friend, thinks it should be you. That you’re good for him. He’s quiet for a few minutes, sliding through the pictures of Jean and Mikasa - the one’s she posted of Jean and her hugging on the ground, minutes after he proposed. Equipped with a caption, that brings you to tears. 

the one place i’ll always find myself returning. jeanboy, it’s you and me always. 

“What do you think love is, Y/N?” 

“That’s such a loaded question to ask me on a dingy ass flight to Seattle, Armin.” you deadpan. 

“No, no. Just think. What is it?” 

You rack your brain, long and hard. And they all come to mind - your parents, Falco and Colt, Eren, Jean and Mikasa, Levi and Hange. 

Levi and Hange. The love letters Levi wrote to Hange, that he gave you when you wrote invisible string for the vow renewal. Maybe the first time you figured out what love might mean. That it was sharing every little part of yourself and every feeling you’ve had - ecstatic, overwhelmed, happy, sad, bored, and soft. 

“Knowing each other. Love is knowing each other, Armin. And-he’s pulling away. I-I don’t want him to leave because there’s still so much more of him I-I don’t know yet. I could have a lifetime and it still wouldn’t be enough.” you murmur. 

He smiles, leaning his head against yours, as he talks again, his soft voice murmuring into your hair. 

“Eren’s known one thing since he met you. And it’s that he wants you around, wants to know more of you, that you’re the best person he’s met. He picked you to be his co-star, called you almost everyday he wasn’t with you, ran into my room and talked to me what it was like to kiss you after you guys wrote New Year’s day, you’re just it for-” 

“Wait, what? He did what?” 

“Huh? What part?” 

“The New Year’s Day thing. You-you knew that we kissed?” 

“Yeah. He told me and Marco, like fully woke us up. Said that you guys were practicing the kiss after you wrote the song and that we both needed to kiss someone immediately so we could understand how he felt.” 

You snort. 

“I don’t remember it being that way. I like totally froze up when he kissed me the first time. We-we had to do it a few times to get it right.” 

“Well, it’s always been you for Eren. I bet you could aim wrong and he’d still come and talk about how kissing you is divine.” 

“Divine?” 

He freezes up, eyes wide, as he realizes his choice of words. 

“Armin. Did Eren say kissing me was divine?” 

“No. No- we don’t talk about that stuff. It’s- long story, you-you don’t want to know.” 

“No. No, now you have to tell me. We’ve known each other forever, it’s-it’s not weird. Quit being all shy.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Armin! Please. We-I want to know. Please, I won’t tell him and I won’t think much of it.” 

“Okay, well. When I started dating Annie, you and Eren had already been together for like a year. And I wanted…to know how to…” 

“To?” 

“Have sex.” he murmurs. 

You bite down on your lip to avoid laughing and he turns his face, cheeks glowing pink, as he whispers profanities at you. 

“You’re so rude. I’m not talking about this.” 

“No, no! Armin, you’re just so cute.” 

“Quit calling me cute.” 

“Sorry! It’s just. You and Eren are so sweet, you’re like brothers. Giggling like little high schoolers about sex.” 

“We were highschoolers. And you’re acting like you and Mikasa are any different.” 

“Yeah! But you guys know we do that, I just never thought you and Eren talked about this stuff. So what did he say?” 

“No. This is breaking bro code. I’m not telling you.” 

“Armin! Please! You brought it up now it’s going to bother me forever. And-and you and me. We’re cool like that. We can talk about sex because we’re two grown adults.” 

“Y/N.” he responds, in a warning tone. 

“Pretty please! I’ve always wondered what Eren thinks about me because he-he’s so reserved and-and it’ll help me. When I tell him, to-to know how he felt about me. Help me not back out.” 

“You’re annoying. You-you can’t just use that against me to get me to tell you.” 

“Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

He groans, leaning his head against the chair, and clenches his jaw. And then Armin’s turning his head, voice all quiet as he whispers. 

“You tell another soul and I will kill you.” 

“Okay, okay. I promise ‘Min.” 

“I-I asked him about it. Because Annie and I were going to….I wanted to make it special. And-and I’m not the type to really, really take initiative when Annie does it first but I-I wanted to.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And then I asked him, like. What it’s supposed to feel like. Having sex for the first time. Because, I mean. Isn’t it awkward? And I had heard it hurts for the girl so-” 

“I’m trying not to like bite down on my own hand right now. You’re like a little angel.” you coo. 

“Shut up. Anyways, Eren said that the first time he-he felt bad. Because it did hurt you and that he just held you after till you felt better. But the second time, he said it was like nothing he ever felt before. That he understood why people do a bunch of stupid shit when they’re in love because it feels divine.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Armin. He-” 

“You’re it for him. I hope I got that through your head. Now just go tell him. And quit making me tell you secrets, you’re breaking every sacred code I have as a man right now.” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess with your divine brotherhood.” 

He flicks the top of your head as you link your arm with his and squeeze hard. And flutter your eyes shut, with him on your mind. 

--

“Connie.” 

You reach forward and shake his shoulder, as aggressively as you can, in the back of the car. 

“Connie.” 

He’s slumped over against the window, fast asleep, despite the fact that he slept nearly the entire way here. 

“CONNIE.” 

“Huh?” 

His eyes flutter open, deeply filled with sleep as he registers where he is, holding his hand out to grab you. 

“Con. We’re here. And why the fuck are you so tired?” 

“Shhh.” he responds, pressing his finger to your lips as he tumbles out of the car, leaning the majority of his body weight on you as you both walk towards the house. 

Not Eren’s house, the one you stayed at when Ricky locked you out, but the townhouse on set since Connie needed to be back as soon as possible. You switch positions with Armin, him taking the responsibility of lugging Connie, as you both walk up to the door. 

You nervously reach up to brush the tangles out of your hair and rub the tiredness out of your eyes as you knock on the door, putting on your best smile. 

Eren. 

Or not. The door swings open and a short girl answers, a bored look on her face and a martini glass secured in her hand. Despite the cold weather, she’s dressed up in a mini skirt and her hair is all clipped up in rollers - clearly from a makeup team by the way they’re placed. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Um. I’m Y/N.” 

“Okay?”

“I mean. We’re here to bring Connie back. He-he’s supposed to start filming again today. And we’re visiting for Eren’s birthday.” 

“Oh. Okay fine.” 

She swings the door open as you and Armin hold Connie upright, loose greetings falling out of his mouth as he waves at the twenty people that are in the room, their names falling out of his mouth. They’re all lounging around on the sofas and in the kitchen, heads pushed together in their own conversations or on their phones. 

“Connie. We-where are you supposed to go?” 

“Uh. Right. We-we can just go to my room.” 

He drags you and Armin up the stairs, even more people crowding the area, as you shuffle past and make your way up. Connie shoves you both into his room, the two of you falling on his sofa, as you watch him shut himself in the bathroom immediately. 

“Should we try to find Eren maybe? I think Connie’s like sick or something.” you whisper. 

“Yeah. But it might take a while, there’s like sixty people in here.” 

“I don’t understand how anyone lives here. Lana and Eren staying in a house off set makes way more sense now.” you respond, as Armin pulls you up and you drag yourself through the halls. 

You both amble down, observing the mess all around, as you read the names on the doors. You’re both holding hands, hard, so you don’t lose each other in the bustle of people and the sweat hanging in the air. And nearly six paces down, you find the door with Eren’s name scribbled across the door. Armin lightly knocks as you both peek your heads in, to find Hyla - fast asleep in his bed.

You swallow hard, pushing hard on Armin’s hand, as you both quietly shut the door behind you and walk back down the hallway. 

She’s sleeping in his bed. 

“Let’s just see if anyone knows where he is, yeah?” 

You nod and both push down the hallway again to the crowded room you entered in, nervously watching the swarm of people in front of you and nitpicking on which one to ask. Despite the chill in the Seattle air outside, the inside here is sweltering - the mix of people certainly being a fire hazard and responsible for the itching warmth in the room. 

One of the girls, lazily leaning over the counter, beckons for the two of you to join her, which you awkwardly accept. 

“Who are you guys?” 

“I’m Armin. And this is Y/N. We’re friends of Eren’s, we were looking for him. Is he around?” 

“Ah. Eren and Lana are probably busy with the Bear.” she says, turning her shoulder and snickering with the people around them. 

The bear?

“Well. We’re going to his birthday dinner tonight. You guys can see him then, the bus leaves at like six.” she mutters, shuffling off to the other side of the house and walking away. 

“Okay. Thanks.” you respond, awkwardly rubbing your hands against your arms and turning to Armin. 

Right on cue, loud music starts blaring overhead and you and Armin instinctively reach to cover your ears, Armin signaling that the two of you should just go outside. You both leave the sticky, hot room and walk out, kicking the rocks as the music blares on inside. 

“God. Levi would have an aneurysm if we ever did something like that to the townhouse.” you mutter. 

“I think I had an aneurysm standing in there.” 

“What should we do?” 

“It’s only four thirty. Let’s just…walk and get coffee. It’ll be six by the time that we’re back and we can meet him at dinner.” 

“Okay. Sure.” 

--

Two hours later and you’re seated at the most awkward table, in the history of awkward tables. Maybe even more awkward than the thought of the Thirteenth Disciple of Jesus, Ryomen Sukuna, being at the Last Supper. 

You and Armin are across from the two empty seats - because Lana and Eren are late. Armin’s stuck next to a weirdly rowdy crowd of people, with Connie at the center, who suddenly has a random burst of energy and has been screaming for a better part of the last hour. And on your left, you’re stuck next to Hyla and Myka, who are way too inquisitive for your liking. 

“So like. Can I ask you a question?” Myka asks, leaning into your space. 

You shake the glass of water in your hands, perspiration leaking down your elbow, as you give her a nod. You nervously twiddle with the straw in your mouth, biting it into oblivion as she starts talking. 

“So. I listened to dorothea. And then I listened to lacy. And I was just wondering what happened between you and Historia? Because your song was really sweet but she makes you look like a bitch.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Ah. I don’t know, we used to be really close when we were younger and filming Attack on Titan together and stuff. I think we just grew apart. And-you know. Songs are more about their meanings, I-I don’t think lacy is about me and dorothea isn’t necessarily about her.” 

“Okay but like. What actually happened? Don’t like beat around the bush.” Hyla states, her tone biting as she swirls her own straw through her glass. 

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard her talk, with your own ears. Seen her with your own eyes and interacted with her in the flesh. 

She’s scary. Freakishly high cheekbones, slicked back hair, and siren like eyes that pull back to her hairline. A pointed nose, a sharp jaw - and unlike Lana, there are no soft features, no soft expressions to offset the harshness on her face. 

“She obviously doesn’t like you. And honestly, it’s fucked that she projects onto you so hard. If she wants to be successful, she should just work harder.” Myka states. 

“Historia’s busy, Myka. Got other things on her mind.” she states, making a snipping motion with her fingers. 

“Sorry, what?” you ask. 

“Oh, you know. Scissoring. Because she’s gay.” Hyla states, the ice in her glass clinking against the straw. 

You freeze. And swallow hard to think hard on what to say next. 

A topic that you don’t personally broach, and never have, but one people can’t seem to stop talking about. 

Maybe you’ve had your suspicions. And you push them down and let Historia be. The longing glances at Ymir when she was putting on her harnesses, the way they were attached at the hip - entirely different than the way you and Mikasa were and more like how you and Eren were. 

People suspected. It was a hot topic of conversation, especially after Lacy dropped and the people thought the lyrics were…homoerotic. People were stuck trying to figure out if Historia wanted to be you or date you. 

You don’t comment on that. She’s entitled to whatever she is and trying to figure it out for her does her no service. 

“So what are you going to order?” Myka asks, leaning over to look at the menu. 

“Probably the spicy brisket ramen?” 

“Ugh. Ramen has so much sodium. That’s how you get fat arms.” she mutters, flipping her eyes through her own menu. 

You swallow hard as you shove your face into your own menu this time, probably drawing blood on Armin’s ankle by the way you’re jamming your leg on his foot. He lifts his own menu as well, the two of you whispering behind them. 

“This is what my worst nightmares look like.” you whisper. 

“If he doesn’t show up in five minutes, we’re leaving.” Armin responds, giving you a nod. 

You both drop your menus to find Hyla staring at you two weird, which you two return with less than peachy smiles and lift your glasses to drink together. And right on cue, Eren and Lana are speed walking to the table from the entrance of the restaurant, absorbed in their own conversation. 

Lana takes the seat across from Armin and Eren takes the one across from yours - Lana’s eyes bulging out of her head when she sees the two of you while Eren’s too absorbed in the conversation he’s having with Hyla. 

“Ok, I’m here. Quit whining.” he says, leaning his hand against the back of Hyla’s chair. 

“Only you would be late to your birthday dinner, Eren.” she responds, giving him a smile as she leans forward to kiss his cheek. 

“My birthday is tomorrow, so technically, I’m early.” he responds. 

Lana elbows Eren in the side, which he rolls his eyes at before turning his head back to Hyla, who's pointing at the menu. 

“Eren.” Lana repeats.

“Huh? What?” 

He lifts Lana’s drink on instinct and takes a sip, putting it down as he glares at her. 

“It’s non-alcoholic. Calm down, Lana.” 

“No. Eren.” she responds, grating her teeth as she gestures her eyes over to you. 

And then Eren looks over, his eyes bulging out of his head this time when he sees you. Except his shock goes farther than Lana’s because when he moves his hand off Hyla’s shoulder, he accidentally knocks his glass across the table, the cold liquid drenching the front of your shirt and your skirt. 

“Jesus, Eren. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Myka asks, snickering as she looks down at you. 

Armin’s quick to respond, yanking his jacket off and placing it on your lap, drying the wetness on your legs as Eren stares at the two of you and then immediately turns to look at Lana. 

“Y/N. Armin. What are you guys doing here?” he asks, jaw clenched against his skull. 

“They’re surprising you for your birthday. Such sweet childhood friends you have.” Hyla says, giving the two of you a sickly sweet smile. 

“Um. I-I’m going to go to the bathroom, my clothes are really wet.” you mutter, beckoning Armin to stay as you quickly speed walk to the bathroom with his jacket wrapped around you. 

The second you make it into the bathroom, you shut the closest stall shut and lock the door, hanging Armin’s mostly dry jacket on the ring as you survey the damage. Eren’s drink - bright blue in color - has left a big mark on the front of your white shirt, but is virtually invisible on the black pleats of your skirt. 

You instinctively grab for the tissues and wipe down the front of your shirt, which only makes the stain worse. And you don’t know why - why this entire thing is so humiliating, but you can feel tears burning in your eyes and your throat itching with insurmountable heat - as the stain doesn’t lessen, the blue splotch staying. 

The door swings open and you hear an immediate knock on your door, shiny black shoes visible from underneath the stall. 

“Hey Tinky-Winky. You okay?” Lana whispers, her voice soft as she leans her head against the door. 

“Y-yeah. Just, um. Trying to get the stain out, that’s all. I’ll just wear Armin’s jacket.” 

“Okay. I-I’m waiting for you out here when you’re done, okay?” 

You lift your head to the ceiling, hoping that it’ll push the flaming tears back into your eye sockets as you try to quiet your sniffles and shove Armin’s black denim jacket over your clothes. You open the door to find Lana, sweet Lana, leaning against the door with a smile on her face. 

She looks different. Her cheeks are fuller and rosy pink, her short hair growing out to her shoulders. And you don’t miss the soft bags around her eyes, the tiredness sitting in her frame. She opens up her arms, which you quickly sink into, her hands in your hair. 

“I missed you.” 

“Yeah. I missed you too, La-La.” 

She pulls back, her arms resting against your elbows as she talks. 

“What are you guys doing here?” 

“Surprising Eren for his birthday. We-we missed him.” 

She brings her hand to your cheek, cupping your face. 

“He misses you too. Lots.” she says, giving you a smile. 

You give her a smile back as you wrap your arms around her neck, breathing in her sweet flowery smell, as the door swings open again, only for Eren to be leaning against the door frame. You pull back and look at him - brown hair, green eyes, and no smile - staring back at you. 

“Y/N. You-you’re okay?” he asks, shutting the door behind him. 

“Yeah. Hi Eren. H-happy birthday.”

He breaks a smile - the first one you’ve seen today - and opens up his arms, wrapping them around your frame as he leans down, lips close to your ear. His right hand is firm on your back and the second one is cradling the back of your head, firm around your locks of hair. 

“It’s tomorrow.” 

“I know that, Eren.” 

“Okay, sweetheart. No need to show off.” 

At the sound of your nickname, you’re only wrapping your arms around his neck harder, standing on the tips of your toes, in any attempt to be closer to him. His smooth, laundry smell, his skin soft to the touch, and his hair perfectly tousled against your hands. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm, Eren?” 

“As much as I like holding you, I am technically trespassing in a women’s restroom right now. I just wanted to see if you were okay.” 

You pull back, nervously reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears as you nod, giving the two of them a look. 

“Okay so. I’ll go first. Lana, come out like five minutes after. Eren, give it like seven. Not ten, because the timing would be suspiciously perfect.” 

Eren squints his hand at you, his forearms clutched across his chest, as he glares. 

“Or we could all go back together.” 

“No. No, no. That’s weird. Just wait. I-I’ll see you two out there okay.” you respond, giving the two of them a smile and a thumbs up as you push out of the door. 

You nervously duck back to the table, buttoning Armin’s jacket up as you slide in next to him, squeezing his hand under the table when he gives you a questioning look. You shake your head as he gives you a nod, the two of you clear and focusing back on the dinner at hand. 

“Y/N. Are you hooking up with Sukuna? He’s hot.” Myka asks, leaning into your space. 

You spit your water back into your glass as you start choking on the parts that went down, Armin’s hand comforting on your back. 

“Um. No, never in a million years. We’re just friends.” you respond, giving them a smile. 

“The Promiscuous video was really hot. You’ve never looked better.” 

You turn your head to find the guy seated between Connie and Armin leaning over, holding his hand out to you as he talks. He has short black hair and cold, steely eyes. 

“Vinh.” 

You place your hand in his, thrown off by the clamminess, as he smiles continuing. 

“I mean. Some part of it has to be real right? That whole bit where Sukuna’s like on the floor crawling after you walk away, when he pretends to pass out when you blow him a kiss, and when you throw the water on him just to take his shirt off after...you can only fake chemistry like that to some extent.” 

“Ah. I’m an actress. That’s my entire job. And the song is called Promiscuous. We-we obviously leaned into a little bit. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“That’s music to my ears then.” he says, smiling. 

You know that smile. It reminds you of Ricky. 

“Vinh, stop it. And Connie, you’ve had enough to fucking drink.” Eren says, glaring bullets at the two of them. 

“Eren. Shut the fuck up.” Connie responds, clearly irritated with Eren. The two of them hold their eye contact, for too long, as you look at Armin. 

“Connie. I will beat it out of you again if I have to.” Eren responds, which makes Connie drop his gaze. The group laughs as Eren scoffs, his knuckles white against his glass.

You’re thrown off by the sudden hostility, Eren’s demeanor entirely different from what he was in the bathroom. Granted, he was still a bit off-putting in there, but the fact that he’s…purposely picking a fight with Connie is entirely unlike him at all. 

Connie gets so irritated that he storms off, leaving the table all together, as everyone murmurs what a buzzkill he is.

Connie’s always been the life of the party. Even insinuating he’s a buzzkill is downright ironic. 

“So. How is filming for the movie going? Which one is this again?” 

“Don’t Worry Darling.” Hyla responds, swirling her fork around her plate. 

“I’m really excited to see it, you guys. I’m sure it’ll be great.” 

Hyla twists her straw in between her fingers as she looks in between Lana and then you. 

“Lana Banana.” 

Lana curls up her nose at the term, tilting her head over to look at her. 

“You’ve just been so busy lately. You’re not really looking fit for your part anymore. I think Y/N should take it. Don’t you think, Eren?” 

Eren swallows hard as he looks at you, eyes flitting between you and Lana, as he stays silent. And the beat goes on for too long and no one talks, so you bite the bullet and do it for them. 

“I uh. Don’t have time for that actually. Danny and Sareen lined up a four day only show in New York City for me the week of the Institute Awards. I’m supposed to close for that award show, so I-I’ll have a lot of rehearsals leading up to it.” you respond, dissolving the loaded question so Eren didn’t have to. 

“Well our next movie. You should definitely join, everyone here loves you. Vinh especially.” she says, smiling. 

“Oh! I-I’ll see about that.” 

“Don’t you think Y/N and Vinh would be cute together, Eren? She’s clearly into that whole bad boy thing since she liked Sukuna.” 

“Oh, I don’t-” 

And then Eren’s leaning into her space, lips a few feet away from hers, as he smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. And then he presses a kiss to the top of her forehead, her cheeks turning bright pink. 

“Do you want to get out of here? Just you and me?” 

She gives him a giddy smile as she nods, putting her hand in his, as he drags her out, arm secured around her waist. He gives Lana a look over his shoulder as he leaves, which Lana ignores as she gives you and Armin bright smiles. 

--

You settle into the bed, Lana at your side, as you reach for your phone. 

you: everything good? 

armin: yeah. connie isn’t even here he like never came back. also his room smells like pop rocks LOL

you: so THIS is why he’s sleeping all the time. 

armin: everything good with you? 

you: yes. i’m sleeping with lana. 

armin: okay. sweet dreams. don’t think about stuff too hard. 

you: speaking of stuff, i don’t think i’m going to do it anymore, armin. 

you: i thought that eren and hyla would be more like…me and ricky. but he actually likes her i think. 

armin: yeah. i think so too, i’m sorry y/n. 

you: our time just passed i guess. better to keep him around as my friend than not at all, right? 

armin: it’ll pass, y/n. it-it goes away. talk to ymir. about hisu. she can help you better. 

You turn on your sheets to find Lana next to you, already sprawled over the majority of the bed, and dead asleep. Her expression looks so tired, her deep breaths indicating that she’s already fully out, despite it only being five minutes since you’ve been here. 

And she looks soft. Her jaw isn’t as sharp anymore, a little bit of fullness in her cheeks, but the same pointy nose. 

It’s pretty. She’s pretty. 

You bury your head into your own pillow as you flutter your eyes shut, trying to will away the image at dinner. Except you can feel it in your space, the thought of them together, like you’re being poked. 

“Y/N.” 

Poke. 

“Y/N. Wake up, sleepyhead.” 

You flutter your eyes open to find Eren, big green eyes staring at you, with his jacket pulled over his head as the source of the aforementioned poking. On instinct, you reach forward and make contact with his nose, which has him falling against the wall and groaning. The sound is so loud that you both look over at Lana, who is unbothered by the sound and still dead asleep. 

You jump up and cup Eren’s hands in your face, fingers soft and feeling for his nose in the dark. 

“Eren. What-what the fuck was that?” 

“You’re asking me that? You’re the one who just punched me in the nose!” he whispers. 

“Are you stupid? I’ve had like three different run-ins with people stalking my house. I-I learned self defense.” you whisper back. 

His face softens and he brings his hands up to where yours are - still resting on his face - as he removes them and drags you towards the door. There’s a jacket on the desk, which he’s holding open for you and gesturing for you to put on. 

“What are we doing?” 

“I-Armin told me you want to take me to the aquarium the day after my birthday. But. I-I can’t. I’m busy but I still want to spend time with you so, let’s go.” 

“Where? It-It’s like almost eleven. Aren’t you filming tomorrow?” 

“Please? It-it’s my birthday? One hour to my birthday?” 

You roll your eyes and nod which has Eren pulling the hood over your hair and carefully zipping the jacket up as he gives you a smile. The two of you tiptoeing through the townhouse as you sneak out. His hand is locked in yours, pulling you hard, as he pockets the keys to one of the cars and drives you out. 

He’s driving along the roads, nearly empty, as the moon shines light on the puddles in the road. The car comes to an abrupt stop at a small house and when you get out, the breeze and the smell of salty air envelopes your nose as you march up together. 

“You have a beach house?” 

“Not mine. It’s a friend’s.” 

You nod as the rocks crunch underneath your feet and Eren pockets his keys, shoving the brass into the door and dragging you in. The lights are open and there’s a decent amount of giggling getting louder as he pushes you through the house, a confused look on his face. 

“Why are you guys still awake?” 

You turn your head to find two people - a guy who can’t be much older than you holding a little boy - frosting cookies over a granite countertop. 

“Eren!” the kid says, shaking his arms and leg in his hold until he’s dropped.

The boy runs over to Eren, wrapping his arms around his legs as he excitedly laughs, the sound so loud it pierces your ears. In a good way. 

“Teddy. Why aren’t you sleeping, little man?” Eren asks, crouching down to pinch at his cheeks. 

The other man, from before, takes your side as he responds to him, giving Eren a knowing look. 

“Nightmare, Eren. I’m Landon, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Ah. The infamous Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you.” he responds, smiling as he holds his hand out for you. 

“Are you here to play with me, Eren?” Teddy asks, jumping up and down against Eren’s legs. 

“Not exactly. But I do have a friend I want you to meet.” 

Eren looks up, a smile on his face, as he gestures for you to crouch down next to him, Teddy standing in front of the two of you. 

“Teddy. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he says, emphasizing each word slowly. 

Teddy gets embarrassed when you smile at him and immediately buries his face into Eren’s shirt, the back of his neck entirely red as he nervously shakes his head against Eren. 

“Teddy. Just say hi, she’s really nice.” his voice soft, coaxing Teddy to say hi again. 

You smile as he turns his head, brown eyes peering into yours, as he awkwardly shuffles in Eren’s arms, his hands knotted together behind his back.

“Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you.” you say, flickering your eyes quickly up to Eren who's beaming at you as he waits for Teddy’s response. 

“I’m Theodore.” he responds. 

“Theodore? Since when do you go by Theodore, little man? Trying to impress someone?” Eren asks, reaching forward to pinch his pink cheeks and lift him in the air, which has him giggling like no other. 

You laugh as the two of them keep laughing together, leaning against the countertop where Landon’s leaning, the half frosted cookies in his hands. 

“So how do you know Eren?” you ask. 

“We have a mutual friend. And he keeps coming around, to play with the kid. Uninvited, mind you.” 

“We’re sorry to intrude. Though, he dragged me here and I had no idea. So it’s his fault.” 

“Sounds like him.” he says, dusting off his hands as he walks over to Eren, scooping Teddy out of his arms. 

“Okay, Teddy. Say bye to Eren and Y/N now. It’s bedtime.” 

You walk up to Eren, who’s hunching down so your faces are close to each other as you both wave bye, the silence filling up the room as you step back and away from Eren. He gives you a soft smile as he places his hands flat on your back and pushes you through the open door, the sand and ocean glimmering under the light of the full moon. 

Eren swipes a guitar case and a blanket off the patio as you both discard your shoes and pad into the sand, a few feet away from where the waves are crashing. Eren hands you the case as he places the blanket flat onto the sand and lies down on it, tapping the spot next to him and beckoning you to join him. 

You cross your legs and sit instead of lying down, his head a few feet away from your knees. His green eyes focused on the moon, shining above, bathing you in the pale light. You open up the case, a beautiful acoustic guitar lying in the case and start strumming aimlessly against the strings, not missing the way Eren smiles at the tune and closes his eyes. 

“Can you sing me something?” he asks. 

“What do you want to hear, almost birthday boy?” 

“Invisible string.” he responds. 

You smile as you switch the chords, fingers strumming against the strings as you quietly sing, watching Eren’s closed eyes and his soft smile. His dimples on display, the freckles underneath his eyes, his soft, soft hair. 

It’s only then that it stings. That you hold all this love, all this big, real love for Eren. That at one point, you felt it together at the same time but that he’s moved long past that. 

As you finish, Eren’s shooting up, swinging the strap of the guitar off of your neck and slipping it around his own. He’s tapping the ground in front of him, beckoning for you to lie down in front of him now, his fingers soft on the guitar. 

“What song is it?” you ask, head turned to the side away from him and focused on the crashing of the waves, how they roll perfectly, rise and fall to crash against the sand. 

“New one.” 

“Hm. What’s it about?” 

“Marco. He-he gave me this Maya Angelou poetry book on my birthday a few years ago, the birthday where you gifted me the vinyl. There was a quote in it that just made me think.” 

“What was the quote?” 

“Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still I’ll rise.” 

The wave rises. And it crashes. Again and again. 

“Sing, Eren. I want to hear it.” 

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love, my, my, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine, all mine 

You shuffle away from the tides to look at him, his eyes focused on the strings and his fingers plucking so softly. Eyes focused on his lips. The lips, that could end you here and now. 

“The moon is blushing up there, Eren. You’re writing love songs about it.” 

“The moon is my muse. I can only write songs about her.” he whispers, his hands making their way to your hair, to tuck your flyaways behind your ear. 

You feel your cheeks burning, the image of Eren - seventeen and whispering in your ear about how you’re his moon, how you have a pull on him - on the forefront of your brain. 

“Y/N. You-you don’t remember what it means?” 

“Huh? What are you talking about?” 

“This.” he responds, his fingers switching to the other side and tucking your stray hairs behind your ears. 

You feel your ears burning, when you remember. The secret signals that you and Eren came up with. And the tucking the hair behind the ears, it’s- it means he wants to kiss you. You shoot up and Eren swings the guitar off, knees hiked to his chest as his green eyes look at you, expectantly. 

“You-you can’t, Eren.” you whisper, the thought of dinner still in your mind. 

“Why not? Do you not want to?” he asks, whispering back. 

“That’s not fair to her. You can’t.” 

“You-you heard me right? Nothing in the world belongs to me, except my love. And-and you're the only thing that's really mine. You-you still do, right? Belong to me?” he asks, his voice wavering. 

“Eren.” 

“Please. Please, I don’t want to beg. Don't make me. Do you still belong to me?” 

He brings his hand up to your face, warm against your cheek, which is ice cold from the biting wind, and you lean into it. The warmth, in his hand, his eyes, his honey sweet voice. 

“Yes. Yes, I do.” you whisper. 

“Y/N. You- don’t get confused. You know what this means right? Us?” 

You give him your best smile and nod, your fingers tingling. It means he still loves you too. 

He leans forward, eyes closed as he kisses you, warm and soft. The sensation tingles all the way down to your stomach, makes your cheeks burn, and your brain prickle. And you relax, the familiarity of this, so delicate, so unchanged from the time he kissed you last that you can’t help but smile into his lips. 

You lean against his shoulder and look up, at the moon above you two, his arms wrapped around you. 

“Moon looks pretty tonight, doesn’t it?” you ask. 

“Always has.” he responds, his lips soft in your hair as the warm tears fill your eyes. 

“Happy birthday, Eren.” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Thank you, my moon.” he responds. 

And you stay there, to watch the sun rise. On the two of you, together, for the last time. 

--

Eren tucks you back into bed with Lana as the sun peaks up, though it’s a battle in itself. Because Lana’s all starfish on the bed, her limbs tangled over every open space on the bed. But Eren’s rude and he’s just flopping her around, until he makes space, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving. 

And hours later, the sun is sinking down, with Lana nowhere to be found and Armin reading at the couch to the side.  

“Hey.” 

“Jesus. It’s almost sunset, you’ve been sleeping all day. Whatever Connie has is rubbing off on you.” he mutters, reaching over to hand you a water bottle.

“Sorry. I slept late because-” 

Because of Eren. 

You jump up and take the seat next to Armin, excitedly telling him everything that happened last night. And he’s smiling so bright, blue eyes glimmering that you’re both excitedly hugging each other and squeezing hard. 

“Well. He’s been out all day, but he should be back tonight. Let’s go to dinner before we leave,  yeah?” 

You nod, jumping up to the bathroom to get ready, the smile on your face aching your cheeks as you reach for the toothpaste. You peek your head out the door at Armin. 

“‘Min.” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you have toothpaste? 

“There’s some in Connie’s room. Just go grab it.” 

You take your toothbrush and bustle through the hallway, past the crowds of people walking through. You’re lucky you never have to mourn the frat house experience. You’re fairly certain you’re living it right now.

You swing into his room, the smell of candy overwhelming, as you push forward and open the door. Only to find Connie, leaned over the counter, fixing up three lines of white powder with a credit card. 

“Connie. What are you doing?” you ask, your throat burning in your neck. 

He turns his head and his eyes nearly boggle out of his head as he quickly swipes the powder into the sink and the excess on his hands against his pants. He’s smiling, too big, too synthetic as he grabs your hands. 

“Y/N! Nothing! You- it was a joke. It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

You swallow hard as he presses you into a hug and the dots connect, your eyes burning. 

Connie’s doing drugs. It’s-it’s why he sleeps all the time and then suddenly has intense energy out of nowhere, why his nose is red, why Eren told him to stop drinking. 

Eren’s words from dinner ring in your head, of how he said he beat it out of Connie, and sit in a bad way. 

Eren beat Connie up for doing this?

You pull back and press your hands to Connie’s face, to take him in. His skin is burning hot to the touch and there are beads of sweat matting his forehead, his entire demeanor so anxious, so jittery and nervous that it sets you off. And all you can think of is sweet Connie, so excited and energetic doing this in his free time that it makes you eyes burn. 

“Connie. Are-are you okay? Why are you doing this?” 

He freezes. And at your words, his entire demeanor changes and suddenly he’s on the floor softly crying, his head in his hands. You join him on the floor and put your hand on his shoulder. 

“Connie. What’s wrong?” 

“I-I just wanted to be the best, Y/N. I wanted to be the lead for once, I-” 

“Connie. You, you’re-” 

“Do you know how fucking tired I am of all of this? I-I can’t do this anymore. You- I’m done. I have to quit, I have to-” he says, shaking in your arms as you wrap your arms around him, tears streaming down your eyes. 

“He couldn’t even let me have this one thing, Y/N. Eren just had to be the best.” he spits out, his chest heaving up and down as he mutters out more words, a long list of profanities directed towards Eren. 

“Connie. You- we can go. Armin and I are leaving in a few hours, you-you should come with us. We-we want to help you.” 

“You don’t get it, Y/N. Wherever I go, this thing follows me. That people know my fucking name when I walk down the street, when I go to the beach, when I’m at the doctor. We’re never getting fucking out of this. This is our life now.” he responds, cheeks straight on your face. 

You reach for your phone on the counter as it buzzes, Armin’s name flashing across the screen. Connie’s still lying down flat on the floor, his tears falling straight onto the floor. 

“Y/N.” 

“Armin.” 

“Are you crying? I-I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding, let’s just go-” 

“It’s Connie. Can you come here? It’s- he’s not okay.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m running.” 

And a few seconds later, Armin’s pushing into the bathroom and his eyes are boggling at the sight of the two of you and his face falls when you explain. And then your phone starts buzzing on the counter, the notifications constant. You lift it and scroll, eyes flitting through the letters. 

mikasa: don’t panic. we’ll figure out a response, okay? 

jean: call us as soon as possible okay? ill kill him next time i see him

nobara: i’ll fly out to see you. are you still in new york?

levi: Call me when you get a chance. Hope you’re okay. Hange is going to talk to him. 

sukuna: On your side. Whatever you do. 

“Y/N. You- there’s something you have to see.” Armin says, dragging you out and handing you his phone. He rushes back into the bathroom to Connie, as you scroll through the tab on his phone. 

It’s a video of Eren and Lana, with chunky headsets and microphones in front of their faces. You recognize the backdrop immediately - one of the WBS’s most popular podcasts, called Life in Love. 

You press the clip and tilt the phone, eyes focused on Eren and Lana as they start talking. 

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks. 

“First love is a funny way to describe it. I-I know that a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never really said it publicly, but we never did actually date. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting.” 

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks. 

“It’s like that thing with Ricky James. I mean, we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry. And we do things, pretend a little, to make our art feel more authentic. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we do it outside of it too. It’s like we’re acting all the time. You can turn it on and off.” 

“So are you just friends, then? I mean, Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. Is that something that you can corroborate? That she’s a good friend?” 

“She’s a good friend of mine, we-we laugh about it sometimes. And as for the stuff about her other friends, you know. You’re in competition and if you have something you really want, you-you’ll do anything to get it. That’s something I can admire. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is.” 

You jump off the bed and rush back into the background, where Armin is crouched next to Connie, his hand on his head. 

“Connie.” 

“Y/N. Hey, you ok-” 

“What were you saying about Eren?” 

“Huh?” Connie asks, eyes deeply lidded and his breaths becoming more labored. 

You put your hands on his shoulders and shake, as aggressively as you can, as the tears stream out of your eyes. 

“What did you mean? What did Eren do?” 

“What he always does. Put himself first. Even if I’m the thing at stake.” Connie mutters, his hands shaking in your hold. 

Armin gives you a pained look as your tears flow harder, your hands still on Connie’s shaking frame. 

“Y/N. Get ready. We-we should leave.” Armin says, hands on his phone as he calls the car. 

“Okay. I-I need a few minutes. And we’re taking Connie with us. I-I don’t care if he gets fired or whatever, he-he’s not staying here, Armin.” 

Armin presses his hands on your shoulder, squeezing hard. 

“I was going to say the same thing. C-calm down, Y/N. Okay? I’ll be back in a few.” 

--

You wait in the kitchen as Armin lugs Connie’s bag down, swirling the glass of water in your hands. Your eyes are focused on everyone in the room, a smaller group, ambling around the room. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh. Hi Vance.” 

“It’s Vinh.” he responds, giving you a smirk. 

“Sorry.” 

He scoots closer to you, his hand firm on your shoulder, as he leans down, a smile spread on his face. 

“So, would you ever think about doing it with me?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Faking it. Except, we can do all the real things too.” he says, securing his hand around your face and leaning closer to your lips. 

You push his hand off as you put space between you two. 

“Why would I ever do that?” 

“Don’t act like you’re above it. Eren, Ricky James. I don’t see how I’m any different. Or if you have any dignity to preserve.” 

You feel your throat dry, at the impact of Eren’s words solidifying in your mind. That him saying that your relationship wasn’t real only furthers all that hate you received after you told everyone the truth about Ricky. 

That you were fake. And it meant now that people were going to start doing it again - start nitpicking every little thing, your relationship with Mikasa and Jean, with Eren and use every mistake you’ve made against you. 

And for guys like this, it’ll just make them think this is okay. That you’re easy, that they’re entitled to what you’ve done for others because you’ve done it before. 

“It-it’s really different.” you respond, running out of the kitchen. 

You quickly duck out of the room as you see Armin dragging Connie down the stairs and make your way over to help him, the itchy, dirty feeling of the interaction you just had being pushed to the back of your mind. 

You and Armin lug Connie to the back seat of the car, letting him lie down flat against the seats, as Armin reaches for the last of the stuff to put into the car. Connie’s still twitching in the seat, eyes pressed shut and sweating. 

You place your hands on both sides of his cheeks, the tears filling your eyes again. 

“Connie. I-I think we should take you to rehab or something, you-you’re not okay.” you whisper. 

He’s quiet, still shaking in your frame as he opens his eyes and looks at you. And the tiredness, the red and the pain mixed together has your heart flinching in your chest, cutting deep. 

“I hate myself for it. I didn’t want to be like this. That asshole who is high when his best friends are getting engaged.” 

“They won’t be mad at you, Connie. We-we understand.” 

“But I don’t understand. I wanted to remember it, Jean and Mika, they-they’re special. I-I wanted to remember it.” he says, his voice cracking as the tears start spilling down his face. 

“Con.” 

“I hate myself for it. I really, really do.” he says, so definitively, so sure of himself that all you can do is squeeze his cheeks in your hands as he falls asleep. 

You brush your fingers through his buzzed hair one last time as you step out of the car, only to see Armin and Eren arguing near the bags by the door. You walk up, which stops them all together, as they both focus their eyes on you. 

“Eren. Can I talk to you?” 

He tilts his head towards Armin, who's still standing there, fists clenched. You give him a nod as he walks away, rolling the rest of Connie’s bags towards the car. 

“Did you want something?” he asks, eyes squinting into yours. 

“Yeah. I-I want to know what happened. You and I- we.” 

“Y/N.” 

You reach for his arm, for his fish tattoo right above his elbow and squeeze. 

“Eren. It-it’s not true, right? There’s an explanation for this? Because we-we can help you. We’re taking Connie and leaving and you should come.” 

“That’s not a good idea.” 

“Eren. Whatever it is, we can figure it out. Just come with me. Or if you need me to stay, I’ll do that too. We can figure out how to tell the truth about it all. I won’t leave.” 

He rolls his eyes, green eyes glaring into yours as he responds. 

“Y/N. What part of what I said was a lie?” 

You swallow hard, the acidic feeling in your mouth burning. 

“Like almost all of it? You and I were real. We loved each other. And we still do.” 

He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes, as he drawls his voice out, each word stinging more. 

“Do we?” he asks, his look so harsh it stings and the tears rise to your eyes. 

Yes. You do. 

“Yeah. What-what about yesterday? On the beach?” 

He sighs, pushing his hand through his hair as he falls out of your hold, putting space between you two. 

“I asked you if you knew what it meant when I kissed you. You clearly didn’t understand what I was trying to say.” 

“And what did it mean, Eren?” 

“That was a one time thing. For-for fun. It didn’t mean anything like that, I-I was just thanking you for coming down all the way for my birthday.” 

You pale. 

“You and I spent hours talking on the beach. About-about it all and-” 

“We did other things too.” he responds, his voice biting. 

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, the understanding registering. That you spent hours on the beach talking, but amongst that there were other things you did too. The pale purple on his neck is proof of that. 

“But-but you said all that stuff before. Sang that song, called me the moon and-” 

“You’ve always been into that fluff shit. We always say corny shit like that before we do stuff.” 

You pale, every memory of Eren whispering soft words against your skin as he kissed you souring in your mind. Because of the insinuation that none of it was real. That he just did it because he knew you liked to hear it, not because he meant any of it. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You know. The whole “we’re fish together thing” and the songs and all that.” 

You stare at him, at his forehead crushed up in frustration and his green eyes, cold and soulless as they stare at you. You look down at his fish tattoo, and cross your arms to cover your own, glaring back at him. 

“You’re a fucking liar, Eren. You-” 

“Y/N. I’m a fucking actor. My entire job is to pretend like I like you, do you really think I am so incapable of keeping the act up when the cameras turn off?” 

“It doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason for you to do that.” 

“There is. I want to win Best Actor in a TV Series.” 

“And what does that have to do with us?” 

“Levi said that this role, if I did it right, could make me the fucking best. And you-you had no experience. I had to make sure that you actually liked me so that I didn’t have to carry you in every fucking scene. So that your acting wouldn’t bring me down.” 

"Eren."

"Why did I win an award for the Thank You scene? Because you actually fucking liked me, because you were able to cry and act in the scene. You're a good actor, but you were never that good."

“But what about after? You-we were together when we weren’t filming.” 

“You went on your tour. Got distant. Did I ever once make any effort to talk to you when you stopped? No, I didn’t. You broke up with me on that balcony because your team wanted you to date Ricky James instead of me. Did I stop you? No. You know why? Because who you date doesn’t fucking bother me, not in the slightest.” 

“You knew. We-we understood each other. That’s why we broke up, because it’s fishbowl and-” 

“Who the fuck would be okay with that? Seriously, if it was all in earnest, you think I’d just let you do that?"

“Then why the fuck are you writing depressing ass songs at the Met Gala and then taking care of me after the whole thing went down?” 

“Y/N. You’re so fucking naive. That’s what you have to do. I act on the screen and I make people interested in me after the fact. I write songs about you, make it seem like you’re the one who broke up with me, so that people stream the songs. So that people talk about them. So that they’re popular. And then I save you after the fact, because at the end of the day, you and I still have a show to fucking finish and I can’t exactly leave you out there in the rain, can I?” 

“Eren.” 

“Think about it. After you were good and fine with Ricky, did we keep talking? Did it stay the same? No. I had no interest in putting effort in after that, because I was dating another girl. And I still am by the way.” 

“Eren.” 

“Get it through your head. You- I had to help you. In whatever way I did. Your parents weren’t famous and you had no ins. I have to do something to offset that if you’re my co-star.” 

"No part of real to you? Not even one?"

"It-it's fun to pretend sometimes. But that's all it is, Y/N. Pretending. Faking it."

You feel a hand on your shoulder, squeezing hard, and turn to find Armin, his jaw clenched against his head. 

“Are you serious, Eren? How can you even say that to her?” 

“It’s the truth. She should try it sometime.” 

You choke back a sob, your chest heaving up and down, as Armin lets go and pushes Eren, the irritation sitting in his chest. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to Connie? To Y/N?” 

“Armin. We filmed one show together when we were kids. Don’t get mad when I don’t have the same loyalty that you all feel for each other. It was fun, but I still have a career outside of it.” 

“Eren. You loved Attack on Titan. And us, you-you wanted to go back to it so many times after we stopped filming and went on hiatus.” 

“Yeah. Because I was in a show that was actually good. Not shitty movies that were flopping. That-that had nothing to do with you guys.” 

“Eren.” 

“You guys should leave. I’ve had enough.” 

Eren reaches for the last bag, grabbing Armin’s polaroid camera on top before pushing the last bag into Armin’s hands. And when he extends his hand to hand Armin the camera, he pulls back at the last second and lets it fall to the ground, with a resounding crack. 

All you see is red.

“Eren. What did you just do?” you ask. 

“My bad. I broke it.” he spits out.

Armin swallows hard as he looks at it, the camera that’s documented every portion of your childhood, every up and down and in between for the past seven years, now broken in his hands. Levi and Hange's vow renewal, every birthday, everyone messing around in between takes and- he just broke it.

You crouch down and put a hand on Armin’s shoulder, his tears falling straight onto the floor, over the camera. And pick up the pieces with him, the jagged edges hard in your hands, as you carry them over to the car. 

You look back one last time, to see Eren with his hands in his pockets, illuminated by the moonlight, you take one last look and sit in the car. And then get in the car and let your tears flow freely. You lift Connie’s head and place it in your lap as Armin puts in the directions. And on your right, your phone buzzes and you pick up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi! This is the Seattle Aquarium! We just wanted to know what time you would be coming by for your friends birthday tomorrow so we can set up?” 

You swallow hard and hang up, cursing the stupid aquarium and the stupid fish that got you caught up in this in the first place. 

You slide to Eren's contact - the picture of you two staring back at you - and block the number. And make a mental note to get your tattoo removed. 

--

“Hello.” 

“You’ve sat idle for three months now. And I’m not letting you sit around any longer. It’s-you have to defend yourself. This-you’re better than this. They’re making a mess of you.” 

“Let them. Is there really anything I could say to stop them? No and-”  

“Watch the link I sent you. Quit talking back with your shit excuses and remember why you even did any of this in the first place. And then call me back when you’re thinking straight.” 

The line goes flat as the notification comes, the link in your messages. You open it up, a clip of Hange’s getting their triple threat commendation. Their speech, the one that got you involved in all this shit in the first place, ringing in your ears. The only reason you wanted to be a triple threat in the first place. 

To anyone watching at home, in their living room in their rundown pajamas, this is a sign to never ever give up on your dreams. Because that used to be me, and it can be you too. Never let anyone stop you from becoming the triple threat you are meant to be. To let that fire run wild and true and let people see the real you.  

The media made a shit show out of you, in the three months that followed. So much so, that you don’t even show your face in public. Because it snowballs so fast, the entire drama around Don’t Worry Darling, around you and Eren and Hyla becomes the only thing people talk about. 

And the narrative is simple. You're quickly written off into something you’re not. That you faked your relationship with Ricky James and Eren Jaeger for publicity, that you leached off of their fame to be famous yourself. That it’s all you care about. 

Hyla goes on the record and brings up the night you and Eren shared on the beach. And quickly gives you your reputation as a home wrecker, as a people pleasing attention seeker who likes people who puff up her ego. 

People like Jean and Mikasa, like Connie and Sasha - who are still famous and good for your image, but not famous enough to over shine yoU. Not like Historia, who you so quickly discarded and then opened a full on competition with when you released your records. 

That at the end of the day, all you are is a small town girl from Canada, with a sick need to be at the top of the pedestal. To have people clamoring around you, praising you, because of your inferiority complex. That you're easy, that you have no feelings, that you're not even a real person.

The words churn in your mind, the thought angrily swirling with every other feeling. And the push, the support in a moment like this solidifies your plan in your mind. To let that fire run wild and true and let people see the real you.  

The real you. 

you’re right. i’m in. 

on my first flight out. we’re going to bury this asshole in the ground. 

And in the most perfect way, you’ve got the best person at your side helping you. Always known for upstanding honesty, truth, and for digging people into holes when they deserve it. For burying them with art, with carefully chosen words and songs.

It’s what makes her the perfect right hand to your revenge. Historia's always had a flair for the dramatics.

--

next part linked here

an, again: sukuna reputation era? sorry. girls do it better. (im just kidding, he'll be part of the reputation era but our best baby girl historia will be too). there is just something so insane about them ALL using historia as a piece of evidence against y/n and then her being right at her side. also no one hang me at the stake please.

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

#seeingivywrites! #method acting #eren #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x y/n #actor eren #actor eren x you #actor eren x reader #actor eren x y/n #aot actor au #aot #aot x you #aot x reader #aot x y/n #snk #snk x you #snk x reader #snk x y/n #eren angst #eren aot #shingeki no kyojin

[sunnitheapollokid]

SUNNI CAN I REQUEST A LEO X READER TYYYY 💗💗💗

🩰┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。DANCING WITH FIRE ➳♡゛

leo valdez x ballerina!reader blurb <3

📬 sunni’s notes : HI ARTIST!! OF COURSE!! i didn’t know what specific fic you wanted, but i just thought about this (bc i too am a dancer i fucking love dancing but it’s such a pain in the booty my legs and feet always feel like shit after.) AND I JUST FEEL LIKE LEO WITH A DANCER. WOULD BE SO. KENSJSBNA. i just feel like he would be so supportive. also i’m thinking of doing hoo sevens some headcanons and cabin headcanons what do you guys wanna see first?!? okay, lub you!!

(name) groaned, as she massaged the sole’s of her feet. “oh titan..” she mumbled, tucking a lose strand of her hair out of her face and behind her ear.

finishing her last class of the week, she felt the weight lift off her shoulders. “later, (nickname)!” a few of her friends from that class waved, their sportsbag slinged over their shoulders.

“bye girls!!” she beamed. the quiet silence of the mirrored room got to (name)’s head quickly, she took her phone out and plugged it into the speaker. she played any one of her favorite songs.

she stretched and exterted her body to until she felt warmed up, and she twirled, spinned, gracefully. the flows of her tiny silk skirt dancing with her and the wind, with a chasse and a flick of a kick—

“princessa?”

the voice of her boyfriend’s echoed the room, the sweet honey smile of his lighting up the already sunshine filled room.

“amor!” she exclaimed, landing on the flats of her feet and smiling to see him leaning by the door’s frame. “you look,” he snickered, walking over to her to give her a kiss on the back of her hand.

(name) looked messy, at least to her. her hair was frizzy from all the sweat, the warmers of her legs were railing down and nonetheless, her feet felt like hell.

“beautiful.” she affectionately rolled her eyes to give him another kiss on the cheek. leo was wearing the usual white tank, and baggy pants covered in grease, signifying his time at the forge. it was a little funny to people when they found out that (name) and leo had started dating.

(name) was clean, precise, and graceful. like a swan. while leo was messy, spontaneous, and a real klutz sometimes. like a raccoon. but they meshed so well together, it starts to make sense when you truly think about it.

“you can’t be serious babe.” she snickered, leo could just melt at that. “i am deadly serious.” he spun her around like you’d usually do at a ball or gala.

she sighed dreamily as they locked eye contact before leo leaned in to kiss her, a good “mm..” coming out of leo’s lips before bringing up the showcase. “how’s practice?” he asked with a wide grin.

she shook her head with a deep frown, “still.. working on it.” leo mirrored the frown on his girlfriend’s face. “sit down baby.” he spoke softly, you kneeling down to criss-cross and so did he.

he massaged her feet while he hummed, “you’re going to be there right?” she smiled, her eyes glued to his hands rubbing her feet. “course i will!” he laughed, “i’ll be there at the very front being embarassing and yelling out,”

“FUCK YEAH LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND TWIRL— BITCHES!”

she cackled, their voices echoeing the room like a harmony. “gods, don’t do that. you’ll get kicked out before the second act.” the blood from leo’s face diminished. “i’m kidding.” she laughed.

“did i mention how pretty you look?” leo shot, the music still playing in the background — which was absolutely perfect. the way that the sun shone over (name)’s eyes sent leo over the moon. and the way leo’s curls fell on his motoroil-covered face was so perfect, it made (name) melt.

“you did.”

“don’t think so.”

“yeah?”

“well if i didn’t, let me say it, you look so, so, beautiful, cariño.”

(guys just imagine the chorus of unstoppable - camila mora from the “leap!” soundtrack in the background)

and he kissed her forehead another time.

—

(name) stepped into the light with a smile, her beautiful pink costume making her look like a princess. graceful as ever, she gave a courtesy as the crowd cheered. but all she ever looked for was leo.

there in the middle and the front, leo was yelling the loudest of them all, a bouquet of her favorite flowers in his hands. he cupped his hand over his mouth to yell, “(NAME)!! MAMI I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!! YEAH THAT’S MY GIRL!!”

she giggled, lifting her head up to give him numerous flying kisses. leo had pretended to catch them and kissing his palm in the process.

backstage, leo had engulfed her in a hug, the flowers almost destroyed. “d’you hear me?!” he asked with a smile. she nodded, laughing.

“people we’re wondering who said ‘look at my girlfriend twirl bitches!’ in the middle of act two.”

“can’t help that i’m so proud of you princessa.”

they stayed in each other’s arms for a good second, before (name) knocked out in his arms and he had to bring her home.

#— sunni adores leo (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ #sunni does not sleep #sunni's sunkisses ☼ *. #pjoverse #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x ballerina

[keqism]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

⊹ feat. itoshi rin

⊹ premise. in which itoshi rin discovers that life is not like a romance novel.

⊹ cw. GN reader, rin & reader are aged up / 20+, miscommunication

When you get back from your Tuesday evening classes, Itoshi Rin has guilt written all over his face.

On a regular day, you would be greeted at the door by your boyfriend, trapped in his embrace while he presses his face into your neck like a black cat asking for attention. But today, Itoshi Rin is sitting on the ground in front of the couch, furiously avoiding your gaze.

"What are you hiding?" you ask suspiciously, watching his spine visibly stiffen at your question. Crouching down in front of him, you scan the area for answers, searching for anything out of place.

"Nothing," he grumbles, but the way he shifts away from you and picks at the loose thread on his sleeve says otherwise. 

"Rin," you chide, reaching up to tilt his face towards yours. Teal eyes meet your own, and you can practically see the discomfort swimming in his irises. "Did you kick a football into the window? Or did you fight with the old man next door again?" 

"Neither." His answer is curt. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

You stare at your boyfriend, chewing on your bottom lip and contemplating whether or not you should push him further. But Itoshi Rin has the tenacity of a boulder, and no matter how far you push him up a hill, he'll eventually come rolling back down to where you started.

Stubborn bastard. But he's your stubborn bastard.

"Alright," you sigh. And to Rin's relief, the incident is pushed aside.

Or so he thought.

Over the next few days, Itoshi Rin walks on eggshells around you. Whenever you enter the room, he's closing all the tabs on his laptop and slamming the screen shut with a red face. When you crawl into bed at night, he's sliding away from you until he's practically hanging off the edge, the broad plane of his back mocking you. Morning kisses are replaced by cold shoulders, dinner for two slowly becomes dinner for one. The distance between the two of you grows larger; from the top of the hill, you watch his form trudge back down the slope.

"Do you think he's cheating on me?" You glumly ask Bachira during your weekly convenience store visits. Picking at the tab on your empty beer can, you watch as he inhales a two-hundred yen onigiri in one bite. 

"Itoshi Rin? Cheating?" He snorts around a mouthful of rice before taking a sip of his beer. "I'm surprised he was able to pull you—I doubt he's cheating."

"So then what's his problem?" you frown. "He hasn't talked to me in days—he hasn't kissed me in a week. It's like we broke up without actually breaking up." You gasp, sitting up and slamming your hand onto the table. "He still loves me, right?"

A hand flicks the center of your forehead, a sharp pain shooting through your face. "Don't be stupid," Bachira clicks his tongue at you. "That boy is head over heels for you, seriously. I thought football was the only thing he could love, and then he met you. It's sickening."

You slump back into your seat, rubbing your forehead with one hand. "So then what do I do?"

Another onigiri is inhaled. "Just talk to him," he says.

And so after your Tuesday evening class, you corner Rin in the living room again. 

"Rin," you hiss, tossing your backpack onto the floor. He flinches. "Show me what you're hiding under the couch, right now." And Itoshi Rin—with his tenacity of a boulder—must have the IQ of one too, because he has the audacity to deny your claims. 

"I'm not hiding anything," he argues, but you've had enough of his bullshit. Desperate, you slam your backpack into his face and dive for the ground, fingers grazing against something solid. But before you can grab it, Rin is yanking you back by your ankle and pinning you to the ground.

Amidst your scuffle, you glare up at his stupidly beautiful face, struggling against his firm grip for a moment. But then you fall limp and sigh, observing his disheveled appearance and how he avoids your eyes. 

"Rin," you gently cup his face, and teal eyes flit to yours. "I'm not going to judge you, whatever it is. I promise." And as if to emphasize your words, you offer your pinky up to him, your hand hovering in between your bodies.

A moment passes, anxiety flickering through his face. But then he's silently hooking his finger around yours and helping you sit up, the tips of his ears reddening. You glance at your boyfriend once before reaching under the couch.

… Books?

Rin has his face hidden in his hands as you pull book after book out from under the couch. Classic romance stories, love poems, shoujo manga—one might think that your boyfriend stole an entire section of your local library. You study his figure for a moment, at a loss for words.

"Rin? Do you want to explain or…" you trail off, and at the sound of your voice, he burrows further into his arms, curling into himself.

His voice is muffled when he speaks. "I don't know how to love you," he confesses. And when he lifts his face, Itoshi Rin has guilt written all over his face. "I don't know what I'm doing and I feel like I'm the only one blindly navigating this relationship, so I was trying to learn," he blurts out.

You're at his side immediately, hands sliding across his back in an attempt to comfort him. "Rin," you sigh, "look at me." And he obliges, insecurity clouding his eyes. 

"I love you," the confession comes naturally. "And I know you love me too. You don't have to tell me every day, and it doesn't have to be like a romance movie. I love seeing your face when I get home from class. I love it when you share half of your ice cream with me even though you want to eat it all. And I love the fact that we can sit in silence together and feel comfortable. You don't have to change the way you love, Rin. Okay?"

At your words, Rin feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. And then he feels stupid for doubting you, for doubting that he would ever be deserving of your love. Embarrassment smothers him at the sight of your smile, your laughter ringing out as you press your lips against his.

"Stupid bastard," you mutter into the kiss, and he huffs out a laugh in response. "Did you really read Sailor Moon just for me?"

He groans. "Shut up, please."

Although Itoshi Rin may sometimes have the emotional capacity of a boulder, being in his arms feels like home. And even though you may have to chase after his love, you know his heart belongs to you—and yours, to him. 

In your opinion, that's better than any love story out there.

thank you for reading / comments and reblogs are appreciated !

#itoshi rin x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin scenarios #blue lock scenarios #blue lock drabbles #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader

[sky-kiss]

Raphael/Haarlep: Potential

A/N: Just wanted to do some early days exploration.

R/H: Potential:

Shall they say there are moments of peace? 

Haarlep doesn't know. Peace is the antithesis of their being. They are chaos—it is their blood, marrow, flesh. And so they cannot say there is peace so much as there is…a lull. If an ocean's waves crest, they must also fall. 

There are days when they sit in the dip, neither at the arc's apex nor rising—they are cradled in the storm's eye.  

It should be contentious; some days it is—Haarlep's brat is not the easiest ward. Raphael's temperament veers towards vanity and arrogance, not unlike his father before him. The difference lies in his mortality and his youth. In the earliest days, in those first few years when Mephistopheles sends him to the House, and the boy-king is still seeking to establish his merit, they feud. Raphael reads while Haarlep sucks him off. Days pass where not a dozen words pass between them. 

Haarlep is forced to peddle his juvenile outbursts to Mephistopheles instead of proper information. They're badly beaten for their insolence, threatened, etc. Haarlep hates, but that is not unsurprising. Hate is familiar; hate does not preclude lust. 

Raphael tips his head to the side when Haarlep returns; the incubus' lovely skin is mangled beyond the telling, mottled, bruised, and eaten away by Hellfire. They hiss when they settle in the healing pool, submerging themself to the chin. 

"Such is the price of your service," their brat says, head held high. "These are the wages your master pays, slave."

Haarlep wants to snap at him, every fiber of their body aching. It is beyond even them. "Slave is a fine word for it, lordling." The incubus smiles with teeth. "I suspect you know something of the Cold Lord's attention? How many years did you spend in his dungeons, dearest?" 

Raphael's eyes flare brilliant gold. The lines of his face are softer than his sire's. In truth, Haarlep prefers them. "Be silent, wretch." 

And so it goes, goes, goes, for so many years. Raphael clutches at scraps; Haarlep absorbs their beatings. A divided House. 

"It cannot stand," Raphael mutters, voice drowsy with sleep. He's always softer after, borderline agreeable. The cambion trails fingers down Haarlep's spine, skin still sweat-soaked, lovely. His tongue flicks out to wet the seam of his lips, eyes lulling shut. 

Haarlep smooths hair back from his forehead. "You quite like the sound of your voice—say more." 

"The House." Raphael sighed, shifting under their weight. "Mephistopheles will destroy us."

"He need not." The words are surprisingly soft. In truth, Haarlep barely knows why they say them. They only care that the House is comfortable. And Raphael is…tolerable, nearly saintly by the standards of Hell and the Abyss. "You have proven…capable." 

Their brat chuckles. "You sing such high praises." Raphael frowns. "I am not too proud to seek an accord between us." 

Their initial instinct is to poke, prod, and tease because he is too proud. Haarlep drags the tips of the claws across his cheek instead. No, no, they will not tease. They've worn a slave's collar too long—sold from the Abyss, sold to the House, traded, traded, undervalued. And there is a degree of vengefulness and distaste, like bile. Haarlep's vanity is offended. 

"Shall we speak plainly?"

Haarlep kisses the corner of his mouth. "If you like." 

"I will see him dead." 

Raphael doesn't say who—doesn't need to. It hangs between them like a song. Haarlep shivers. The incubus rocks their hips against their brat, eyes lulling shut—pleasure, low and hot. "Yes."

"I will be king." 

The voice in their head laughs at this—a cambion will never sit as king. But there is an intoxicating sweetness, a whisper of potential, and what if. What if the boy-king killed him? What if he gained power? What if Haarlep was not beholden to the Lord of Contradictions? What if, what if?

It's potential. It tastes like the Abyss, evolution unbeholden to the Hells' rigid power structure. Haarlep groans against his lips, meaning the words. "Tell us how."

And they are pretty tales, childish, but they have merit. 

Haarlep keeps them. They are not for the Cold Lord. 

They have potential.

Haarlep thrives on potential, violence, lust—everything that is not of the Hells. And as much as his brat will rail against it…Raphael is not of the Hells. Not truly. Not entirely. Raphael is potential. 

And how sweet that tastes. Sweeter than the lordlings' breathy cries as Haarlep takes him, sweeter than the arms around them, sweeter than the violent peak of their pleasure. It speaks of an alliance, of evolution, of growth. 

And Haarlep welcomes its potential.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #haarlep #raphael x haarlep #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #my writing

[bunnibaby-love]

🎂 Zayne x F!Reader 🎂

♡ female reader + praises + make up sx + breeding + love making + lots of kisses

It was your anniversary with Zayne, you prepared a fancy dinner and doll up yourself for dinner date with him at home

Zayne is unusual to be late but now he's 3 hours late and you assume he got caught up in work and just forgot your anniversary. You tear up at your disappointment and starts cleaning up and you take a shot of the wine before going to sleep

Deep in your sleep, you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder that awakes you. "Sorry darling..." a whisper from Zayne lips and made you frown "I know you're up...please baby let's talk"

He leaned on the head board and put your whole body lay on his lap while you are in fetal position and held you

"Happy Anniversary baby...sorry i'm late. I did not forget...there was an emergency operation i cannot leave" he kisses your forehead and cheek while rubbing your back

"I'm home now, i love you please don't pout anymore" he slid a strawberry coated chocolate on your mouth and brush your hair with his finger

"M'upset...i cook food.. now it's cold on refrigerator and i doll myself up" you frown at him

"We can eat by later and you always look pretty baby...and i see your makeup still on" he kiss your nose "I just hate to see your mascara smudge from tears" Zayne wipes the smudge mascara on under your eyes "Mhm..."

He locks his lips with you and gives you a passionate kiss "sorry baby.." he mumbles between kisses and removes his glasses to kiss you more deep and passionate

You slid down your night rob to reveal your white lingerin "Dress up for you...." Zayne smirk seeing deep red hue on your cheeks

"So pretty darling..." his kisses went to your neck deeper on your chest "I'm such a fool for not just taking a leave.." Zayne untangles the strings of your lingerie and plays with your buds with his tongue

Zayne looks at your eyes and goes back on kissing your neck "Can i leave a hickey?" he whisper on your ear

"Mhm'kay...yes..." you take his opportunity to mark you from your neck, collarbone, chest and stomach. "I forgive you.. just...give me..." you palm his cock through his pants and he make you falls back on bed when you tried to sits up

"No...tonight is all about you and im making up to you baby. Let me do the work" Zayne smirks as he removes his dress shirt and unzip his pants "I know how much you love being submissive so im giving this to you pretty girl"

He slids down your panty and kneels down to laps your cunt "..Zayne!" you grab his hair to push his face deeper. He knows your weaknesses that you instantly squirm when he flicks his tongue on your clit and kisses your cunt "Wanna...wanna cum in your cock...."

Zayne bites your thigh last time before sitting up and push his cock into you. No matter how much you two did it, you still tears up from the stretch. "Sssh baby....you can take me...you already...be a good girl yeah?....yes you're such a good girl" He kissed your eyes and whispers to you "So pretty when you cry...this when i only want you crying dear"

Your nails dug dig on his back when he finally put his whole cock inside you "Mhm good baby...i know you're a good girl" his right hand gently grips your waist and his left hand to cup your cheeks then he started to thrust deep and slow "I love you so much baby..."

"Ngh...i love you much da...ngh!" you circle your arms over his nape "Please give me kisses.... kisses...please kisses" he chuckled knowing how much you love kisses during intimate and steamy moments. He kiss you passionately with roughness just how you love it everyday

"Cum..m..ming...." you said between kisses yet still not letting go of his nape

"Mhm yes baby...let it out..." he circle his right hands with yours and keep on kissing you till your orgasm explode "Aaa....mhm!"

You feel his orgasm coming soon as he sloppily thrust "Do you want a baby? does my baby wants her baby? our baby?" the thought clouded your thoughts "Whenever....i'm not here...we have a little one with you hmm?"

"Yes...please...please..fill me up...." a kiss on your forehead and he fills you up you can feel his cum on your stomach

You lay flat in bed very exhausted while Zayne goes straight to bathroom and got a towel to clean you up

After, he lays back behind your back and keeps on kissing your nape "I'm really sorry for tonight...i'll make up for today i promise" you curl up on your position so he can held you more on his body

"It's okay...i understand...i just wish you texted me first or maybe ask someone to tell me..so i won't worry" you can't hide the pout on your voice

"Yes...next time i promise...please go to sleep now...let's have a date tomorrow" he kissed your lips last time and held you tighter while you're on your back to him "I love you..."

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #zayne x reader #zayne smut

[kquil]

SIRIUS BLACK | MUSIC LOVER

request. : Hi love! Could you do one with sirius where, reader and him is in his dorm and reader asks him to put on music on (record player probably cuz they don't have phone) and he gets really insecure, bc what if she doesn't like his music. Buuuut when he sees her tap her foot along to the drums he gets soo happy, and when she mumbles along to his favorite song (i feel like is probably like dancing queen or sum) he just know he's found the person he's going to marry and he's just so happy and cute. If not that's totally fine! Take care 😘😘—@valencia-rou

g. : fluff ; muggleborn reader ; secretly pining sirius ; sirius being dramatic again ; reader isn't having it ; they're besties ; sirius is an ABBA lover ; reader is an ABBA lover too ; record player is the secret matchmacker

length : 0.6k

You sigh heavily and slump back into Sirius’ bed, putting aside your unfinished essay. This attracts the attention of the marauder, who was propped up against the headboard and flicking through a muggle book. 

“No progress, huh?” there was a touch of amusement in Sirius’ tone that made you frown deeper and raise a hand to hit his shin. As soon as the resonating slap echoed through the dorm room, Sirius immediately shouts in mock pain and brings his shin up to clutch at ‘painfully’, “Ow! The pain! Ahh!” he hisses dramatically as you roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips shyly from the display, “It hurts soooo much! Why would you do such a thing, Dollface?!”

“Stop playing Sirius…” he ignores your sass and continues his exaggerated but amusing spectacle. 

“I’ve never felt such agony before in my life!” he lifts the back of his hand to rest on his forehead, sweeping some of his hair to the side and swoons as he peaks an eye at you. In that brief moment, he sees your amused, disbelieving face and quickly formulates a plan, “this pain can only be calmed by a kis-”

“Music!” you gasp and stand from the bed as soon as you see the record player sitting atop a set of drawers beside a stack of books. It was a new addition to the room that Sirius had begged Remus to buy for him in the muggle world so it was fair that you were surprised to see it. Rushing to the record player, you see that there was a vinyl already inside and look up at Sirius with excitement. Lost in your elation, you miss the anxious look Sirius gives you, “Is this yours, Siri?”

“Uh, yeah,” 

His mind raced with insecurities as you examined the record player in an attempt to deduce its mechanics. You’re a muggleborn and probably had immaculate taste in muggle music compared to his limited knowledge. He wasn’t sure about how you’d react to his taste in artists and songs. 

“Can I have a listen?” you’re still admiring the record player and almost fail to notice how Sirius doesn’t answer right away. 

Turning to the marauder, you smile and tilt your head curiously, finally prompting him to answer, “go ahead…” he watches you turn to the record player again, “you just have to flip the switch on the right si—” 

ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ promptly begins to play, which makes Sirius wince. He was new to the group but he was quickly beginning to like them just as much as Queen. The grimace on his face wasn’t for distaste of the music, however, it was, rather, in anticipation for your judgement. 

“Oh my god! I love this song!” you squeal, jumping in place before you begin to sing along, swaying your hips and moving your shoulders to the beat. From your perfect citation of the lyrics, Sirius could very well argue that you love ABBA as much as he does, if not, more. Before he knew it, his worries were wiped away, long forgotten and you were pulling him up from the bed to dance together in the middle of the dorm. 

Sirius had no choice but to admit that you had never looked so lovely or cute. And to think that she couldn’t get any more perfect… he internally praises, grinning widely and happily dances with you

“Je vais l’épouser…” Sirius utters under his breath, still staring at you with an awestruck look on his face. 

“Hm? What was that Siri?” you ask, turning to look at him with an innocent tilt of your head, hips still moving to the music. 

“Nothing, Doll,” Sirius assures and kisses your forehead.

Translation : 

Je vais l’épouser — I’m going to marry her

navi.

a/n : sirius liking ABBA is canon in my book, sorry not sorry! what i am sorry for is the fact that it took me so long to write this adorable request! i'm so sorry, my love! i hope you liked it, it's short and sweet but so adorable!

taglist : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @rosaleenablack @samanddeansannoyingsis @marina468 @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius orion black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #📝 : request

[thaliathewriter]

Air is Overrated

this was basically inspired by me cause I’m very sick and have been in bed for the past 3 days

summary: you’re sick but your favorite blue boy is there to take care of you

pairings: Neteyam X fem omaticaya! Reader

warnings: fluff, kind of a make out at the end

I was currently locked up in my tent because I was sick. ‘ughhhh this sucks’ I thought, I felt like complete shit. I wanted to go back outside so badly to run around in the forest, go swimming with my friends, and maybe see a certain someone.

You honestly couldn’t wait for this cold to go away, neither could Neteyam. Oh Ewya that boy missed you so much. He visited everyday, but it wasn’t enough for him. You reminded him everytime he visited not to get too close because you’d rather die than give your blue boy a cold.

Every time he’d reach out to touch you, you’d flinch away from him telling him you’ refused to get him sick, even though he’d whine and protest everytime, he still listened to you, he always did.

He missed your warmth, your soft skin on him, the feeling of your lips on his, god he was so ready for the cold to go away. When Mo’at told him you were sick, that poor guy almost had a heart attack, he dropped everything he was doing, dropped his duties for that day, ignoring everyone’s complaints and stares as he bumped into them trying to get to your tent.

He ripped open the flap to your tent to see you lying on your bed, with a small cloth on your forehead. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the sight of you brought his anxiety down a little, but he was still worried about your health.

He rushed forward toward you “Baby” he caught your attention. You saw him and smiled and tried to get up to greet him but the pounding ache in your head caused you to immediately lay back down. He frowned “It's okay Princess don’t get up, I just wanted to see how my favorite girl was doing” he said in the softest voice while brushing back your hair.

He took the cloth off your forehead and felt for your temperature. His frown deepened when he felt how hot you were, he placed the cloth in the water in the bowl that wasn’t far from you, and quickly put it back on your forehead. “Is there anything I can do for you, Love?” He asked you while holding one of your hands. “Anything, anything at all, name it and it’s yours” he told you while kissing your knuckles.

With the hand he was kissing you started to caress his cheek, he leaned into your hand making you smile “You being here is enough, Nete”. He smiled and leaned down to you, he was surprised when he felt a flick on his forehead “Oi don’t get too close, are you crazy, you wanna get sick too?” You lightly scolded him. He laughed, of course even when you were sick you worried for him.

He spent the rest of the day with you, tending to your needs, giving you medicine Mo’at had prescribed you, just talking to you, it was actually refreshing to just sit and talk with you, he missed you so much prior to this. When night time came he literally refused to leave your side.

When Lo’ak was sent looking for him, for bedtime, he knew exactly where Neteyam would be, in your tent. Lo’ak opened up the flap of your tent to see you in bed sleeping while Neteyam was holding your hand, smoothing out your baby hairs, sitting next to your sleeping figure.

Lo’ak walked in quietly knowing Neteyam would have his head if he woke you up, “Bro '' he whispered quietly to Neteyam. Neteyam looked toward his brother and raised his finger to his mouth telling him to be quiet and pointed outside, Lo’ak got the hint and started to walk back out. Neteyam got up slowly making sure not to wake you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, before exiting your tent.

Once the 2 brothers were outside of your tent Neteyam’s soft aura was gone, replaced with an annoyed one, annoyed that he had to leave you. “What do you want?” Neteyam asked harshly, Lo’ak rolled his eyes ``Uh it's almost past curfew goody two shoes, you need to come home”. “No.” Neteyam answered back.

Lo’ak looked at his brother shocked, Neteyam never broke the rules, especially rules set by his parents, it’s like the roles were reversed tonight instead of Neteyam scolding Lo’ak for breaking the rules, tonight it was Lo’ak reminding Neteyam about the rules.

“What do you mean, No?” Lo’ak asked louder than he intended, Neteyam hissed under his breath dragging his brother further away from your tent “Can you talk softer? You’re gonna wake her up.” he said while looking in your tent to check on you, you were still sleeping, he smiled slightly, but it faltered when he saw you stir in your sleep.

Neteyam looks back at his brother, Lo’ak looking back expectantly, like he wanted an explanation. Neteyam sighs “Look bro she’s sick, no one’s gonna be here to keep an eye on her, you know how it is.”

Lo’ak knew. He knew how you didn’t have parents. He knew how much Neteyam loved you, how protective he was over you, for Ewya’s sake his parents practically raised you. Lo’ak knew his parents would understand Neteyam’s reasonings for not coming home that night. Lo’ak looked into your tent at your sleeping figure, now he was worrying for your health, you were one of his closest friends to, someone who actually listened and understood him.

Lo’ak sighed while placing a hand on his brothers shoulder “take care of her bro, mom and dad will skin you if you don’t, goodnight” Neteyam smiled at his words and pulled his brother into a small side hug while ruffling his head “night bro”. Neteyam wasted no time getting back to you, resuming his position from before.

You stirred in your sleep and you woke up sensing another presence next to you. Eyes fluttering open you were met with two pairs of eyes that you were far too familiar with. Neteyam caressed your cheek with one and held one of your hands with the other. “Hey baby, it’s just me princess, your favorite blue boy” he softly reassured you. You chuckled at his words, he hated that nickname.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead “Go back to sleep baby, I’ll be here, I’ll take care of you, I’ll always take care of you.” he smiles as you drift back to sleep, you always felt safe in his presence.

The next few days went by exactly like that, Neteyam tending to your needs, taking care of you, his baby. Even the rest of the Sullys came by, Jake calling Norm to run some tests on you, your head on Neytiri lap while she sang to you just like when you were younger, Lo’ak talking your ears off and furthering your headaches, Neteyam telling him to shut up, Kiri bringing you flowers cause she knows how much you miss exploring with her, and Tuk braiding your hair and laying in your lap.

Sooner or later you were as good as new and ready to get out of this damn tent. And that’s exactly what you did. You were running in the forest taking in the beauty of it, thanking Ewya for everything she gave to your people, to you. You looked back to see Neteyam chasing after you. You chuckled “keep up blue boy” you yelled back at him.

He smiled at his girl, he missed this, he missed when it was just you, him and the forest, surrounded by Ewya’s beauty. He eventually caught up to you and caught you by the waist. You were laughing like crazy, he knew you missed this too.

He turned you around to face him, his smile widened at the sound of your joyful laughter. “What? Is there something on my face?” you asked, noticing him staring at you. He chuckled and pulled you closer, starting to attack your face with a bunch of kisses. You giggled at his actions and laced your arms around his neck.

You yelped when he unexpectedly picked you up off the ground, his hands under your thighs, guiding your legs to go around his hips. You smiled when he looked up at you “hi blue boy” you teased and kissed his nose “hi sweet girl” he pulled your face towards him, meeting your lips in a soft kiss that soon turned sloppy.

You had no idea how long you’d been kissing, but then your lungs started to burn and you needed air, you reluctantly pulled away from him, but he was following your lips. You smiled and pulled away, while breathing hard “needed air” he scoffed playfully “air is overrated”

#avatar #avatar way of water #fluff #avatar 2 #neteyam sully #jake sully #neytiri sully #kiri sully #tuktirey sully #lo’ak sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine

[forlorn-crows]

𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 14: 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌

pairing(s): mountain/cumulus words: 829

special shoutout to @belle--ofthebrawl for the original inspo for this prompt. cause we all want snackies from a big schweepy guy <3

✿

“Luluuu . . .” Mountain’s congested voice carries weakly down the hallway. The bed creaks as he no doubt flops over to the other side of the mattress where she once was, his whine of disappointment sounding soon after. The air ghoulette shakes her head, pushing the door open. 

“What’s wrong, sunflower?” she coos, placing the steaming mug of honey green tea onto the nightstand. 

Mountain’s face scrunches up into a frown, eyes squeezing shut. His cheeks bare imprints of his pillow, and when he lifts his head up she can see his upper lip is shiny with mucus, and the corner of his mouth coated in drool. His ear flicks at the disheveled hair falling over it.

“You lef’ me,” he mumbles. “Woke up and you weren’ cuddlin’ me.” Clearly, he’s still highly feverish, if his combination mumbling/whining is anything to go by.

Cumulus just smiles. She thinks it’s cute, Mountain complaining like a human man with a cold. He’d never be so whiny otherwise.

“I went to get you more tea, baby,” she soothes, whipping up a cool breeze to waft over his forehead. He hums and plops his chin down onto the pillows. Cumulus huffs a laugh and sits down beside him. “You were snoring up a storm, didn’t think you’d wake up before I got back.” 

“Hmpf.” Mountain tosses the blanket over his head and turns around dramatically, pretending to shut her off. 

“I bring you tea, and this is the thanks I get?” she says, mock offended. 

There’s a pause. The earth ghoul peeks his head around his shoulder, side-eyeing her and the mug. “ . . . wha’ kind?”

Cumulus smiles softly. Leans in a little like she’s telling a secret. “Green tea with honey. A lemon slice. Don’t tell anyone, but I also put a dash of honeysuckle syrup in it, because I know my baby loves it.”

Mountain trills, ears perking up. “Gimme,” he demands, shuffling to sit up against the approximately five different pillows he’d stashed for optimal sleeping. He holds his hands out and scrunches them in the air. Cumulus hands the mug to him carefully to make sure he doesn’t drop it.

“Aethe warmed the water for me, so if it’s too hot, I’m innocent,” she chirps.

Mountain’s mouth turns down and his eyebrows turn up in the middle. “Aww,” he says appreciatively. He smiles down at the steaming liquid. “Aef . . .” 

“You know he always has to help.” 

Mountain hums in agreement. He takes an experimental sip, groaning when the hot tea slides easily down his throat. He takes a big gulp and closes his eyes after, sighing heavily and smiling at the ceiling. “Yummy,” he compliments. “‘S nice. Warm.” 

“I’m glad, baby,” she lilts, running her nails through his hair. It earns her a happy rumble, Mountain’s tail pitching up the blankets where it’s buried under the many layers. They share a pleasant, quiet moment: Mountain sipping on his tea and Cumulus scritching in all his favorite places. 

The peace of it is nearly broken, however, when Mountain’s eyes start to droop, and he nearly tips the mug over into his lap when his grip starts to go as lax as his jaw. 

“Oh!—hun, you’re gonna—” the air ghoulette saves the mug just before it slips from his fingers, hardly spilling a drop. 

Mountain snorts and jolts his head upright. “Huh?” 

“Didn’t want you to spill,” she says, setting the mug back onto the nightstand. “Sleepy boy.”

He blinks slowly, eyes lingering shut for just long enough that Cumulus is momentarily convinced he’s fallen right back asleep sitting up. “You made me seepy,” he accuses. Leaving out the ‘l’ like a kit unable to pronounce it any other way. 

Cumulus cuddles up, tucking him back into the blankets and pulling him to her chest. “Maybe seepy pup needs his rest then,” she says softly, scritching around his horns this time. He grumbles, but goes down easily. “There you go, baby,” she smiles. The grumble turns into a purr soon enough anyway, so it’s safe to say it was all token protest. 

Mountain mumbles something, twisting his body so he faces her instead. He looks up at her expectantly, despite the fact he aimed all of his words directly into her belly. 

“Yeees?” 

There’s that pout again, fever-addled brain continuing to render him as hopelessly cute. “Kissy, Lus,” he says, as if she heard him perfectly clear the first time. He wriggles his face closer to hers. 

“You’re sick. Nooo kissy on the lips.” She boops him on the nose with her finger. “You may have an air kiss, and I’ll make it feel just like the real thing.”

Mountain grumbles again, squinting at her.

“Sicky equals no kissy. I promise you as many kisses as you want when you’re better, okay, baby?”

The earth ghoul flops onto his back with a sigh. The end of it catches in his throat, though, and he’s sent into a coughing fit, squashing any further complaints. 

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

#mushy may 2024 #the band ghost fanfic #cumulus ghoulette #mountain ghoul #cumulus/mountain #mountain/cumulus #cumulus x mountain #mountain x cumulus #the band ghost #ficlet #mushy may #sick fic #he's just sick and confused and whiny and eepy okay #lus will pet him until he falls asleep and snores like a freight train its fine