#'silly what are you talking about' listen listen listen i am forever cursed knowing that junpei likes Fuuka ENOUGH that if you don't have- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kentopedia · 3 months

Note

I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”

#kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

1K notes · View notes

landgraabbed · 11 months

Text

thank you for tagging me @irrewilderer! it’s a sims q&a thingamajig, under the cut! i will be very longwinded bc that’s how i roll

01: what’s your favorite sims death? the one you had when you got cursed by a mummy in ts3 world adventures. there is a lot of skeeviness around that whole pack, but i remember stumbling onto it in gameplay and it being deeply fucked up in a way recent installments refuse to match

02: alpha cc or maxis match? i lean maxis mix-ish but i don’t care about which way people lean ngl

03: do you cheat when your sims gain weight? this is a weird question and as someone who is experiencing a resurgence in [redacted] i think that whoever made this originally should be ashamed of themself.

04: do you use move objects? yes, no default sims grid placement may satisfy my hoarding tendencies.

05: favorite mod? ts2 needs a suite of mods to encourage it to not self-explode, but i am an acr enjoyer. with the right tuning it makes sims not breed like rabbits but have their own autonomy and people of interest that i find very enjoyable

06: first expansion/game/stuff pack you got? i believe that i got ts1 bundled with some expansion pack? so whichever one came after that until dad got tired and learned how to pirate so i could enjoy games hehe

07: do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing? alive, i don’t care if it’s the wrong way

08: who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? it has to be jess. it’s silly but writing her at times allows me to work through some shit of my own.

09: have you made a simself? i never cared to until i got me a wife who lives very far away from me hehe

10: what sim traits did you give yourself? no idea tbh, i forgot (i reek of ts3 absent minded trait)

11: what is your favorite EA hair color? the witching hour defaults and addon palette by pyxis my beloved

12: favorite EA hair? no friggin’ idea my dude

13: favorite life stage? this question would only make sense if eaxis put any thought into life stages other than young/adult since the release of the generations ep. but i’ve recently been reminded of how fun the ts2 teens are.

14: are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? is build/buy not a gameplay function? i can’t build to save my life but i enjoy decorating and live mode (in ts2 mostly)

15: are you a CC creator? as need and want hit me

16: do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? LMFAO what kinda question is this!! no i don’t have a simblr avengers squad or anything and i’m over caring about it. there’s people in the community i’m fond of but i’m not trying to join or create a clique

17: what’s your favorite game? listen. i am going to obtusely pretend that this isn’t a sims interrogatory and talk about the games that have my heart right now bc i can’t choose a single game. you have been warned.

now and forever, the games that miyazaki has directed at fromsoftware, particularly the souls series and bloodborne (i haven’t played elden ring yet but i KNOW i will adore it) are very special to me. bloodborne is a masterpiece. and i am sad that discourse has morphed these games into everything that’s wrong with Gamers and Gatekeeping. the games and the 99% of the community aren’t about that. i walked into them as someone who’d mostly played games casually but loved the games that approach storytelling indirectly. i fell in love with the marriage of gameplay and theming. i love how miyazaki approaches storytelling as an act of archaeology. the world was there long before you. you’re a nobody. things are bleak and you can’t get a straight answer out of anything, but you have other people going through it with you. you can imbue meaning and history into things, and that is beautiful. and i am bitter that one can’t say that the games don’t need an easy mode without being deemed a gatekeeper. (the games were designed with multiplayer that allows other players to cooperate with you and help you. there are gameplay styles that make things easier. all out of the box)

i am a known tes lover but morrowind is the apple of my eye. it’s weird listening to essays about modern day open world design and its pitfalls and to see how morrowind largely circumvents these issues, all the way back in 2002. the lore is amazing and once more it places a large chunk of the meaning making on the player’s hands. vvardenfell is a wonderful region of morrowind and i enjoy the diverse landscapes from the humid and mysterious bitter coast, the harsh ashlands, and the welcoming breadbasket which are the ascadian isles (lovely until you stumble upon the plantations). the exploration and navigation are unmatched and nothing will ever match the skill that is navigating the world through in game directions and learning the silt strider, boat, and stronghold routes. not to get into mark/recall/almsivi and divine intervention. you arrive at vvardenfell as a stranger and the world is hostile, but as the character becomes more familiar with the land you the player master the transversal and that’s honestly some sexy marriage of theming and gameplay. some aspects have aged horribly which is why these days i play with the amazing sexual harassment remover mod.

i think everyone owes it to themself to play outer wilds (NOT worlds). it plays into the strengths i mentioned above. i can’t say much because it ruins the purpose of the game. it’s a tender bastard of a game that makes me so happy that i am alive at a time i can play it and makes me cry every time i listen to tracks from its ost. the writing is maybe the best i have ever witnessed in any art form (“the pain of your absence is sharp and haunting, and i would give anything to not know it; anything but never knowing you at all (which would be worse)”). just play it. i wish i could hire someone to bonk me on the head and give me selective amnesia so i could play it for the first time again. just. play. it.

there’s more, like octopath traveler which is quickly climbing through the ranks, darkest dungeon, pillars of eternity, project zomboid, dragon’s dogma, journey, and more

also, it’s ts2.

18: do you have any sims merch? ew, no

19: do you have a youtube for sims? ew, no

20: how has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? it has, but i’m not quite sure i can describe it? it’s been decades of sims so of course it’s changed.

21: what’s your origin id? come back with a warrant

22: who’s your favorite cc creator? i am a known sforzcc simp

23: how long have you had a simblr? wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy (too long)

24: how do you edit your pictures? i use Very Legitimate photoshop. these days i just run a photopeia action that gives it some color aberration and slap some noise on it.

25: what expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? i love sims 2 freetime? hobbies are such a great addition to the game that just fits in seamlessly with the rest of the game

26: what expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? the eaxis stop shoving shit into ts4 and fix issues and let the modders have it pack

#p #tag stuff #i should apologize for the essay but like. that's me #i just am chatty when it comes to games

20 notes · View notes

skeptiquewrites · 2 years

Text

Microfic Process: Pt 2

In part one I talked a little bit of how I write microfics, but here's an example with the latest prompt, by request of @tackytigerfic. This is how this process plays out in all the detail you could want about how I write them. Possibly too much detail, you decide.

So the latest prompt is ‘found.’ The first thing that comes to mind is lost & found, but that’s not really much to write anything about. I told a personal story earlier this week about how my elementary school made you wear a cardigan out of the lost and found when you forgot yours, which I did frequently as a very absentminded kid, but the idea of writing about Harry getting more hand-me-downs than he’s already had in his life makes me sad. Idea tossed.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Arctic Monkeys since I now have AM on vinyl, and there’s the lyric, “I’m not sure if I should/show you what I found” in Fireside. It’s about a past relationship, and the places you have/had together. A better concept than lost and found.

Some structure stuff then, which is that I like to vary formats and POVs a little. I’ve done dialogue only as my last so that’s out, and I don’t feel like doing a text fic. I lean third person and Harry POV, so let’s go with first person and Draco.

“I had ended the argument by saying it was my house.” Eugh. Don’t love that. Starting over.

“I told him to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him. I didn't know then that he would stay." I like the first sentence but not the second.

“I told him to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him. Little did I know, he could be gone and here at the same time. It's the worst kind of curse.” Eh, not sold on the last sentence. Deleting. But I like the idea it’s one of those curses they have cast on each other. What’s the lyric from Chicago Is So Two Years Ago by Fall Out Boy? Right, “The only thing you’ll get is this curse on your lips/I hope they taste of me forever.”

I’ve also read the word lintel recently and after Googling I know I haven’t mistaken it for another word. Maybe. I’m thinking of the way my mom when I moved into any house after leaving hers, she came over and burned incense and blessed every doorway. I thought it was silly, but lately I find it comforting.

“I told him to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him. Little did I know, he could be gone and here at the same time. Every doorway and window is like Harry kissed his fingertips against them” 38 words. Don’t like the word window, it disrupts the flow. Second sentence is wobbly but may well proceed.

Okay. “I told him to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him. Little did I know, he could be gone and here at the same time. It feels like Harry kissed his fingertips and pressed them against every lintel.” 41 words. Obviously this is a ghost metaphor, but if I use the word ghost it’s too obvious. Harry’s still alive just not with him. No MCD today, friends, spooky season or not.

Also Harry’s name is mentioned too late for my liking and why did I add a comma? Going to change the spacing. I think arguments themselves are not very interesting (see: Simple Things), but I should hint at something.

“I told Harry to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him.

Little did I know he could be gone and here at the same time. It feels like Harry kissed his fingertips and pressed them against every lintel.

But if Harry can't promise to come home safe, it's for the best.”

54 words. Eh, I don’t really love Harry is in danger as a reason for them to have had a real barn burner of an argument.

“I told Harry to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him.

Little did I know he could be gone and here at the same time. It feels like Harry kissed his fingertips and pressed them against every lintel.

It's for the best, I remind myself, if he wouldn't say it back.”

54 words. I like this better but that last sentence is a bit unwieldy. Also I think ‘it’ is a bit too vague. It’s about I love you, but I don’t really think that’s the argument either. But it is context so:

“I told Harry to get out, that I couldn't stand the sight of him.

Little did I know he could be gone and here at the same time. It feels like Harry kissed his fingertips and pressed them against every lintel.

Then again, he'd never said he loved me back.”

50 words. And I’ll read them out loud. Sounds good. I even avoided lingering, my favourite word and starting a sentence with but. Checking the tenses again. Usually tagging gives enough context, and I’ll note it’s just a break up. I do like Lost and Found as a title even if I didn’t use it to write this. I could use What I Found. Actually, I like that better. Will credit. And that’s one microfic done.

Here it is.

#about writing #microfic process

34 notes · View notes

junipaca · 4 months

Text

jotting my thoughts on pokemon rejuv so far since im just finished battling hazuki.

likes:

hell yeah more utilization of double battle scenarios. those are my jam and butter i have so much fun calculating who's gonna target who and what the fuck should i go for. I'd like to thank my cinccino and weavile. fakeout helping hand combos so well with my tanky or fast sweeper pokemon.

the field options and crest system are cool as hell. its gen rlly creative and i had to get used to it and use my brain, it throws a wrench in usual pokemon play and style. it also lifts some underutilized pokemon! its manageable though. and the boss battles were gen rlly cool! rift pokemon my beloved. rlly hard in the beginning but i learned to cheese it eventually (curse + leech seed + whirlpool + toxic with corrosion)

the difficulty i think is spiked p well, its good enough that you aren't out of options, almost never, but you got to use your head around certain teams and foes. EV training is a MUST, luckily there are EV training centers. i hate IV hunting so i used the password for full 31 IVs all the way . you also need some basis of pokemon competitive i'd say.

speaking of passwords those are gen rlly nice to use, saves some time. i got a remote pc with me and that saves like 50% of the handling when preparing for a boss battle.

the aevian forms are so cool. my fav has been probably chandelure and leavanny so far but i just caught a feebas so who knows. i also have a gastrodon who's so silly i love that design

god the characters are so nice. i love the individuality of each character presented to the player, and you kind of got to twist one part to get to the other and know why the first part was twisted. that being said, if you asked who my favs are its adam ren and talon. silly dudes. but i also know i would EAT this up in my younger years a lot more. but even now i still adore them. found family is dear and nice, especially well done for a large cast jesus fuck

also worldbuilding. i don't want to say more but woah. good job.

i adore [REDACTED] very dearly and i have to apologize every time i see them. i wish i got to know them more. hopefully more appearances later??????

iffy stuff:

i want to like venam and melia's relationship a lot more than i do now. i think its just uncertainty with their previous known age gap before the time skip? eh.

I'm. very confused about Risa's whole schtick. i don't want to say more than now because spoilers and all. but i think too much information got laid on with that arc that my brain exploded there. wish it was just a bit clarified or so . (also is she 18 or 21??????? the internet and the game confuse me. this matters because i have to know whether to sock dylan or not)

some of the sidequest lines are misleading. they say "go to [here]" and when i go there nothing happens. its only when i search up the issue online is when i find out that i have to do Something Else first. just wish it was more clarified or such? if that makes sense? its like someone told you to go to the field or smth but didn't say you had to talk to the lady at the building first.

honestly i think the story confusions i have now are going to wait until The End of this game because rn it isn't fully complete. i will wait as long as needed until everything releases before i can make a full assessment. like. this has so much work put into this game. for FREE. NOTHING OF COST. like holy shit i can wait forever and ever. i have 130+ hours into this game. i can't believe this is nothing of cost. so a positive note here in this category.

comments:

honestly ive seen a ton of critique towards this game, so i was sort of jumping around trying to assess how hard it was going to be and whether or not i would be actually interested. i'm delighted to say i am. key note: don't listen to reddit when they say "too edgy". i know my edgyness. i i also quite enjoy some of it. i think its a matter of taste.

if you try out this game do have. a lil handful of pokemon experience in terms of speed, sweeping, and tanks. i think some basic knowledge there would go a long way. then again i played normal mode, there is an easier mode if i remember. either way, get ready to strategize.

also rec me more games im almost caught up w everything pretty please i need something to occupy my brain.

#a juni juno ramble

0 notes

rize-is-writing · 1 year

Note

hello!! i found you in the tags and i found your little match-ups to be very cute, so i wanted to give it a try. it's my first time writing one of these sooo.. hehe.. 👉👈

would it be ok to ask for a romantic genshin matchup? they/them for me, i don't really have a gender preference, but i do have a type, if it's of help in narrowing the selection: it's the serious type.. or the silly little weird ones.. uuu.. swoon ( ◡‿◡ *)

i'm an adult!! on the younger side of.. adultism. AHAH, sooooo!!! i'm an infp, melancholic temperament. i resonate with the latter quite a bit. if one could deduct anything from those, it's that i'm the dreamer type. i like to introduce myself as a polite, very not-special person, but that is a facade i cannot upkeep for more than two weeks, because i am.. incredibly jumpy and affectionate when i'm used to the person i'm with. like my anxiety just vanishes for a bit and i will take their hands and i will start twirling them to street music (and that's a true story). i can say i'm creative—nothing uncommon in this sphere, but i'm an artist—i like trying all sorts of mediums and forms of art, from embroidery to gouache to playing bass, so i can say confidently that i have really good hands!! when i'm not spacing out, at least. i've been cursed with airheadedness and a severe case of daydreamer—i am often stuck in my own head thinking about whatever's on topic, the real world sometimes just floats over my head. i try my best to be there when it's necessary! when someone needs me there, i'll be there with one call. aaaaaa i consider myself your average eccentric!! not strange among the strange, but not entirely fitting with the average crowd. but i like my own category, because that means i can define it myself!! ^_^ i am not often outside and i don't make many connections, but the ones i do are treasured forever.

aside from that, anything else remarkable.. i don't think much. one thing that gets noticed about me a lot is.. well, my airheadedness, the horrible observations of me being 159cm, the fact that i am always on the verge of falling asleep. the pain of having to accustom my nocturnal brain to these diurnal schedules.. ✊️ additionally, some things i like are.. cute cats (i have one <3), scary stories even though they give me nightmares, and i enjoy gothic style and music a very "normal" amount.. what i hate is repetitiveness, mostly.

i hope this is not too long!! i have a bad habit of talking a lot hehe, i never know when to stop.. feel free to discard this if it's too much, i do not mind!! either way, i hope you're having a great day today, take caaaaaareeeeee!! <3

I found your match! Come to meet them, c'mon c'mon!

You sound like a bubbly and fun person, imagining you and Yoimiya talk with each other seems rather fun, given the habit of both of you to talk quite a bit!

Is always easy to talk with Yoimiya about anything and absolutely nothing at all, you can jump from a topic to another, and that would still make sense to Yoimiya as you two talk. With her cheerful, bubbly and easy going personality is easy to approach her about anything, and anxiety would float away like a small cloud. She for sure falls under the "silly one" type of category, a goofy wonderful girl! You two would just dance randomly around the streets, as you said you would do (and did) and Yoimiya would for sure just be okay with that and partecipate wholeheartedly.

Yoimiya would absolutely admire your talents, probably would stare at your works and insist to listen while you play music. This girl is you numer one fan and supporter!

Don't think she would be much bothered by your airheadness, she's there for you if you ever get distracted too much and for sure would love to hear any fleeting thoughts you can have.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact matchup #genshin matchups #genshin impact yoimiya #genshin yoimiya #yoimiya x reader #matchups

0 notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

I’ve had this scenario in my head for awhile based on obey me’s chapter 20 when Asmo is drunk and begging the MC not to leave. I’ve always imagined an alternate scenario where the MC has to take him home and put him to bed because he’s drunk, but it’s all just an act to get the MC to have their guard down so he can grab them, mark them, and claim them. so he can prevent them from leaving the next day. (You can write this as either a scenario or your thoughts because I really just wanted to share my ideas with someone and I enjoy your characterization of him ❤️)

Ooooh, that’s a good one for Asmo, really fits him! Thanks for requesting, I am glad you enjoy my characterization ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

“Noooo~!”

A sigh fell off your lips as you had to listen to Asmo’s whining. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy having his full attention on you, all the way from Hell’s Kitchen home to the House of Lamentation. But Asmodeus was such a needy drunk that once you helped him sit down on the bed, you realized you really could need a break from his clinginess. However, he only kept grabbing on to the sleeves of your shirt, keeping you awkwardly leaning above him.

There were tears in his eyes, and you were pretty sure that even drunk, Asmodeus wouldn’t risk ruining his make-up with crocodile ones. Even if you wished he wouldn’t react so harshly to it, you kind of understood his reaction. You two had become so close over the last year, it wasn’t easy for you either to have to say goodbye to your friend, now that you had to go back to your world.

Only an hour before had he admitted that he didn’t want to lose you, and you didn’t either, but both of you knew that friendships sometimes drifted apart when there was distance between two people. At least for you, life went on, and new adventures would rise before you, and Asmo wouldn’t always be part of them. It was the painful truth that every human had to learn at some point, and it seemed to scare Asmo even more than it scared you. His life was different from this, and the unknown was something a demon didn’t deal lightly with.

“Heh, what are you thinking about?” Asmo asked, letting go of you with one hand to instead bring his finger up to draw over your features. “You’re getting wrinkles here-” he tapped your forehead, “- here-” the outer corners of your eyes,” - and here.” This time he didn’t let his finger linger as he reached your lips, instead pinching your chin and pulling you down unexpectedly, bodies colliding as he led you to his own lips.

Before you had the chance to gather your thoughts, Asmodeus flipped you two over, pinning you down as the kiss stayed locked in place. You only realized briefly that he had way too much experience when it came to laying on beds, this being a dangerous terrain in favor of your - not really - enemy on hand. Even if this wasn’t how you wanted to end things with him, you could feel the vibration in his lips, the longing, desire, fear. Asmodeus didn’t care about losing his one-night stands and flirts, but he was scared of losing you, the only one he ever let close enough to his heart to challenge him to new heights and hurt him more than insecurities ever could.

This kiss meant everything to him, even if it didn’t mean the same to you.

Even if you thought about pulling away, you weren’t in a position to easily slip out of the caress. You listened to his heavy breaths, felt the pressure of his lips doting on yours, and tasted the bittersweetness of the alcohol in the cocktails he drank. But once the initial height of the kiss passed, Asmo managed to snap back to his senses all by himself. At least, that’s what you thought when you caught his eyes as he finally opened them again. He almost seemed hurt, and by seeing your own reflection in his irises, you recognized that you didn’t seem as into what he was doing as Asmodeus was just a moment ago.

It was probably the moment he realized he had nothing to keep you by his side with. The pact you had would disappear once the year was over, you didn’t reciprocate his love the same way, and your mind was set on leaving instead of staying with him. All this was what Asmodeus could make out and seemingly hadn’t realized until right then.

“I’m sorry...” he mumbled, his eyes darkening. His hands pinning you vanished, but he couldn’t be bothered lifting his weight off your hips. “It’s okay,” you mumbled, turning your head away, unsure what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, but you knew it would only make it harder for you two if you reassured him now.

Asmodeus slowly folded into himself on top of you, head falling to your shoulder. For a moment, you wondered if he had just fallen asleep on top of you. But you rather quickly noticed the shaking of his body and the feeling of wet, hot tears soaking into your shirt. “What do I do?” he asked, even his sobs sounding elegant. He was pretty even when he was crying, and you couldn’t help but find that ironic. “I know I should, but I just can’t let you go...”

Raising your arm to his back, you calmly comforted him. It was hard not to join his crying, but you reckoned Asmodeus was drunk and overly emotional. You should save your tears for when the real goodbye would be and not confirm him in his fears and sadness. “I’ll come visit!” you promised, trying to sound chipper. Asmodeus, however, was quick to shake his head, muttering, “That’s not enough.”

“We can see each other on the weekends! You can come and sleep over at my place!” But even that suggestion was met with a headshake and a curt, “No.”

Sighing, you realized you were talking with a wall. It was hard enough to convince yourself everything would be alright, but he acted like a child trying to get his will.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Asmodeus stirring on top of you. At least, not until you felt rows of teeth dig into the supple flesh between your shoulder and neck. You flinched, the pain only worsening, using your hands to shove Asmo hard, but he wouldn’t let go, as if his jaw was locked in place. “What the fuck-!” you cursed when he finally let go, sitting up straight. The sight of tears still rolling down his cheek didn’t fit the menacing or even crazed expression he had on his face, and it made your blood freeze all over as your eyes fell to his lips.

Even though he quickly licked it up, the unnerving sight of blood was enough to freak you out more. Your hand rose to the bite immediately, and as you drew it back, you clearly had the fluid smeared all over your palm. “What’s the meaning of this?!” you yelled at him, but Asmodeus remained calm, only grabbing your wrist before licking the blood off your fingers. Ceremoniously even.

“I don’t want you to leave, and I know you don’t want to leave me too,” he announced as a matter of fact.

“Well, I am sure as hell reconsidering that--” you tried to retort, but you were quickly interrupted by his face closing in only inches to you, Asmodeus eyes glowing as you realized he had involved magic in all of this. Even if his charming eye contact didn’t work on you, you could immediately feel the tingling in your hand where he had licked the blood from, and glancing at it, you saw the outlines of a pact.

“Let’s never part, okay?”

An unhinged, eery smile crossed his lips, the pact lit up as it finished, and you couldn’t think quickly enough before it settled in your palm, the permanent sigil embedded in it. Asmo sighed in satisfaction, bringing your hand to his cheek and nuzzling into your still tingling palm as you stuttered, “How could you do this?!”

“Blood magic is strong,” he chuckled. “Stronger than anything. Strong enough to go through everything, and if I unite it with my lovely magic, it’s strong enough so only one party needs to seal the deal. Lovely, isn’t it? So now we can be together forever, isn’t that what we always wanted?”

“N-No, I didn’t want it like this--” you tried to argue, but he turned his head towards you, and you froze. With streaks of blood sullying his pretty face, it suddenly made you realize that this was no lighthearted miss-step or him being silly. This had been planned, conducted, and completed. He had always wanted to bind you to him and wasn’t even bothered by how ugly it made him look - he, of all people!

“I just love you so much, you know? We have to be together, and now we can! I will always be with you!”

Leaning forward, your eyes shot to his mouth, and you could see the tiny rip he had made himself to his lip to form the blood pact. Everything he stood for, everything he embodied, seemed to have disappeared now that it came to you.

“My Darling ~” he sighed and kissed you again, letting the heaviness of the situation sink and fester into your brain.

You wouldn’t get out of this pact anytime soon.

Maybe even not in this life.

410 notes · View notes

cower-before-power · 3 years

Text

Slippery When Wet: Part 2

Summary: An untimely accident in the shower leaves you injured and in need of rescue. Lucky for you, the object of your affections is more than willing to help.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, nudity, implied sexual content, description of injury (nothing graphic), unintentional voyeurism? (idk i mean like voyeurism in the name of helping i’m not sure how to say it ha), lots of dick talk, prolly really bad sex jokes

Link to A03 here

PART 1 HERE

A/N: First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED AND COMMENTED ON PART 1. You are all amazing, I am so glad you are enjoying this silly little venture Gojo has dragged me on. Again, thank you so much to @ghost-party for her beta skills, you da best! I hope Part 2 makes you all happy :) please enjoy, sweet potatoes!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You shouldn’t look. Not because you don’t want to, but if you do you’ll know what is absolutely not warming your bed at night and then you’ll probably just feel worse. But, you were overwhelmingly curious. Just a quick look couldn’t hurt.

Right?

You peek through your fingers, just at his upper half. The sight makes you curse softly under your breath. Of course he’s absolutely beautiful out of clothes, did you really expect anything less?

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll get dressed,” he says, “just thought this would help you out.”

Help you out? Good grief this is going to be the star of your late night fantasies for months. Because instead of dreaming it up, you now have the real thing to recall.

“No,” you take a deep breath and drop your hands. “I’m fine.”

Are you though? He’s built to perfection, checking off all the boxes on your “Things I find physically attractive” checklist. You marvel at this long column of his throat, sweeping down into a set of collarbones that would make models die of envy. His chest is hairless (did he wax or was it just naturally that way?), miles of smooth skin and muscle that your fingers were just itching to trace.

Your eyes trail down past his stomach, briefly cataloging the very nice set of abs, before settling on what you were the most curious about.

The snort of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Excuse me, did you just look at my dick and laugh?” He asks accusingly, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle at the disgruntled expression on his face. “It’s just, I’ve always wondered if the carpet matched the drapes since I assumed you dye your hair. Guess I was wrong.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru visibly deflates.

“That’s what you’ve thought about?” His voice is full of frustrated disbelief. “My pubic hair?”

You can’t stop giggling. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious! Are you sure you shouldn’t get rid of it though? Doesn’t the white make people think they’re boning an old man?”

“The utter disrespect,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I can assure you that is the last thing on their minds when I’m working my magic.”

You wonder why you aren’t feeling more flustered. The fun and teasing atmosphere feels almost refreshing after the intense back and forth that was just occurring.

“What, you casting spells for dry weather?”

“Oh, you are evil!” He moans, then looks down at himself. “Don’t listen to her, big guy. You know what you can do.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk to it,” you roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “And don’t oversell the merchandise. It’s average, at best.”

(It isn’t. It’s probably the nicest looking one you’ve ever seen. But him and his astronomical ego do not need to know that)

Gojo grabs his chest as if you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch! Shots fired, target annihilated!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you sigh. You wonder if he notices the quiet fondness in your voice.

He opens his mouth as if to retaliate, but then suddenly shuts it. A look comes over his face as if he’s just remembered something very interesting and important.

“Hey,” he says, and you watch his mouth spread into a smile. “You said you’d wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. That means you definitely imagined me naked at least once.”

And your blush is back.

“What of it?” You huff, cross your arms and looking away. “It’s only natural. I’ve thought of lots of people naked.”

“Do you ever imagine sleeping with me?”

The question causes you to choke on your breath.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

You take a look at him, standing naked and unashamed in front of you. His smile is different; there’s a sultry edge to it you’ve never seen before.

“Maybe inquiring minds should stuff it,” you stick out your tongue. Immature, but he’s got you feeling all funny now.

“Well, I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, actually.”

Your heart misses a beat in your chest.

“You have?” Your voice squeaks as you force the words out.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You consider the question. You’ve got insecurities, but you know you are a decent looking person. And despite his flightiness about many things, Gojo has actually never given you the impression that he’s shallow in that way.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I guess I just never considered the possibility that you were interested in me in that way.”

He sighs. “Pumpkin, I’m not blind. You are stupidly attractive. Every time we’re out in Tokyo you’ve got a million guys and gals staring at you.”

“I just always assumed they were staring at your and your stupid blindfold,” you scrub at your cheeks with your palms, trying to rid yourself of some of the perplexing confusion you feel swirling inside you. “How come you’ve never made a move?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

You want to shout at him, to say of course yes a thousand times yes, but you pause. You realize you’ve never given him any signals, any hint that he was more than just your often annoying friend. Sure, you blushed at his silly flirting, but so did lots of people.

You shift back through your interactions, all the missions, the late night hang outs, the strolls through the city. Nowhere can you find any instant where your ever expanding feelings might have risen to the surface. But still, would your seeming indifference deter him? He was a very self assured man, after all.

“You have confidence coming out your ass, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t make a move anyways, just to see,” you say instead.

His whole demeanor softens. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Oh.

OH.

And you know exactly what he means. It’s why you’ve never said anything, why you forced your desires deep down into the pit of your being when in his presence.

It seems even the strongest shaman could be afraid of something.

“It’s not just about fucking, is it?” You ask, feeling your whole body start to tremble.

“It was never just about fucking,” he replies, and it’s like the universe explodes before your very eyes. “Why do you think I spend all my free time with you?”

“To annoy me?” You croak feebly. “To eat all my snacks? To enjoy torturing me by spoiling the end to every movie we watch?”

He chuckles. “Just side bonuses. Being with you is the real prize, pumpkin.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and your brain whirs like an overworked laptop. You’re having trouble processing that this is actually happening, that the man you’ve been pining after for what feels like forever is really standing there, confessing his own feelings.

Buck ass naked.

“You’ve got two options right now,” Gojo takes a step closer to you, and you shiver at the dominant aura that suddenly swirls around him. “Either I get dressed and we put today behind us, or I come over there and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name. Make your choice.”

Was there even a choice? There was only one option. A slow, warm feeling blooms in the middle of your chest and spreads outwards, dousing your whole shaking body in molten yearning. It’s not a new feeling, but the sensations are different. Because now you can give in to it.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out, breathless and giddy. “Get the fuck over here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

A flash of a savage grin, the soft thump of footsteps and then you are numb to everything but him.

He tastes like sugary coffee and chapstick, lips hard and hot against yours as he kisses you like he’ll die if he stops. He’s everywhere at once, in all your senses, drowning you in his onslaught of desirous fervour. It’s not a timid kiss of new sweethearts; it’s a passionate embrace of long overdue lovers.

Your hands run over every inch of him they can reach, mapping the ridges and valleys of his exposed skin. His own slip beneath your shirt to spread across your back, crushing you to him with a grip of iron. It’s not enough; you want them everywhere, you want him everywhere, until he’s branded onto your body. Until you no longer know where you end and he begins. Until he’s sunken himself into your very bones.

You need to breathe- you pull away with a gasp, one gossamer thread of saliva lazily trailing after you.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You pant, digging your nails into his arms. He’s unwilling to keep his mouth off you, now pressing scalding kisses along your jaw.

“Blame it on mutual stupidity,” he sighs into your skin, teeth slightly grazing the spot just below your ear. “Let’s make up for lost time, eh?”

“I’m game,” you say, a soft whine leaving your lips as he works steadily on what is sure to become a bruise.

“Good,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across the blossoming mark before leaning back to smirk at you. “Have to make you take back all your snarky comments about me and my game.”

You giggle. “Oh, so you’re saying it won’t be as dry as a desert ‘round here?”

“Well let me just check tonight’s weather report,” he laughs, grinning cheekily as he slips a hand down between your legs, brushing gently over the front of your underwear. You bite your lip, grip on his biceps tightening.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re in for a wet night,” he says in what you assume is his best weatherman voice. “Expect a great deal of precipitation, more so than what’s already accumulated. Perhaps we’ll even see some flooding. We’re talking possibly record setting levels here.”

You snort with laughter, pushing at him slightly. “You are such an idiot. Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I intend to put my mouth in a lot of different places,” he removes his hand, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your hip as he goes. “I know I just got you into these, but shall I undress you now?”

“Yes please,” you nod eagerly, already wiggling out of your shirt. He quickly helps remove the offending garment, but in all the lust and excitement you’ve forgotten about your shoulder, and you moan in pain when you jostle it.

“Owwwwwwie, stupid shoulder!”

“Shhh, pumpkin,” Gojo coos gently, leaning down to pepper the area with kisses. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You feel yourself melt at the sudden tender display, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his luscious hair as he continues to smother your bruised shoulder in affection. “You already are, Satoru.”

The first name slips out unexpectedly, but you like the way it rolls off your tongue. He seems to as well, judging by the pleased noise that rumbles from his chest.

“Well, allow me to continue then,” he purrs, and his lips leave your shoulder to capture yours in another toe curling kiss. You press yourself to him, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a thrill shooting down your spine.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“I never got to finish my shower,” you break your kiss to speak, looking up at him under your lashes.

He catches on immediately, his smile once again turning primal. It makes your knees weak and your gut clench in anticipation.

“Maybe you should help me, since I’m injured and all,” you push yourself even closer to him, shivering at the feeling of his not-so-average excitement pressing against your belly.

“Hmmmm, I could do that,” he’s already got his fingers hooked in your underwear, slowly starting to push them down your hips. “But what if you slip again?”

“Well, you’ll just have to catch me then,” you wink at him. “With your dick.”

He roars with laughter, and your heart has never been more full.

“Oh, I’ll do more than just catch you, pumpkin,” he growls playfully, and before you can blink he’s rid you of your bottoms and swept you up into his arms. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you.”

You reach up to kiss him as he pounds towards the bathroom, your blood on fire and only one thought in your head.

Bless that stupid, slippery, wonderful bar of soap.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @satorudicks @sara-nyaa @dixonsbugaboo @fandomtrash100 @oikusa-snow @okemis @kuxredere @mylittleteddybear @the-fandoms-georgie @inaflashimagine @crapimahuman @elenapri0502 @fragments-of-aria @bollywoodghoul @wrdro @kiasnotforever @disregardedbymybias @lavihs @euniartsu @satjsstuff @lycorizzz @fushigurosimp @levisbrat1 @bxstboy-tetsu @one-leaf-grimoire @glxar (sorry i just tagged everyone who asked and commented haha, bold means I couldn’t tag you sorry!)

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo satoru fic #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jjk anime #my writing

1K notes · View notes

anime-allover · 3 years

Note

So, I was thinking about a scenario in which Sukuna (in his golden age) fell in love with a simple human. Sukuna loved her. Sukuna really loved her. What seemed impossible happened and he was completely in love with someone who, until then, he considered insignificant. However, that love did not last as long as Sukuna would like. The Jujutsu Sorcerers attacked, sealed him and for a thousand years he never knew what it was like to feel the skin of the one he loved. Now, he's back, stuck in the body of a boy who can control him, limited, without her. How bad could that be? Sukuna was simply bored and there was nothing he could do until the day that Yuuji decided to go for a walk with his friends. Everyone was having fun, but Sukuna felt more and more pissed off but then, by Yuuji's vision, he saw: her. The same eyes, the same hair, the same voice, the same body.

And Sukuna knew that he had found her again.

So, the request is: What would Sukuna do if he found the reincarnation of the love of his life after a thousand years?

(I'm sorry if it's too big 😩)

A/n: that's the longest request I have ever received, but I'll do it!! Sorry if I did wrong.

Warnings: slight Yuji x reader and cursing because its Sukuna

Human

Y/n was just in her special place. A place that's full of flowers listening to the night of nature that surrounds her.

Until someone want to break that sound of peace.

"Why is a mere human sitting here waiting for curses to feast?"

Of course the voice startled her, she got up from her spot and looked around her, trying to find the source.

Y/n then saw a figure walking out of the shadows that the trees have created. He was wearing a white and blue Kimono, he also have a blue scarf, with black sandals.

Don't forget get the tattoos

He look like a nice guy to you but you still have your guard up.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" You asked him.

He hummed and cracked his neck with his eyes closed.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" He asked back, he opened his eyes to look at you.

"I-I asked first," You looked into his red eyes.

He smirked, "I asked second," he started to walk towards you. "Now answer the question"

You hesitated but you answered.

"Y/n, and I'm always here, doing nothing"

He was now 3 feet close to you.

"Sukuna, and I can do whatever I want"

"Isn't that silly?" Sukuna got close to your face and his smirk only got a little dangerous and bigger.

"You have the guts to say that human?"

You leaned back a little with a slight blush.

"Aren't you a human too?"

Sukuna stopped smiling for a split second and but it came back and he leaned away from you.

"I am, but I'm not weak as one," he waved his hand at you.

"Then what are you?"

"You ask way too many questions," Sukuna sighed and falls into the field of flowers.

"W-wait one more question," you sat down, but you still have some distance between you two.

You heard him groaned but you continued.

"What are curses? I never seen one," you wait for him to answer, but he didn't.

"Sukuna," you called out to him. But he didn't answer.

"Su-"

"Didn't I said that you asked way too many questions" he finally responded. "If you can't see curses, what's the point of knowing them, idiot"

After his first encounter with you, he keeps visiting you at night, the same time, the same place.

Time keeps moving forward and as time move forward, Sukuna and Y/n only became closer. Well Sukuna think it's too close.

He keep feeling something in him as he keeps seeing you, smile, laugh, mad, sad, and scared. To be honest he was planning on killing you, but he didn't.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna was sitting in front of you as you was making something with the flowers.

"You'll see when I finish,"

A few seconds later.

"You're done yet?" He asked, with his elbow on his leg and his face in his hand.

"No," you simply answered him.

"You're taking too long" he complained.

"Too bad that you have to wait, huh?" You smiled. He just rolled his eyes.

Sukuna eyes went back to you. His eyes was focused on your face. He looked at your hair at how the wind picked it up. Then he travel down to your eye and how E/c it is, it looked like it was glowing under the moonlight. Then he moved more down to your lips. He stare intensely at them, he want to kiss them so bad, he knows that it might lead up to some bad consequences.

He got interrupted by your voice.

"I'm done!" You raised up the flower crown above you. He gave you a bored look.

"All that time for just a flower crown?"

"Well, yes" you raised up on your knees and leaned to him.

He felt your fingers in his hair as you put the crown on his head. He'll be lying if he say he wasn't blushing.

He's on edge, get didn't know if he can control himself any longer.

When you was finish you got back down and put your hands together.

"Now you're king!"

He blinked.

"King of what?"

"The king of something!" You laughed. Sukuna's eyes went narrow.

'Fuck it'

It all happened in a quick motion, but what matters is what he's doing and the results.

His lips was latched onto yours. You was shocked but you kissed back almost immediately.

Sukuna has found the love of his life.

But... Something happened.

Jujutsu sorcerers had attacked them both.

Sukuna had his guard down, he didn't felt their curse energy.

That event will be stuck in his head, forever, even if he died, he will still remember.

Because, that's the day he have lost the love of his life.

And that my friends brings us to the present.

Sukuna was just sitting on his throne. He sighed when the memories came over his head, her screams was still clear in his head.

'But its better than hearing their loud asses'

Sukuna look at Yuji's view with a bored look.

But something caught Yuji and his eyes.

A girl with H/c hair, and E/c eyes.

She was talking to her friends, Sukuna know that voice, and he know that body of hers. He have seen it plenty of times.

He have found the love of his life.

But Yuji have interrupted his thoughts.

'She looks cute'

Sukuna felt rage in him but when he was about to speak up, his mind clicked. His eyes widened with realization.

'Why does time feels like it's repeating it's self?'

Deep down he knows that's not exactly his love

'They'll meet, fall in love, then get killed by Jujutsu sorcerers' He started to laugh like a crazy person.

"This got to be some fucked up cruse!!!!" He yelled.

'Sukuna stop yelling!!" Yuji yelled at him.

Sukuna didn't even respond to him, not this time.

Unknowingly, tears was sliding down Sukuna's face.

'I have to see her die again...'

It's night.

Sukuna is walking down the same path that Yuji took. It didn't took that long to find the human on the ground, just like he first found her.

"Why is a mere human sitting here waiting for curses to feast?"

Time can only repeat

I got too in it, but I hope you like it! Thank you for requesting!!

#x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna

391 notes · View notes

peachsayshi · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 - Call

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Solo & Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex

Summary: With Gojo away on a mission, you decide to take the initiative by calling him for a little bit of fun.

A/N: ~

- - -

Two months into your little arrangement with Gojo, you began noticing how certain aspects of your friendship started changing.

For one thing, Gojo could barely keep his hands off you. When you would sit next to each other, he would drape his arm lazily around your shoulder as if it belonged there. When having idle conversations with him talking about work or gossip, he would stare at you attentively while stroking your thigh. Most recently, while you were hanging out at his place, you were caught off guard when you felt him brush your hair away before delicately planting a kiss on your forehead.

At first you thought about telling him to stop, figuring his actions might be overstepping the boundaries you both set up. However, you changed your mind when you realised how nonchalant his behavior was. You figured his intentions were purely based on the fact that he could touch you in ways that he wasn’t allowed to before. Besides, Gojo was really good about ensuring not to make a serious move when the two of you decided to hang out instead of “drink” together.

You were surprised with how easily he switched from his fun, lovable self to the insatiable beast that would have you submit to his every word. Initially, you couldn’t bring yourself to make the first move around him, using a simple manipulation tactic of distraction that would ultimately force Gojo to take action.

Then the night at his apartment happened, where he had you flat across his kitchen counter while his tongue was working magic between your legs until you were unraveling in front of him over and over again. You were calling out his name in desperation, begging him to give you a break from the overstimulation but he refused. In the end, he left your body trembling from the final orgasm he gave you before lifting you up slowly and holding you close to him. He kissed your swollen lips, all before reaching for your hand and guiding it down to his pants.

“ Learn to use me like how I’m using you…” he whispered, “...stop holding yourself back. Otherwise, I won’t fuck you.”

“I am using you,” you insisted with a pout, your hands motioning over his hardened member as you began rubbing him over his pants.

A soft groan escaped him and he eloquently replied, “if you won’t even kiss me when you want to, then you sure as hell won’t be comfortable with my dick inside you…”

He was forcing your hand and your resistance was waning. He was becoming your favorite distraction, especially on the nights when you were feeling lonely.

Gojo was away on a mission and you had no idea when he would be back. He didn’t exactly live by a normal schedule but it’s been over a week since you last saw him and you really needed to relieve some of this sexual frustration that’s been running rampant in your mind.

You texted him while on your way home from work, asking him to call you if he was free later in the evening.

Once you arrived at your one-bedroom apartment, you gave yourself some much needed time for self-care. You cooked dinner then followed up with a long shower to relax from your own tiresome work week. After applying your face routine, you changed from your towel to a pretty light blue underwear set, opting for some luxury wear instead of your usual comfort clothes of sweatpants and an oversized tee.

You took a second to admire yourself before slipping on your silk robe. You haven’t felt this beautiful in your own skin in a while, and while you would never admit it to Gojo, you found that being desired by him made you feel good.

You’ve been in a limbo of grey since breaking up with your ex, who spent the last six months of your relationship cheating on you before leaving you for the very same person he was fucking on the side. You gave him your heart and soul, allowing yourself to fall in love with him only to be shattered in the end. He left you picking up the pieces, to slowly glue yourself back together but managed to leave an irreparable wound in your heart.

Of course, you never told Gojo the real reason why you broke up when it happened. When the announcement came, it caught your friend totally off guard.

“ What do you mean it’s over? I was planning on ordering a custom suit for your wedding!”

Gojo had no clue that your boyfriend’s unfaithfulness left you with a sense of deep rooted shame.You weren’t used to keeping secrets from him but you did not want to show how weak you were. Three years of wondering what went wrong, of trying to puzzle together why you weren’t good enough for your ex, of stopping yourself from calling him when you were alone, of suffering from your own misery...

You made your way over to your bedroom, stepping over the mess of laundry on your floor that you were choosing to ignore and falling back onto your mattress. You reached for your device to check your notifications, hovering over the chat you had with Gojo before locking your screen and placing your phone by your side.

There was still no reply.

You were growing impatient and decided to take matters into your own hands until he responded.

You tangled your fingers around the belt of your robe, thinking about Gojo’s lips on yours. You weren’t shocked to learn that he was an exceptionally good kisser. The act itself was sinfully addictive and you realised that you could kiss him forever and never get bored.

When Gojo got naked in front of you for the first time, you were surprised to find that despite his tall and somewhat lanky frame, underneath all that clothing was a sculpted being. He had muscular legs which you loved grinding against, the broadest shoulders that you desperately clung on to for support as you reached your peak and a strong torso that your body easily melted into after you climaxed. The man was physically flawless and he knew it , which made it worse for you because he played on his attractiveness to get exactly what he wanted out of you.

You loosened the robe, spreading your legs and noticing the heat building from your lower abdomen as your mind raced at the thought of him. You brought your fingers to your folds, massaging them over the lace fabric but picturing his hands instead. You were thinking of the way he would purr in that low, sexy voice of his, praising you while you were down on your knees for him.

“Mmmm, that’s my girl…”

“You’re doing so fucking well, angel…”

“Keep going, baby, I’m almost there...”

You loved that he used these pet names on you when you were intimate with him. Even more, it was the gratified reaction from his own lips as a result of your actions that sent a chill throughout your body. You couldn’t wait to finally feel him inside you and listen to the kind of filthy words he would spill while fucking you.

Your hand slipped underneath your underwear, two fingers deep in you pumping furiously while your other hand gripped onto the bedsheet. You allowed yourself to be as loud as you wanted, putting on a performance that Gojo would surely regret missing. Even if your neighbors heard you next door, they would not be able to tell that you were on your own climaxing yourself to a fiery orgasm.

“ God , I needed that…” you sighed, your eyes falling heavy as you slowly came down from your solo session.

Feeling significantly better, you stretched your arms overhead before glancing over at your phone and laying by your side. A little disappointed but not surprised that Gojo still hasn’t responded.

***

You sat up, dazed and unaware of when you fell asleep. You were surrounded by darkness except for the luminous glow that flashed from your phone. You glanced over your shoulders to find it ringing, squinting for a second to try and see who was calling you at this extremely late hour.

“Hello?” you finally answered, realizing that your throat was dry from your deep sleep.

Gojo sang your name on the receving line, his tone surprisingly energetic. “I got back to the hotel a little while ago and saw your text. Did I wake you?”

You checked the time before replying, “it’s three o’clock in the morning what do you think?”

“ I’m sorry, ” he cooed. “I can let you go back to sleep if you like...”

“No, it’s fine, I’m awake...” you replied, adjusting your position so you were sitting against the frame of your bed. “Late night?”

“Yeah…”

“All okay?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over...”

You swallowed hard at his comment. Of course you were concerned for his safety but Gojo never revealed what he dealt with and sometimes you felt irrational for being scared about something you knew so little about. Yes, he loved bragging about his victories against curses he deemed as weak but ones that posed an actual challenge to the sorcerer?

Those ones he refrained from talking about.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely text?” Gojo asked, changing the subject upon hearing your silence.

“It’s been stressful at work this week. We have a new project coming up and our boss is up in arms about ensuring it all goes well, which means I’ve been working late most nights…” you paused before continuing your explanation, “I feel kind of silly complaining about it now but I just thought I would call for a fun chat. You know? Get my mind off some things?”

“What kind of fun are we talking about here?”

You smiled to yourself, “we never actually figured out how to grab drinks while you were away…”

“ Ahhhh …” Gojo teased, a hint of amusement in his tone as he perked up at your words. “I should have known. You don’t usually ask me to call you while I’m gone. Not going to lie, you had me a little concerned...”

You blushed at the thought of him worrying about you, “I don’t want to keep you up though, it’s late anyway. You must be exhausted…”

He cut you off with a chuckle, “...same rules still apply even if I’m away. If you just texted me with our usual message, I would have called with a much better hello. Let me guess, I already missed out on some of the fun ?”

“ Maybe… ” you seductively replied.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, “that’s a shame…”

“I know and I’m wearing the lace set you like so much…” you added, coaxing him with your teasing words.

“Mmmm, I do love how you look in blue.” he stated. “Tell me, what exactly were you thinking of when you decided to have “fun” by yourself?”

“Before I answer that, I just need to know something…”

“What is it?”

“Do you have your blindfold on?”

“No…” Gojo replied, slightly confused.

You tapped the back of your phone lightly, “well, well...looks like I’ll just have to wait then...”

“Are you serious? I can’t even see you!”

“It doesn’t matter! If you won’t take it off when we are together then you have to wear it at all times...that’s what you said…”

You could feel Gojo rolling his eyes at you. “Fine, fine! Give me a minute…” he huffed.

You giggled to yourself, humming as you waited.

“ Smart ass,” he teased, letting you know that he was back on the line.

“Hey, I’m just playing by the rules!”

“And I’m ready to play with you ... ”

Before you knew it, Gojo had ordered you to get naked. You were tangled up in your sheets, your body writhing from his dirty talk as you masturbated. Gojo kept saying how much he missed being buried between your legs, how much he wanted to taste that sweet cunt and how desperate he was to fuck you.

“Mmm, you’re such a fucking tease, doing this to me while I’m away...you best believe that once I’m back I will fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight...”

You mewled in response, feeling yourself so close to your release that you could not speak.

“ Say it, ” Gojo directed, knowing that he can barely hold on himself due to the sounds of your pleasure. “I want to hear you say it…”

Gojo went silent, his breath growing heavier as he was losing himself to the moment. You could hear him pumping his cock, finally pushing himself to his own release. A moan escaped you, your back arching off the bed as you parted your lips to speak. Your voice pitched as you whimpered into the phone and telling Gojo the exact words he has been dying to hear.

"I want you to fuck me, Satoru..." you begged. "Please, fuck me ...”

- CHAPTER 4: DOMAIN -

#Gojo Satoru x female reader #Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru #Gojo fluff #Gojo smut #Gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #Gojo Satoru fan fiction

100 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Curse-breaker (Chapter 3/4)

- ao3 -

There were more guards than usual around the Unclean Realm, undoubtedly as a result of Wen Ruohan’s refusal to move from their gate, but that wasn’t a problem for them.

They knew all the ways in and out.

New ways, like the hole in the wall their little brother had teamed up with his best friend to carve out so that the two of them could leave little gifts and pass messages to them, and old ways, ancient ways, the ways of the dead that they’d learned from the still-lingering saber spirits that burned in rage and hate forever like an endless longevity candle.

Rage, and hated – but also love.

The saber spirits didn’t have to keep burning, keep fighting, but that was what their masters had wanted, and so they did. They fought against evil, time and time again, forever and always, and through their endless battle, in their hearts, their masters were never truly lost.

It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

It was time, they thought, to straighten things out. The saber spirits meant it as a gift, but the masters saw it as a burden; that wasn’t how it was meant to be at all – they just didn’t understand each other, steel and flesh speaking different tongues, meaning different things. The gaping chasm of understanding between life and not-life, which no one could bridge.

Well.

No one until them, anyway.

If a fish and a bird fell in love, where would they live?

On the shore, they thought. Right in the middle.

All they needed was someone to tell them that was an option.

It was time.

They passed like a formless spirit themselves through the many walls and guards in their path, heading to the sect leader’s study, as familiar to them as their own palms. Inside they found what was familiar, too: the heat-rage-pride pulse of Jiwei, resting in pride of place by her master’s side, and beside her was her master, their father, standing with his hands folded behind his back and looking out the window into the distance as if it would give him answers to questions that had eaten away at him his whole life.

They approached.

They were detected, of course.

“I already said that I didn’t want to be disturbed,” their father said, and although they had snuck close many times to hear him speaking, that beloved voice more familiar to them than their own, not daring to talk to him as they did to Huaisang who had always promised to keep their secret, there was still something different about hearing it so near, without walls between them.

They sighed happily.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said…Jiwei? What’s gotten you so excited –”

Their father turned.

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and round as saucers, an absurd and silly look that suited him so much better than did the grim scowl and sad listlessness, interspersed with increasingly frequent bouts of uncontrollable rage, that he wore on his face more often than not these days.

What they had in mind would hurt, they knew, and equally they knew that they would not be able to act if they did not act fast – they were loathe to hurt people, much less people that they loved, and those that they loved would be equally unable to bear to see them hurt, yet both were necessary now, if they were to do what they had decided to do.

They did not allow themselves time to doubt.

They moved forward as quickly as a saber strike, sure and true, and their hands connected with their father’s chest and belly, heart and dantian both, with enough power to knock the breath out of him, taking advantage of his shock to strike when he would not even think of dodging.

In that moment of breathlessness, they latched on – latched on, and pulled.

What-are-you-doing-stop-that, Jiwei said, but even her ceaseless rage was blunted by the joy of seeing them once more.

You are hurting him.

I-am-not-I-am-refining-him-I-am-strengthening-him-as-he-strengthens-me-He-is-my-master-and-I-love-him.

You are hurting him, they insisted. Flesh is different. Flesh is brittle. Too much strength, and he will break.

Let me show you.

It hurt, of course, just as they’d expected. Not as much as when they’d shattered, though, and it was that – and perhaps only that – that allowed them to persist, using themselves as a cauldron, forcing their qi that was neither wholly spiritual nor resentful, neither fully alive or un-alive, through their father’s meridians, reshaping them as they went to be something capable of accepting the harsh, resentful, corrosive love of a saber spirit.

When they were done, their father stared at Jiwei, hearing her sing in his soul with an unprecedented clarity, feeling her love for him the way she meant for it to be felt, feeding his own love back to her in equal measure, giving everything of himself without holding back to the only thing on earth that he had ever loved without restraint.

His eyes were clear.

“A-Jue,” he whispered. “A-Jue…what is this?”

“A gift,” they said, their voice raspy with disuse. “Of many years making. I’m sorry that it took so long.”

Their father, unbreakable, burst into tears.

Later, when their father, his eyes still wet (though now from laughter rather than relief), told them about the ‘curse’, about his promise, about the rumors, and even about Wen Ruohan waiting for the chance to repent of his regrets, they thought about it for a while and said: “Let me see him.”

Wen Ruohan had done many things worthy of condemnation in his long life.

He had schemed and plotted, playing the hero and the villain both in their turn; he had fought in wars of such brutality that the current generation could not even begin to comprehend them, and he had also murdered in vile and underhanded ways, abandoning all integrity and righteousness, to ensure that such wars did not happen again. He had sought to strengthen himself by means both fair and foul, betrayed who he had to betray and stepped on who he had to step on; he had followed his ancestor’s path with his head held high until he had very nearly become a god.

He was not accustomed to regret.

Not accustomed did not mean immune: there were things he regretted, of course. The loss of his first family, the two sons and a daughter that he had failed so thoroughly that he still could not stand to hear the sound of their names, each one declared utterly taboo within the Nightless City – the wife he had married for power and then divorced in a fit of temper, driving her and her not-so-secret lover to the end of their rope in unspeakable desperation – the faithful servants he had sacrificed as pawns in his power plays and only afterwards realized how much he had relied upon them –

His brother.

His curse.

If by some miracle of fate he could choose to change a single thing in the ancient life that he had so far lived, it would unquestionably be the death of his brother.

Wen Ruohan had had quite a few brothers, in fact – his father, much like the usual style of leaders of the Wen sect, had fancied himself both empire-builder and emperor, and had had children accordingly, both his own and those he’d adopted, with all the headache-induing and often life-threatening dramatics associated with that – but to Wen Ruohan, there had only really ever been one that mattered.

Only one.

Wen Ruohan didn’t even remember any longer whether Wen Ruoyu had been his blood-related brother, sharing a father and maybe a mother, or if he’d been some child seized from another sect and given the Wen surname to help grow their power. It hadn’t mattered to him back then and it didn’t matter to him still, for all that he now prized his personal bloodline even above merit.

All that mattered was that Wen Ruohan had loved Wen Ruoyu more than he’d ever loved anything in his life, more than his sect, more than cultivation, more than power, and that Wen Ruoyu had died not knowing it. Had died cursing his name, spitting blood onto his face, fingers scrabbling at his neck in a futile attempt to choke him, wishing with his final breath that Wen Ruohan would never again know a single moment of peace.

Well, he hadn’t.

Ever the dutiful brother, he closed his eyes to nightmares, and woke to dreariness. He madly sought power enough to ensure that such a thing would never happen to him again, only for his obsessive quest to drive his few remaining loved ones into the grave; he had very nearly succeeded in becoming a god, and lost all interest in life in the process. The only joys remaining to him were his ever-growing power, his ever-expanding sect, and, sometimes, the blood and pain of other people, which he used as a reminder that he was not truly alone in this world.

And Lao Nie, of course.

Wen Ruohan had almost entirely succeeding in sealing off all of his emotions by the time Lao Nie showed up, smiling and carefree and reckless, half in love with the death he knew awaited him – showed up and battered down all of Wen Ruohan’s defenses. Wen Ruohan wished, now more than ever, that he had carried on in his attempts to make himself a true god, above all humanity, and not yielded to the siren call of friendship. Perhaps if he had been a god, he wouldn’t have been so hurt when Lao Nie barreled onwards with his life, leaving him behind not once but thrice – perhaps he wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have nearly murdered the little boy that Lao Nie had on occasion shoved into his arms during a visit, no matter how many times Wen Ruohan reminded him that it was inappropriate – the little serious one who looked so bewildered by it all but who still called him Sect Leader Wen the way Wen Ruohan instructed rather than listening to his father’s not-quite-joking suggestions of ‘Uncle Wen’, the little crybaby that had all unknowingly once tricked Lan Qiren into a logical conundrum that had made the man’s mind splutter out like a machine falling all to bits while Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie had roared with laughter…the one that had been charming enough to make him change his mind and opt to keep little Wen Xu around instead of sending him out to be adopted into the branch families the way he had with the other children he’d refused to acknowledge, mourning as he still did his first family.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Nie Mingjue.

Not like that, anyway.

It’d taken some time for the regret to creep in – his initial bout of horror had been more shock and irritation at having hit the wrong target, the shame of making such an elementary error to hit a boy he hadn’t seen in years rather than the man standing right in front of him, and then he’d shrugged it off, thinking to himself that the loss of a son would be as good a way to punish Lao Nie as the loss of his life. It wasn’t until his spies in the Unclean Realm came back and described to him what he had wrought…

Nie Mingjue didn’t look anything like Wen Ruoyu, not really, but in Wen Ruohan’s dreams he wept tears of blood in just the same way, spitting up foam as his eyes rolled in his head, dying – dying – dead.

Not dead.

It wasn’t a curse, Wen Ruohan knew, but if there was something he could do – anything he could do – he would do it.

He had to.

“You have to let him go,” someone said, and Wen Ruohan looked up in surprise: he’d been waiting for half a day already and god or no god, his legs were numb with sitting.

He didn’t recognize the too-tall young man who stared down at him, one eyeball eerily colored red and steel grey – the young man’s clothing was non-descript and ill-fitting, mismatched as if he’d picked it off some laundry pile without thought of coordination. There was something of the Nie in his face, the breadth of his shoulders, but his features were finer and sharper, his waist more slender, his fingers lacking in the familiar calluses of the saber; he looked like he’d be a fierce war god when he’d grown into his body but that he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

His golden core shone.

Wen Ruohan stared. His lust for power had long ago become an essential part of him, and in front of him was power, power at such a young age – if he could claim that cultivation for his own, maybe he could stop describing himself as nearly a god, could actually call down a heavenly tribulation and leap up to join the heavens in a single bound.

And then, maybe then, at last, he could have peace.

“You have to let him go,” the young man said a second time, and Wen Ruohan was distracted by wondering what he meant, not sure he understood and not entirely sure he cared. “That’s the only way. You have to let him go.”

He shifted forward, and something inside Wen Ruohan warned that he would strike.

It seemed ridiculous, though. Wen Ruohan, the finest living master of arrays, was not afraid of anything this young man might try to do – only a spiritual sword could pierce his armor, and even that, only one that took him utterly by surprise. No one would dare try to strike him.

Especially not this young man, who carried neither sword or saber.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ruohan never saw it coming – the young man’s hand moved in a jabbing motion, the way a sword would swing, and suddenly, impossibly, there was sword intent given physical form through spiritual energy, piecing through his defenses, slashing down at him and aiming right at his neck.

“Let me get this straight,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his forehead. “Nie Mingjue reappeared after something like ten years out alone in the wild, and when he did he brought some sort of technique that just…fixed the Nie sect cultivation issue. The one that was killing you, and has been killing your ancestors for – generations.”

Lao Nie nodded.

“And then you allowed him to see Sect Leader Wen, who he attacked…in a way that happened to mimic some old tragedy that has apparently haunted him for years, thereby allowing him to resolve some long-held heart demon. And now Sect Leader Wen has retreated into seclusion in order to explore this moment of enlightenment further, and doesn’t intend to bother the rest of us for a while. Certainly not by continuing his schemes to take over the cultivation world.”

“That’s right,” Lao Nie said. “Though I don’t expect he’ll be in seclusion all that long; the Wen sect doesn’t practice –”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t done and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

Lao Nie obediently fell silent.

“And then,” and by now Lan Qiren was speaking through somewhat gritted teeth, “when Sect Leader Jin rushed over because he wanted to get in on what he perceived to be Wen Ruohan’s attempted takeover of the Qinghe Nie, your son attacked him, too – except in this case, he crippled him.”

“I did say anyone who trespassed would be killed on sight,” Lao Nie said, entirely unbothered. Because of course he wasn’t – why would anyone think that suddenly being freed of a lifetime’s death sentence would make him less reckless and shameless? If anything, his overwhelming joy had just made him even more arrogant and inclined to insist on getting his own way. “It’s been known for years, and no exceptions have ever been made, not even for sect leaders. Why should Jin Guangshan think himself different?”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Lan Qiren scolded. “And besides the point.”

“What is the point?”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth, then stopped, thought it over, and sighed. “The point is, I suppose – are you going to the Jiang sect next?”

Lao Nie blinked. “The – Jiang sect? Why?”

“Because instead of the cultivation world breaking the ‘curse’ on your son, your son has apparently taken to breaking the curses of the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “And he’s already gotten four out of the five Great Sects, so why not complete the set?”

Lao Nie’s lips quirked. “Four? I can see the others: my Nie sect’s qi deviations, Wen Ruohan’s madness for power, the Jin sect’s terrible luck in getting that scheming old lecher selected as their next sect leader…but what did he do for the Lan sect?”

“It was in his name that you forced my brother out of seclusion all those years ago,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “And now I spend half of every year traveling wherever I wish, and the other half teaching; it is everything I would have wanted. Meanwhile, my brother has finally through his children learned what it means to care for others instead of rotting to death in a self-imposed grave built from ill-fated love…if that’s not curse-breaking, what is?”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #sect leader nie #wen ruohan #lan qiren #my fic #my fics #cursebreaker

100 notes · View notes

football-writing · 3 years

Text

Mason Mount - Always

Prompt: I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then

Summary: Mason and Y/N have been in love forever. It takes a graduation dinner for him to finally come clean about his feelings.

Warnings: friends to lovers aye, mentions of graduation, some tears were shed but it's all good! Also very little dialogue bc i wanted to try something different :)

If someone asked him how long he's been in love with her, he wouldn't know what to tell them. It had developed gradually, really.

First they were friends, meeting for the first time as she got transferred to his school. She'd been quite the character. On the frist day she was there, she'd asked the boys if she could play football with them. They said no girls were allowed, so she stole the ball from one of Mason's friends, dribbled around two other boys and kicked the ball right between the legs of the goalie. He'd admired her then, her cheekiness bringing a boyish grin to his face, and they easily hit it off. She would never allow him to go easy on her, although she would sometimes get in a mood when he'd win for the twentieth time that day. He'd cheer her up and ask her to play at his house, playing boardgames and watching cartoons as they chatted amongst themselves every schoolday.

She'd slowly grown out of playing football with him; clearly they were on different levels entirely nowadays. Still, they remained close friends. He'd gone off to London, then, and it was hard at first. But they would call all the time (he hated phonecalls, but she said she preferred hearing his voice, and so he called her almost daily) and she would come to his home games to cheer him on. He had given her a Chelsea shirt with his name on it, and she'd joked that people would think they were together. The words left his mouth before he could register that he was talking: 'Would that be such a bad thing?' She had remained silent, but the blush that adorned her cheeks must've meant something, right?

It was a silly thing he said back then, though he often lets his mind wander back to that day. Perhaps he was just being ballsy, or joking around, gauging her reaction to a topic that she brought up. But somewhere after those words, the lines had blurred. Their goodbye hugs lingered a little longer, the gazes between them seeming to be softer - a little too soft for two people to just call themselves friends. He would take notice of the way she twirled her hair around her fingers when she was nervous, how her locks would shine in the sunlight. Her scent - sweet and faintly resembling the smell of spring - edged into his memory.

She had felt it, too. It started with missing him more than she used to when he was away for his job. She'd resorted to sleeping in one of his hoodies, just to miss him a little less. Then, she'd set one of their selfies together as her lockscreen, Mason pulling a silly face as she kissed his cheek. A smile would edge onto her face anytime she opened her phone. And when he'd lost a game and got all upset, biting his fingernails to hide his anxiousness, her heart would break for him too. She would do anything to cheer him up. Though, mostly she just wanted to hear his beautiful laugh ringing in her ears - the one that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crease at the corners.

It wasn't something they spoke about, or ever acknowledged. But the pair was awfully aware of how much the line had blurred since that day on the playground.

But if asked about the moment he knew she was it for him? He'd tell them it was this very moment. Some would say it was cliché, that it was something straight out of a movie. And maybe it was. But he'd seen enough romcoms (he wished he could say it was courtesy of her, but really, he loved those films) to know that the movies hadn't described it well enough.

Because his breath did catch in his throat. His cheeks flushed as he saw her, heart beating louder than it would when he'd been running on the pitch. As she was walking down the stairs, floorlength dress accentuating her figure, her hair falling loosely and her make-up complementing the colour of her eyes perfectly. Her heels were still in her hands, and he fought the urge to smile. He knew how much she hated heels, and how her clumsy self would've probably fallen down the stairs if she'd put them on already. God he felt it all over his body - the hairs on his arms rose as the tingly feeling in his stomach spread through his body. He was so utterly and completely in love with her.

"Y/N. You look- I mean- I-." He tried to start, stammering over his words as his cheeks burned.

"D'you know what? I'll take that as a compliment, Mase." She laughed as she put her heels on.

"You should. Can't even find the words to describe how beautiful you look." He admitted as he groaned mockingly, holding his arm out for her to take so they could walk the short distance to the restaurant.

"Well that doesn't happen often, does it?"

The both of them joked some more as they walked together, before arriving at their destination.

It was her graduation diner. All her family and relatives were there, which to her included Mason. It was a good night, laughing and reminiscing on the past years, wondering about what the future holds as they not-so-subtly stole food from each other's plates.

That was, until her family started speeching. Some of her family members had prepared something, and she'd held Mason's hand tight;y in hers as she listened to all the encouraging words.

"Mason, son. Would you like to say something too?" Her dad asked.

"Uhh, well. I didn't really prepare anything, actually."

"I'm sure you can think of something. Stand up, son." He cursed himself for being so close to her dad. But he was right, he had something to say.

And so he begrudgingly scraped his chair back and stood up. Suddenly all eyes were on him, and although he should be used to that by now, he felt vulnerable. He cleared his throat and looked at her next to him, only to find her kind eyes already on him, an encouraging smile send his way enough to make him start speaking.

"Well. Y/N and I have known each other for years. She was always joking around, roughhousing with me and the boys, never giving a care in the world as long as she, and the people around her, are happy. She'll do anything her way, even if it's the wrong way, because she's too stubborn to admit her mistakes." Some of the guests chuckled, and he took a moment to smile before he continued on.

"That's just what she's like. And I admire that in her - in you." He directed his attention towards her now, as she looked up at him with large eyes. "You're not one to admit when you're upset or stressed, or when you need help. And I know these past few years have been hard on you, but I am so proud to see how you've handled everything. How you persevered through your struggles while still being true to yourself. I admire that in you, and it gives me strength, too. Maybe you're a bit of an inspiration of mine. And-" He had to swallow hard, then, and he glanced at her to gauge her reaction as he did. Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she would no doubt get mad at him later for ruining her make up. He had to swallow again.

"I guess what I'm saying is- It's been an honour to have been by your side through your highs and your lows. Seeing you grow from that little know-it-all girl into the strong woman you are now. And I can't wait to be by your side for everything else you're going to achieve." He sniffled then, wiping a sleeve underneath his own eyes to keep himself from crying in front of - quite literally- her entire family.

That sentiment had gone out the window for her, though, because she'd let the tears stream freely over her cheeks. Worry overtook him as the faintest of sobs left her lips, and so he quickly reached down to her. He held her face in his hands, thumbs wiping her cheeks dry as she let out a teary laugh.

"God, I'm so embarassing." She laughed as she took his hands from his face, resting them on her lap as she played with his fingers - something she had a habit of doing to calm herself down. "You could always become a speech writer if the football thing doesn't work out, though." She added, laughing slightly at her own joke as she tried to lighten the mood. She really hated feeling so vulnerable.

"You're not." He whispered back.

If there was any moment to tell her, this was it. So he mustered up all the courage he could find in himself to just tell her.

"And I'll support you through everything else. All the highs and lows and victories and defeats, I'll be there for you whenever you need me. Because- Because I love you."

Gasps were heard from around the table, but the only reaction he cared for was hers.

"You do?" Her voice was timid, questioning the extent of his words as she was still sniffling.

"I do. I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."

"I- Mason."

She wasn't sure what to respond, so overwhelmed with emotions that she couldn't contain her tears overflowing her eyes for the second time that day. He was crying now too, though, albeit silently. The whirlwind of emotions she felt - that he so clearly reciprocated - were enough to confess her love for him too. Something she now felt they should've done much sooner.

"I love you too, Mason. Always and always and always." She repeated as she let her face fall in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as he held her inexplicably close to him, arms tight around her waist as they took in the moment. Their moment.

The other guests applauded, sniffled as they tried to hide their tears at the heartfelt moment, even cheered for the two of them.

But all of it went unheard.

Because who cares about what others think when you've got that kind of love right in front of you?

#Someone needs to teach me to keep things short because what the hell #i wanted to write something short and sweet #but the words start coming and they dont stop coming *to the all star - smash mouth tune*#And here we are lmao #but hope you enjoy it anyway!#Mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fic #mason mount oneshot #mason mount x reader

116 notes · View notes

quicksilverrwrites · 3 years

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: it’s your first date with peter maximoff, and the tension between the two of you has been building for weeks. you share a passion like no other, and there's only one place this date can go: the dark back alley of the arcade, a place where no soul dare to go lest they bare the damned title of 'staff'. or quicksilver and scribe, i guess. you pick. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, sexual innuendos, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader (sorry americans <3), make out scene and sexual attraction 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the character that features as y/n in my fics is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Your date with Peter comes around the corner faster than you thought it would considering you’re not exactly the typical ‘student’ at Xavier’s School.

You’d thought it would take forever for the week to pass: typically, you spend your time waiting for your friend group to get out of lessons. You’re older, having graduated school when you lived in the United Kingdom, so the only lessons you attend are that of Power Efficiency, Mutant Physiology and Ethics, the latter two being optional and studied merely out of interest. The rest of your schedule consists of a lot of free time. You don’t work—with all the money you have, why would you? Uncle Charles keeps nagging you to do something with your time, something productive, but after what you went through in England with your father…

Making friends here was difficult enough. Dealing with your powers in a new situation—coming to this school—was enough. You’re not exactly an extrovert, either, which is why you’re so surprised that you and Peter click so well.

He’s eccentric and annoying and perfect. Okay, perhaps not perfect in a literal sense, but to you he is. Sure, his leather jacket kind of smells from age and sometimes he talks so fast that you find yourself struggling to keep up, but you find it endearing. And oh, those eyes—you could watch how they light up when he’s super excited about something forever, you think.

He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a while. You wonder if Charles knew what he was doing when he made Peter your buddy upon your arrival at this institute, but in reality, you know it’s because you’re both the oldest students—almost-students?—at this school. Besides, Charles has seen the two of you work together as a chaotic duo, and you’ve heard the sighs and mutterings of the man when he’s been most exasperated because of the both of you. Why, you think, grinning at your reflection in the mirror, would he ever put himself through that chaos if he could avoid it? The first prank you articulated together was the beginning of many, and you’ve practically been inseparable since you first arrived here.

First it was friendship. Then… yeah, it didn’t take much at all to blossom into something more.

You look good, you think, smoothing down Peter’s Rush tee as it hangs oversized on your body. You look really good. Your style is what would be expected of Charles’ niece even despite the fact that you’ve only ever met him a few times in your life: classy, 10% preppy, academic to a fault. You typically match your clothes to the colour of your powers: blue, but azure in particular. Sometimes pastel blue. You’re particular like that. But tonight you’ve opted for something different. Something a little more… Peter.

Your hair falls naturally past your shoulders, and the cool sleeves of a black leather jacket—your father’s leather jacket, the only leather jacket you own—hang from your shoulders while the jacket itself stops at your thighs. It's too big for you. You’ve paired a black skirt with the shirt, but it’s free flowing and a soft material that practically blends in with Peter’s top. Your boots are chunky platforms, black, and this is the darkest your outfit has been in a while.

It still feels… you, though. It feels right. Maybe because Peter feels right, and you stole this tee from him after you stayed over that night in his basement when it was pouring with rain. You both knew you could’ve opened up a portal to get back to your dorm, but neither of you wanted that.

You both want this, though. You both want each other.

The very acknowledgement of that fact forces you to take a steadying breath in, but the sound of a knock at your door makes your breath stammer. You look at the clock frantically. Is he here already? You both agreed on seven thirty, and it’s only seven. You had a schedule. Arcade, dinner, and whatever was left for after. Maybe a kiss if you work up the courage. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought. But—

“Ah—hello?” A familiar voice sounds from the door. You breathe a sigh of relief: Kurt. “I came to see if you needed help with anyzi—”

You cross the room to the door and open it before Kurt can finish his sentence.

Kurt grins. As usual it’s a sheepish grin, but there is excitement in his eyes.

“Excited?” Kurt asks. “I vould be if I vere going on a date with ze magnificent Quicksilver.”

You grin at him and roll your eyes, ushering him in the room before you close the door behind you. “Don’t say that in the hallway!” You scold him, not entirely serious. “Anyone could be listening.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Could it be that you are embarrassed?”

Your eyes widen, brows rising too. “No! It’s just—it’s nice now that things between us are private. And… I want to take things slow. I’ve been on dates before, and when you tell people about it it’s always the same thing: when are you going to do this? When are you going to do that? I don’t want to be pressured. And explaining my reasoning to want to take things slow is almost as tiring as actually working myself up into confidence so that I’m not nervous the entire time—”

“You definitely seem nervous.”

You scowl at your friend. “I am not nervous.”

“Your cheeks are red.”

At that, you know your face is starting to flush as red as a tomato. “You are insufferable sometimes.”

Kurt grins. “A few weeks ago, I vould have been hurt to hear you say this.”

You scoff, batting him playfully on the arm. “Are you going to walk me down to the common room or not?”

Kurt’s face takes on an air of confusion. “Ze common room? Why there?”

You shrug softly. “Peter is meeting me there.”

Kurt’s eyes light up with amusement. “Ah,” he responds, and you know by the exaggerated upwards tilt of his head that the next words out of his mouth are going to be sarcastic. “Very discreet, yes. I bet he will bring flowers.”

You scoff once more, parting your lips in playful annoyance as you turn to leave the room, but Kurt appears in front of you before your hand reaches the doorknob. He opens the door, extends his hand to you when his back is pressed against it, and the bow he delivers is nothing but formal. Gentlemanly. He probably learned it in the circus. You give him a teasingly formal nod as you accept his fingers in your own.

The door closes behind you, locks with a wave of your hand, and with a deep breath, the two of you venture down the halls of the manor.

***

You hear the sounds of people cursing at Peter before you actually see Peter.

You and Kurt turn to look at the double doors which lead into the common room at the same time, but Peter comes to a speedy stop in front of the both of you before you can even track his movements… and Peter’s eyes glaze over your appearance, your outfit, as his face pales.

You smirk at the sight of it. You know he likes it. Likes seeing you in his clothes. He looked at you the same way when you first walked out of the bathroom attached to the basement in his tee and grey shorts after that night in the rain. He had slept on the sofa then, had given you his bed, but he’d mentioned to you a couple of days after that his sheets still smelled like a mix of him and you.

You knew then that he couldn’t get the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head.

His outfit isn’t a change from what he usually wears, but he still looks amazing. Hot. The sight of him takes your breath away every time you see him. Silver-and-black jacket, white tee with a band insignia on it, and leather pants with his silver shoes. You can’t forget the goggles on his head, either. But—wait, no, there is something different. A sort of smell.

“What are you wearing?” You ask, the end of your sentence tinged with laughter.

Peter glances down at his outfit. “What?” He asks, confusion—and the slightest bit of worry?—in his gaze. “What's wrong with this?”

“No, silly,” you laugh, “your aftershave. What is it?”

It’s the very definition of seventies musk. It’s musky, leathery, and there’s the faintest smell of whiskey. He’s put way too much on, but your mother always used to complain about how much perfume you put on, too. You’re wearing it now: it’s sweet with the air of something more expensive. Valentino.

When you asked the lady in the store to let you try the ones which smelled sweet like vanilla, this was the first one she showed you. Out of the eight you had the choice of, you were sold on the very first one. You know that the best way to get a guy to fall for you is to smell sweet like candy—it reminds them of their childhood. Or in Peter’s case, you guess it might just remind him of twinkies. You know he loves those.

Peter’s cheeks flush red, and he lowers his head as he laughs. “Oh, man. My mom was right. I really stink, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh: a genuine laugh, teeth in your smile and all. You stand from the sofa you were sitting on with Kurt, and you realise only then that he’s already disappeared. You feel a twinge of guilt for not noticing earlier, but you forgive yourself for that: it is your date night, and Kurt is forever polite.

“You smell great, Peter,” you say, and it’s not entirely a lie. He doesn’t smell bad — it’s better than the leather jacket smell. “And I’m excited for our,” you glance around, whispering, “date.”

Peter’s eyes light up at that. “Right. Date. You mind if I—?”

He gestures to your neck. Whiplash. Right. You shake your head. “Just don’t mess up my hair.”

He blinks at you. “Do you realise how much of a challenge that is?”

Your smile is sickly sweet and riddled with sarcasm. “You’ll figure it out.”

His expression goes slack. He likes it when you do that; when you’re mean to him. You’re a lovely person typically—you reached the lucky end of the trauma spectrum, the opposite of which being the angry side which could’ve made you an arse—but it’s so easy to tease Peter. You like the power in being able to wrap him around your finger. You’ve never had this power over any man before, and after feeling powerless for so long, it's thrilling.

Peter clears his throat, steps towards you, and you swear he’s trying to use the lightest touch possible as he steadies your neck and places a shaky hand on your waist—

And then you’re off.

The world is barely more than a blur. You can’t keep up. Just as you think you’ve gotten used to it, Peter turns a corner—or at least you think that's what happens, because that’s how you would describe the sensation of being almost jolted to the side. And just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. You’re in the mall, right outside the blue-walled and darkly lit arcade.

Peter’s hands move gently from your body and you lean your hands against your thighs to try to stop the world from spinning. You’ve gotten used to the nauseating feeling this sort of travel gives you now, but you’re not used to the dizziness.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s assessing you for any potential damage. His hand hovers over your back as if he’s afraid to overstep his bounds, but you would lean into his touch any day.

“Yeah,” you breathe, slowly easing upwards. “I’m good.”

Peter glances over your face in another silent check before he nods. “You ready to get your ass kicked?”

You gape at him. Yeah, that sarcastic comment has knocked the dizziness right out of you. “Oh, you’re on.”

You’re less confident than you seem, but you don’t think Peter picks up on it as he grins and bouncily makes his way into the Arcade. You follow him, shoulder brushing against his as you catch up to his gait, because luckily you both walk fast. He turns to look at you and smiles, softer this time, and you almost get caught up in the softness of his eyes before your heart stammers, your throat closes up, and—

Oh, god. You’re not good with this. The romance. It makes you tense and nervous.

You turn away from him, hands wrapping around the controls of the nearest arcade game. “I call shotgun.”

Peter laughs and comes to a stop next to you. “I know you’re British and that makes you, like, socially awkward, but that only applies to cars.”

You nudge him in the side—hard, but not hard enough to really do damage. He hisses in annoyance, muttering jeez, lady, under his breath. You ask, “Are you really going to deny me my request on our date?”

Peter grins at you, fingers clenching around the neighbouring controls. “Depends. What do I get out of it?”

You smirk at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “A kiss or two at the end of this, perhaps.”

You watch Peter’s adam’s apple bob. “Per—perhaps?”

You grin. “Depends how you behave.”

You don’t need to read thoughts like your uncle to know that Peter has to be telling himself to breathe. Because it seems like an awful lot of effort for him to successfully inhale and exhale, and he doesn’t say anything before he slams a coin—a quarter? you don’t understand American money—into the machine and the BEGIN GAME screen buzzes to life.

It’s pretty hard for you to catch your breath as you both play in silence, too.

Eventually, conversation picks back up again. A sarcastic comment. The occasional compliment. Peter’s good at these games, but so are you. Arcade stand after arcade stand, his teasing remarks make your heart flutter… as well as something deeper within you, too. You’ve never felt attraction like this before, and truthfully, it’s driving you wild.

“Dad wasn’t around much back home,” you reveal, your eyes glued to the avatar on the screen as it darts around, “so I had a lot of time to kill. The arcade became my home. So yeah, it’s safe to say I can easily kick your arse.”

“Arse,” he teases, mimicking the way you speak. “Trying to let me let you win with a sob story, Xavier? Nah, not going to work.”

You gape at him, taking your eyes off the screen for a mere second, but Peter takes the opportunity to kill your avatar for good. With mock outrage, you quip, “I was not trying to do that!”

He grins at you, his eyes glowing purple and red in the light of your dying avatar. “Ah,” he whispers, “victory tastes sweet.”

You press your lips together in defeat, and then you sigh as you take your hand in his. “Come on. I want a slushie.”

Peter lets you drag him away, and the two of you settle down at the food stand in the arcade as the lights around you buzz blue and purple.

You like the lighting in here, you think, as you step up to the worker. “Two slushies, please,” you tell him, smiling politely. “One red and blue for me, and Peter—?”

“All of them,” he says, nodding towards the flavours.

You part your lips in surprise. All of them? There are about eight flavours up on that display, and you know it’s all going to melt into a mess of slush that barely tastes like anything other than sugar. But the worker has obviously been asked for worse, because he just shrugs and gets to work. One pump, two pumps, three pumps—he goes through them all with the finesse of someone who has worked at a place like this for far too long, and when he hands you your simple two-flavoured slushie in comparison to Peter's complex one, you feel like a bit of a slushie fraud.

You go to reach into your pocket to grab your card, but Peter pays in cash before you can get it out. The cashier gives him a dollar and seventy two cents change, and your date nods in thanks to the cashier before he turns to you with a grin that’s more genuine than cheeky. “My treat.”

You lower your gaze to hide how wide your smile is as you laugh. “Thanks, Peter.”

He nods, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a second, you sucking innocently on your straw as he stares at you, before he looks at the table and chairs nearby. He clears his throat. “Wanna sit?”

You shrug politely and he pulls out a chair for you. Gentleman. Did his mother give him a run-down of what to do and what not to do before he came here? Probably. You smile at him, your insides warming as you sit down in your seat. This slushie is good, you think, slurping it up through the straw as Peter takes a seat opposite you.

He takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “So the thing about your dad. I know it’s a sore subject considering…” He raises his brows, and you know he means the reason you came here. “But do you mind if I—?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You have too much slushie in your mouth, though, so your words are slurred and you smile bashfully as you cover your lips. Sorry, your look says, but he just grins at you.

Peter forces himself to look away, to turn serious again, as he scratches at a loose bit of film on the table. “Why wasn’t he around? Like, the deadbeat dad kind of thing, or…?”

You shake your head. This time, when you speak, you’ve cleared the slushie from your mouth. Your voice is a bit hoarse from the cold as you respond, “No. He worked a lot. He was either in Germany or the Middle East or—somewhere. Mom has a temper, so I found the arcade was a better place to be than home. It’s easy to lose yourself in the games here.”

Peter nods slowly, his head tilting up in a way that indicates thoughtfulness. It’s nice that he’s memorising your words. Nice that he actually cares. That means more to you than anything. “Well, that makes two of us. Absent fathers, I mean, and moms…?”

You grin at him. He's talked about his father before, but always in vague detail. You respond, “Almost-there moms. Just emotionally absent, at least for me. Maybe stunted is the right word.”

Peter lets out a sound between a noise like phew and a laugh. “Harsh, Y/N. No sugarcoating it there.”

You shrug softly, lowering your gaze to your drink. “Sometimes I wonder if…”

Your sentence trails off, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter tilt his head. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets you take your time as he continues picking at the table.

You force a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if what happened… happened for the best. Between the three of us, nobody was happy. But then I think of what I did to him and it’s just—”

“Hey,” Peter says, and across the table, his hand reaches out to splay across yours. “For people like us—mutants,” he says, his tone lowering at the end of his sentence, “stuff like this is inevitable. But, uh… Charles has kinda helped me see that it’s the first step towards controlling this sort of thing. The first step to doing something better. And hell, Y/N, you’re already, like, rockin’. So you only have further to go.”

Your brows furrow in surprise at his words, your eyes turning doe-like at his reassurances. “You don’t think I’ve already hit rock bottom?”

Peter laughs. “You’ve got too much money for that. I've seen you blow two-fifty on curtains. Still don't know how I watched you do it."

You let out a laugh, and that’s when you properly acknowledge the skin to skin contact. His touch makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Your shoulders roll back as your thumb brushes against his knuckle, and Peter’s eyes dart down to your fingers before he looks right back up at you. He looks nervous, like his heart is thudding just as hard as yours.

“I like this,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, though from the sound of it, it’s an attempt to hide his nerves. “It’s only a slushie, Xavier."

Your laughter mimics his own, and you press your lips together as your eyes dart between his eyes and lips. You want to kiss him. You’ve never wanted to kiss somebody more. It’s like you could push him up against the wall and kiss him here and now without caring what anybody thinks, and you’ve never had that feeling before.

Peter’s throat bobs again. He’s staring at you in the same way, and you can feel the tension between the two of you as your chest tightens. But you can’t kiss here—not with the table between you, not when one of you will probably spill a slush puppy or both of them, or—

“Another game?” Peter says, his voice hoarse.

You blink the lust out of your eyes. Another game. Yeah—another game, and your slush puppy will melt between and it’ll be easier to drink, and then—

And then you can both get out of here.

You’ve never wanted to leave an arcade more.

The tension cools down a little as you play more games, but it rises as soon as you make a comment about his frantic button mashing movements; something like—

“I hope that’s not the technique you use in bed,” you tease.

Peter chokes, and needless to say, you win that game.

You keep playing until your slushies are finished. Peter finishes his before you, but he lets you have a sip before in order to try it. It’s just as you expected—a sugary mess with the strongest flavour being lime. It’s disgusting, but Peter merely grins at the sight of your face as you grimace at its sour taste.

You’re well aware of the way his gaze rakes up and down your body as you try to finish the rest of your slushie as fast as you can. You’re lingering now; the two of you want to get out of here, dinner be damned. His gaze hugs the curve of your body and lingers on your bare legs, your skin smooth and shaven, the boots you wear only elongating them—

“You look great, by the way,” Peter comments.

You look up at him while still sipping from that straw, and apparently the motion and the eye contact is too much for him. He looks away and mutters something under his breath, something you can’t hear over the beeping of the games and the music playing over the sound effects.

You slam the slushie cup down on the table next to you both with an air of achievement. “What?” You say almost teasingly. You know you’re driving him insane, and even though you’re hardly doing anything, this has been building up for weeks.

“Nothing,” Peter says.

Before you know it, his hand is at your neck and you’re in a different spot entirely.

It’s a short journey this time so you’re not dizzy. You’re still in the arcade, surrounded by the same blue walls and purple-hued lighting. But this area is darker and tucked away, and there’s a door nearby. Probably a staff entrance. This is somewhere you shouldn’t be, but for once, you’re not afraid of breaking the rules.

“The cups,” you comment teasingly. “We should clean them up.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Y/N,” he says, “I—"

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “Please.”

Peter wastes no time in fulfilling your request.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, lips pressed against yours as his fingers rest at your neck. Innocent, sweet, and yet filled with a sort of passion that sets your lungs and chest ablaze. You can’t help the noise of content that slips from your lips as he backs you up against the wall, and you can’t help but think that this is so unlike him, but—no. No, this is what he’s been keeping buried down for weeks. It's the same for you, too. This is what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

This is only half of what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

You gasp as his tongue slips out against yours, and your own darts out in response to the sensation. You press your body flush into his, the both of you heated and warm from the feel of one another, and your jacket is quickly getting too hot to keep on any longer. It’s cool in here with the air conditioning, but even so the two of you are ablaze and alive and—

“Y/N” Peter whispers against your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he pants for breath, “d’you think we could leave dinner for tonight?”

Your body talks for you before your mind can register what he says. "Yes," you breathe, and then you pull him back to you.

His lips are on yours and there is nothing either of you need to say as his fingers roam down your shoulders, your arms, moving to your waist. He avoids your breasts and you’re grateful for that; despite how much your body might burn for him, you know that would make you feel like an object, like he only wants you for sex—like your mother has told you countless times before.

But as you and Peter kiss in the belly of that arcade, you think you might have found the one. The first person you can finally trust.

It might be the first date and you might want to take things slow, but this feels too good to pass up. Too good to lose. And because of that, you don't plan on letting him go—

Not unless he wants you gone first.

Not until a member of staff kicks you guys out, at least.

#peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #peter maximoff oneshot #peter maximoff fanfic #quicksilver fanfic #if you liked this please let me know! i'm new to fanfic here hehe #i'm open to requests <3 #if you want to know more about the backstory for y/n pls send me an ask!#hope you liked it!

111 notes · View notes

whumpinggrounds · 3 years

Text

Ursula the Sea Witch

all right day two of @whumptober2021 and i am trying the prompt “talking is overrated” + “choking” for my beloveds Liam and Delilah

tagging @hearse-song, @brutal-nemesis, and @whumpy-writings, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

CW: choking, noncon drugging, psychological whump if that’s a thing, brief ableist language, tiny whumper, big whumpee, crying, angst, noncon touch, intimate whumper, creepy whumper

Facedown on the ground, all Liam can see is the wood floor of the cabin under his nose. He can tip his head back a little to keep his forehead from resting flat on the ground, but he doesn’t have enough clearance to really see any of his surroundings except for the panels below him. Still, Liam tries to pay attention, as if anything he can see is going to help him. The light coming through the windows is clear and harsh – is it morning? Afternoon? He’s been asleep for so long he’s not sure, especially now that so much of his rest comes unnaturally. He’s learned to dread the strange, bitter water that Delilah pours oh-so-carefully down his throat.

Or, he mostly dreads it. Sometimes being asleep is so much better than being awake that he gulps the water gratefully and hopes that when he wakes, the nightmare will just be over.

Now would be one of those times. His limbs are his own, his body and mind are his own, but Liam is utterly trapped by the weight of Delilah perched cross-legged on the middle of his back. She presses his bare chest firmly against the boards, which are cold enough to make him want to squirm. Even if Liam could throw her off, he woke up this morning to a brand-new manacle locked around his ankle, one that’s bolted right into the cement of the chimney. He might be able to stand without her on his back, but he wouldn’t get far.

Much more pressingly, Delilah has a belt in her hand, and the leather of it is pressing gently into the thin skin of Liam’s throat. Swallowing hard, he feels his Adam’s apple bob uncomfortably against the wide leather strap. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting like this. It feels like a long, long time.

“Hey, Eric? We’re gonna play a game.” Above him, Delilah’s voice sounds playful, light.

Throat working in quick, shallow pants, Liam moves his mouth soundlessly for a moment, not even sure what part of that he should address. Finally, he goes with the most basic. “My name isn’t Eric,” Liam whispers, so desperately confused he wants to scream. “I-”

Right then, his voice cuts out, because Delilah hauls hard on the belt, and Liam is left choking, gagging, desperately trying to suck in air that won’t come. He’s never felt this before – this raw desperation, the tearing need for oxygen that can’t, won’t, isn’t coming. Feet beating uselessly against the floor, his hands come up to scrape fingernails uselessly against the smooth leather, but almost as soon as they do, Delilah is relaxing her stranglehold, sighing.

“Wrong,” she informs him. One fingernail is tracing nonsense patterns on his spine, and the sensation of her sharp nail against his bare skin makes Liam shudder against the cold wood floors. “C’mon, Eric. It’s not hard. What’s your name?”

“I-I don’t know who you think I am, but my name is Liam-”

The feeling of the belt cutting into his throat is the worst one that Liam knows. It’s not just that his air is cut off – it feels like it’s being taken from him violently, like his throat is closed and his chest collapsing, lungs burning in instantaneous protest. The pain of having his neck crushed is almost secondary – an ache that makes him heave out wracking cough after wracking cough as soon as Delilah releases her hold.

“Wrong again. You’re not very good at this, Eric.” She reaches up, tousles his hair. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“I don’t know who you are-”

More gagging, gasping, choking. “Fuck,” Liam gasps, as soon as she lets up, and with a put-upon sigh, Delilah chokes him again.

“Princes don’t swear,” she tells him, when she finally lets go, when the red and black dancing spots are finally receding from his vision.

It takes everything in him to maintain his composure, to keep from breaking down and screaming or cursing or crying, but as Liam heaves in choked, jagged breaths, he curls his hands into tight fists and forces the word out slow and careful.

“…p-princes?”

Liam’s voice sounds thin and reedy to his own ears, exhausted and unfamiliar. He wants to demand an explanation, wants to throw her off his back and force her to tell him who she thinks she is – who she thinks he is. More so than that, he wants her to understand she’s made a mistake, it’s not him she wants, and she needs to just let him go.

But Liam doesn’t have the words or the breath for that, and even if he did, Delilah doesn’t want to hear it.

“Don’t play dumb, silly.” Delilah’s hand cups his cheek. “You’re my prince. You’re my Prince Eric, and I’m your mermaid, Ariel.” Her voice takes on a dreamy tone as she slides her palm down the side of Liam’s face. Sour fear turns Liam’s stomach.

She’s not confused. The girl on his back is fucking crazy.

Swallowing hard, and then gagging at the pain in his throat, Liam tries to think. He needs to play along at least a little. It’s clear from the last few minutes, and the bruises forming on his throat, what will happen if he doesn’t. Trying to think carefully, he clears his throat and then has to squeeze his shaking hands into fists to keep from cursing at the pain. Wetting his lips, Liam tries to speak. It takes him a few tries to get words out.

“P-Princess Ariel,” he begins carefully, and on top of him, Delilah lets out a pleased giggle. She bounces a little in place on his back, and it should hurt, but she’s so damned light. So damned light and yet he still can’t get away from her. “Princess, um, Ariel, I think you’ve made a, a mistake?”

The leather rests snugly against Liam’s throat, making him squeeze his eyes shut, anticipating the pain. Delilah doesn’t pull – not yet – but the warning is clear as the belt tightens just a little further. “A mistake?”

“I…I don’t, um, think I’m the prince you’re looking for?”

There’s one moment when Liam thinks she might be listening to him, one breath of pause in which he lets himself hope. Then he feels the belt tighten.

Liam kicks and hits out with his fists, but there’s nothing to do. His hands come up to try to haul the belt off, but she has it cinched around his throat, and he’s left thrashing uselessly, panting without air, fingernails leaving long furrows in the skin of his neck. The pain is everywhere and it is searing – cutting through his lungs, burning up his throat, making his head ache so fiercely his vision swims. Liam bucks against the floor, heaving, but Delilah uses the belt like a leash, holding her body on top of his, and every contortion only makes the noose grow tighter. It goes on for what feels like forever. It goes on so long that Liam is sure he’s going to die.

When Liam’s vision is so black it’s almost gone, something changes. There’s a loosening, an allowance for a tiny breath of air. Liam sucks it in like he’s trying to drink the ocean through a straw, and that sets off a long and agonizing round of coughing that nearly sends him into unconsciousness – every time he brings in a new breath of air, it’s stolen by a cough, all relief denied. By the time he’s aware of himself, he has tears running down his cheeks, painful sobs heaving through his swollen throat. The leather still rests tight against his skin.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, and then screams as the belt firms inexorably against his trachea, fast and unforgiving as a striking snake. This time, when she stops, he lets his forehead thunk hard against the wood floor. Liam lets himself bawl, tears coming fast and hard, each hiccup and sob tearing through his bruised esophagus like a personal insult. It’s hard enough to breathe without worrying about the tears and the snot – and then Delilah starts to pull the belt taut again.

“N-no!”

“Princes don’t cry like this, Eric.” Delilah sounds faintly disgusted. “This is icky.”

A high ringing starts in Liam’s ears as he thrashes. Somewhere distantly below it, he can hear a horrible gagging, a choked-off grunting gasp that he knows must be coming from him. It’s an animal sound, a plea for air with no interruption from higher order thinking. He goes so much faster this time, vision swimming, lungs seizing, and when the blackness rushes up to meet him, Liam can’t do a thing to stop it.

Gasping and spluttering, Liam comes to with a feeling like drowning. There’s water in his face and his mouth, cold and alarming, so he sits up fast, but the motion makes his head spin. Groaning, he grabs at his face, trying to steady himself.

Information comes to him in stages. He’s alive. He’s awake. He’s soaking wet. His body hurts, his head hurts – every part of him hurts, but nothing else comes close to touching the searing ache attacking his throat. Gingerly, he prods at his neck with one finger, hissing at the immediate spike in pain. Every breath feels like he’s swallowing sandpaper.

“Eric! Eric, are you alright?”

Liam looks up and there she is – Delilah, in all her delicate glory, her long brown hair braided back from her face, her tiny hands clasped rapturously to her chest. When she looks at him, her blue eyes are wide and almost dazed. She smiles, her elfin face alight. “Eric?”

Letting his head sink into his palms, Liam tries to take a deep breath, but it won’t come. He can’t get air into his lungs, or at least not far enough to make a difference. He can only breathe shallowly, so shallowly that even now he still feels like he might pass out.

The girl in front of him weighs probably half what he does, and she’s out of her mind besides. Big strong Liam, college lacrosse Liam, works-out-every-day-but-Sunday Liam, could not, should not, cannot be held captive by this glowing little girl.

But there’s a manacle around his ankle and not nearly enough air getting to his muscles and his brain. He feels so helpless he wants to cry, but he has to keep the tears small, silent, manly enough to escape Delilah’s notice.

“Yes, Ariel.” His voice comes out so battered, hoarse and strained, that for a moment, Liam doesn’t quite know who’s talking. “Thank you. I’m all right.”

Her hand comes to rest on his blonde hair, fingers running through it, and Liam can’t tell if the implication is that she’s protecting him…or possessing.

#whumptober #whumptober2021 #whumptoberday2 #whumptober2021day2 #liam and delilah #big whumpee #tiny whumper #creepy whumper #choking #crying #angst #breath control #control #emotional whump #nonconsensual touching

33 notes · View notes

angelic-serenade · 3 years

Text

“losing game” || fukuzawa yukichi

gif does not belong to me, nor do the anime & characters

fandom: bungou stray dogs

pairing: fukuzawa yukichi x gn!reader (1st person pov)

warnings: angst, lots of hurt and no comfort, emotional distress, barely mentioned mental instabilty, plot twist

a/n: just a little something i managed to write during the few moments of free time from uni. read as a letter to yukichi from the second paragraph onwards!! hope you enjoy, let me know if you like the new lyric-prose style i’m experimenting with!

word count: 1434

synopsis/prompt: “a broken heart is all that's left, i'm still fixing all the cracks” ― arcade, duncan laurence

there is something noteworthy and indistinguishably patronizing which marks the mere presence of one fukuzawa yukichi – be it his wise and almost all-knowing gaze or his imposing posture, the way he manages to command respect without so much as a gesture anywhere he stands. he is authority and justice and that’s the only manner he allows himself to be, the only partial impression he allows others to make of him. sometimes i fret there really might be nothing more behind the carved, relentless shadow than the steely stares and unmovable frowns, lines so deep and intensely depicted that one might think of them as unforgiving – of what one may never know, if the unforgiveness staggers from the same place where the thoughts in his mind convince him that peace is something to be fought for but to never be attained. though sometimes the rough edges, the hollowed lines marking a tiredness which some days, some way feels all too familiar for comfort give way to a softer, unmistakably caring look; it’s almost imperceptible, the way he manages to turn the cold and unforgiving watercolors into a beautiful masterpiece, the true talent of the unrecognized artist – his eyes lose the usually guarded edge which serves to protect everything but himself, his strained lips imperceptibly curl at the edge of a smile and the way he almost lets his shoulders abandon the weight he carries as if it were an old, battered companion brings to mind a tender sort of sympathy that sticks and can never really be forgotten – or forgiven for that matter.

akin to the flourishing of the most precious cherry blossom, you never allow for these moments to last too long, nor do they recur as often as to make those you care for expect them – in that, i think of you as more alike to the orchid than the cherry, for whenever the mysteriously grim orchid blooms, one knows not to hope for more time than its evanescent beauty can offer. cherries come to be expected, granted, but orchids never kiss and tell and you end up entangled either way. and after all, is it not the inevitable transience of things that makes them all the more desirable? if you heard me talking this way, with flowers and art and everything fulfilling in this life on my lips, singing your praises as if you were my last day of spring and sunlight, i’m sure you’d scoff the silliness away – this is your way, the way things have always been and always will be. no matter what you seldom sternly say, i’ll always be fonder of orchids than cherry blossoms anyway, for in their grave allure i found my own kind of tragic beauty.

by now i am convinced that you know and have always known exactly how much power you yield and how little you’d need to make me forget my own sadness – those moments, the careless slips of that bleeding heart of yours, are never meant for me. it pains me so to stand by your side without being able to bask in your praises, but that’s just how things are supposed to be – i am in your life, and that’s all i will ever need. sometimes you look at me as if you expect to see something - or someone – else in my place and i always end up trying to fill the void left behind by an illusion i don’t even know the name of. there is a hole that feels like an aching fever permanently carved into my soul, it spreads like an illness each and every time your voice creeps into my mind; even now i think of you and suddenly i feel much worse and better at the same time because you can never be the cure, but you sure as hell turned into my favorite medication. when i’m not by your side, in your beloved agency with your beloved family – the only ones allowed to walk alongside you into the sun - i delude myself into thinking i somehow may get over these terrible feelings that stretch my mind and hollow my heart, desperately convincing myself that time will wash away all of the promises kept in your sleeve. but sometimes, times that are just some and so unbelievably others, far in between and still so unfathomably precious to me, sometimes you let me hope and crave and i am almost convinced it could maybe be enough. the truth is that i have only ever known pain and i learned to make an addiction out of it.

once you called me by your side and i was quick to follow, as i always am because it’s you after all. under the feeble setting sun, the words spilled faultlessly from your lips, as if they had been composed to the likelihood of those poems about tragedy and grace i was stubborn enough to keep reading at night, and i stood in awe as you let me sip the most bitter of nectars, an aftertaste so haunting i knew it would forever ruin any chance of escaping this, of escaping you. welcoming the sudden flood with far more haste and yearning than i’d like to admit, you told me many things that day – about the agency, about your duty, about mine-, but you did not dare to utter my name even once, as you never did. you thanked me – me, little old, battered and faded, wide eyed and heavy-hearted me with no home to turn to and no more dreams in my closet to spare. you who had retrieved the pandora box and sealed it shut with your bare hands, you who had showed me another way, another path that nearly splintered my spirit all over again. i smiled still and for the briefest passing moment i almost hoped for you to reciprocate the minutest hint of affection; you raised your hand and rested it on my shoulder – it was warm, and it felt like water, like the purest form of unattainable salvation and i almost found myself crying in front of your unshakeable stance.

there was another time when you did gift me the smile i so desperately wished to keep for myself and i burn still, because look at what you made of me and what did you reduce my integrity to – i am neither blessing nor curse, the limbo of your love turned me into a willing martyr rejoicing the smallest act of kindness. you ruined me and i let you. i let you because a singular moment of bliss was worth the relentless tortures of your inferno.

i follow you around and keep you company still, but you never seem to acknowledge my unyielding pestering (just like before). when you let your guard down, my eyes lose themselves in yours because i can never completely understand what goes on in that obliviously rigid mind of yours – you look apathetic or sad or something that’s quite in between. oftentimes i worry for you, but you have always managed to cope and stand strong even as the tide came to wash away the last footprints of a decaying era, i believe you ought to keep doing so for another lifetime still. you have people who are dear to you as you are to them and for how much you’re unwilling to admit it, i also know that you keep a picture of me in your pocket, the one hidden on the inside of your austere kimono, somewhere between your contrite self-loathing and the lovely remnants of the day. when you think i can’t see you, i notice you make a habit of touching the spot where it’s concealed as if to remind yourself i am something right within your grasp, but that you’d never allow yourself to have. you never take me out of that pocket to properly relish the view and i will never ask you to. you grew fond of another illusion, as you’re prone to always do.

“the road to hell is paved with good intentions” i chant to myself when no one is listening, for my good intentions have only ever been inspired by you and burning and rotting in hell now barely sounds like a threat at all if i got to hear your praise just one more time.

today as you once again kneel pathetically curved upon my solitary grave, i can hear you weep yet; it’s been a while since you came to see me but finally for the first time, you call my name –

maybe you really did love me after all.

#bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bungou stray dogs #fukuzawa yukichi x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #oneshot #fukuzawa x reader #angst #bsd #bsd x reader #fukuzawa x y/n #bsd x y/n #armed detective agency #inspired by music #arcade by duncan laurence #i love this man ngl

88 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

champagne problems, ch.6

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Six: Do I Wanna Know?: Late nights at the office. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, mentions of cheating / cheating, this series is a real slow burn babyyy

series masterlist

A/N: i actually i can't get over all of your support and just the nicest feedback omg !! i hope you like chapter six as much as you liked the others.. ENJOY!

“Look dad, I can’t really talk right now.” You muttered into the phone. “Don’t tell me you’re working pumpkin.” Your dad responded, a slight hint of fatherly disappointment in his voice. “It’s Friday night. You should be out with Ethan, enjoying your youth!” He exclaimed.

“We just got back from a case so I have a mountain of paperwork.”

“And what does your fiancé have to say about this?”

“He’s working too.”

Anthony sighed on the other line. “At least tell me you’re not in that office all alone.”

“Don’t worry dad, uhm, Spencer is here.” You glanced in the direction of the brunette doctor. He looked up at the sound of his name escaping your lips and a timid smile appeared on his face. Nervously, you smiled back before quickly averting your gaze.

Ever since your slip up on the case, you didn't know how to act around him. You felt incredibly guilty for allowing your emotions get the best of you, and almost ruining the friendship both of you cherish so hard.

Spencer on the other hand, being his usual kindhearted self, didn't let the tense situation change anything. Partially because he felt guilty too, although mainly because he knew that he’d lose you forever if he allowed for one moment of weakness to get between you.

He did everything in his power to make sure things weren't super awkward. He initiated conversation at every opportunity. He brought you coffee in the mornings, and walked you to your hotel room at night. He showed no sign of anger or disdain, yet you remained distant.

“Ah good, good.” Your dad retorted. “Say hello to the brilliant doctor for me, won't you pumpkin.” “I will. Bye dad, love you.” “Love you too.” You hung up the call and placed your phone on the desk. Sighing softly, you ran your fingers through your hair before once again glancing in Spencer’s direction.

The hazel-eyed man was already looking at you. This time, as your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat.

“My dad,-” You cleared your throat. “My dad says hi.” You repeated the short message making the small smile on Spencer’s face spread a little wider. “Next time you’re talking to him, say hello from me too.” You nodded at his request and with one last shy smile, you turned your attention back to the files spread across your desk.

As you tried your best to focus on the task at hand, Spencer found himself unable to avert his gaze.

It hurt to see you act this way. It hurt to see you hurting.

“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked, making conversation. You shook your head ‘no’ without even looking at him.

The brunette doctor could tell that there was something on your mind. He could also tell it was something bigger than the almost kiss.

He got to his feet and ambled towards you, stopping at the edge of your desk. His sudden closeness, more so the smell of his cologne, caused you to avert your gaze upwards.

“We should talk.” He stated calmly.

“What about?” You played oblivious, blinking up at him.

“About what happened the other day.”

Shit. “I have a lot of work to do Spencer.” You replied quietly, so quiet in fact you weren't even sure he heard you.

“I think this is more important Y/N.” He uttered while pulling up a chair next to you. “You’ve been walking on eggshells around me for days now, and it needs to stop.”

You swallowed your breath. “That’s easier said than done. We almost crossed a line, and I can't help but feel terrible about that. Fuck Spencer, I’m getting married.”

“I know. Which is why almost is the key word there Y/N.” He said. “Plus, don’t forget that you’re not the only person complicit in what happened. I was there too and unlike you, I didn't stop us.”

He was of course correct. Spencer was the voice of reason even back when you were dating. He always did the right thing, and knew exactly how to bring you back to earth - especially when you didn't want to.

You nodded your head slowly. “I-I guess you’re right.”

Spencer smiled at your response. “Of course I am. Now, are we good?” “I guess we’re good.” You repeated. Although your gut was telling you something different.

Spencer sprung to his feet and extended his hand. You furrowed your brows slightly confused. Spencer immediately noticed the perplexed expression and your face and chuckled lightly. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“Sure I can.” You tried to stand your ground but the brunette doctor wasn’t having it. Usually, this is where he’d grace you with a fact or statistic about using your brain while your stomach was empty. But not this time. Without uttering another word, he reached for one of your hands and pulled you up effortlessly.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

Over the next week while everyone cleared out for the evening, Spencer and you remained. To anyone that asked the excuse was of course work. The truth was a lot more complicated.

Although neither of you admitted it, those late nights at the office were the best part of your days. You laughed, ate cheap take out dinners, reminisced, played chess. Spencer taught you card tricks, while you played him newly discovered music. Bliss.

Of course, you could have done all of this either of your homes. Ethan was away at a conference meaning you had the free space, but you couldn't bring yourself to suggest it. Since with every day that passed your feelings for Spencer shifted into something all too familiar. The office was safer.

“We better get some work done.” You laughed as Spencer threw his arms up to celebrate yet another chess game victory.

“You're just saying that because you lost.” He grinned causing you to roll your eyes. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore winner’ doctor? Because that’s what you are.” You said making him laugh.

“Still a winner.” Spencer replied shrugging his shoulders. He opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve a black notebook and grabbed a pen. He flicked briskly through the pages to find the correct one and scribbled down the scores. “This marks my tenth win against you this week.”

“Don’t get cocky genius. I’m not that far behind.” You affirmed.

Spencer’s grin grew a little wider. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore loser’ Y/N? Because that’s what you are.” He teased. Laughing, you reached for one of the chess pieces and threw it at the brunette doctor. He caught it with ease and gloatingly stuck his tongue out at you.

“How very mature doctor.” You joked while standing up. You straightened out your skirt and fixed the hem of your shirt before glancing back up at the hazel-eyed man who was watching you intensively. The second your gaze landed on him however, he looked away clearing his throat.

“I should eh, get those boxes back to the file room.” Spencer said while pointing at the stacked cardboard pile.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, no. I can manage.” He replied while getting to his feet. Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the boxes. “Don’t be silly doctor. It would take you at least four trips, and together maybe we’ll manage in two.” You said looking back at him.

The brunette doctor swallowed. Spending this much time with you alone was a dream come true, and he knew he should consider himself lucky. However, with every second that passed he could sense something lingered in the air. The kiss that didn't happen.

It wasn’t a huge issue. As long as the two of you were preoccupied, Spencer’s mind stirred away from wondering about things it shouldn't be. The almost kiss. Yet now he found himself feeling lightly awry of going to the file room with you.

Eventually he nodded and moved toward you, reaching for one of the boxes still on the ground. His heart hammering inside his chest as you looked at him with the prettiest smile gracing your already perfect features.

“This way we’ll be done in no time, and maybe have time for another game of chess.” You stated as you walked ahead to the elevator.

“Another chance for me to beat you.” Spencer replied, trying his best to hide his sudden nervousness.

“Someone’s feeling confident.” You noted while stepping inside the machine. The brunette doctor followed close behind. He pressed the floor button with his elbow and soon the elevator began to move.

Spencer chuckled. “Taking into consideration our past games, the odds are in my favour.”

His eyes locked with yours again. Of course he caught himself staring at times over the last week- how could he not? He knew that you noticed it too, but it didn't seem to bother you. Quite the opposite actually. It ever so slightly made you blush.

“Why didn’t you stop us?” The question escaped you unintentionally. Once you realised you said it, it was too late. Shit.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, although he knew exactly what was on your mind and your lack of response only proved he was right.

Before he could say anything, deflect perhaps, the elevator stopped on the desired floor. The doors flung open, and you didn't waste any time to hurry out of there - away from the conversation.

“Y/N, wait!” Spencer called after you.

“I shouldn't have said anything.” You replied without looking back at him.

Spencer huffed. He hurried ahead and towered over you, causing you to halt in your spot.

“We were doing good, we had a great week. Can we just forget I even asked that stupid question? It just slipped out and...” You trailed off; hesitantly glancing up to meet his gaze.

“I can tell this is bothering you. I can tell this is obviously still on your mind just like it is on mine, therefore this time we should talk it out.” Spencer retorted.

“Please Spencer, just drop it.” You muttered back. With your mouth pursed into a tight smile, you began to walk around the brunette doctor.

What happened next was a blur.

Faint thud. Clatter. The cardboard container previously in Spencer’s hands was now on the floor, papers spilling out.

He pulled you back. His grip around your arm strong yet not too tight. In the space of a single heartbeat, before you got a chance to react, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be.

As Spencer’s hands moved graciously to your face, your grasp on the box loosened and fell to your feet completely betraying your better judgement. Once there was nothing left between you, Spencer pushed himself in closer so that you were now standing chest to chest. Completely melting into one another.

Your instincts were to push him away and tell him to stop. Tell him if what didn't happen last week was wrong then this definitely was too. Instead your fingers tangled in his perfectly messy hair, tugging slightly at the roots. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered harder with each passing second.

Spencer bit your bottom lip causing your mouth to part. His tongue slid inside within an exchange of breaths and attached itself to yours. His hands still holding your face, thumbs gently caressing your flushed pink cheeks.

Without warning, past memories of the two of you in this very position flooded your mind. Spencer and you kissing for the first time outside your old apartment door. Sharing soft comforting moments after particularly tough cases. Leaning across the dinner table at a restaurant, the flickering light reflecting in Spencer’s eyes. In the middle of the street, under the street lamps, as if you were the only people left in the world.

The overpowering euphoria you felt just seconds ago passed and was immediately replaced by guilt.

Both of you pulled away breathless.

“This- I- we- I can’t. I’m sorry.” You blurted out, freeing yourself from his embrace.

The words were painful to say and even more agonising for Spencer to hear. His nose twitched, and his eyes glossed over with tears. However, he didn't protest. He nodded his head in understanding and swallowed his breath.

“Treat it as a goodbye kiss.” Spencer rationalised. “Now, there is nothing holding you back from your happy ever after.”

His lips formed into a thin half-smile before he began to clean up the files currently scattered over the floor.

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. What could you have said? That now there was something holding you back?

You chewed on your lip and wiped the single tear from the corner of your eye before joining him in complete silence.

It was better to leave it alone. Yet another memory - right?

(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

A/N: hello friends! i hope you liked this chapter (not a fan of cheating so this was a little hard for me to write but THEY FINALLY KISSED AH !! i’d love to hear your feedback and as always if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

156 notes · View notes