#(i stopped watching live and going in the general tag first) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halfvalid · 7 months

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pretty in that

ABOUT

rating: general audiences

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!monkey d. luffy | live action!nami

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: you have a hard time picking a dress for dinner whilst in kaya's mansion. zoro (sort of) helps!

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, confessions, no use of "y/n", special straw hat appearances (nami & luffy), soft zoro

author's note: i'm a sucker for dress-up scenes so i KNEW i was gonna write smth like this once that ep3 scene started playing. reader chooses a dress at the end; dress is non-described so you can imagine your ideal dress!

You were on Nami and Zoro’s side when it came to whatever was going on in Syrup Village. Kaya’s mansion made you feel vaguely unsettled, and stepping into the building made your heart pound quicker than you would like to admit. But if there was one thing that piqued your interest, it was the order of changing clothes for dinner. You’d been stuck in the same few outfits for weeks now, and the promise of something new—and formal—was nearly exciting, although you’d never admit it in front of Nami and her disapproving gaze.

Kaya’s kindness combined with the private guest room and bath you were treated to helped soothe your nerves. Soon you found yourself being led to the giant closet the rest of the Straw Hats were already in—Nami was trying on various different pieces, and Zoro seemed to have something in hand too.

“Ah, there you are!” Luffy said, swiveling on his heel and giving you a big grin as you entered the room. You stared in disbelief at all of the racks around you. Hell, there were even clothes hanging from the ceiling.

“Well, we certainly have a lot of options,” you said, skimming a hand over a nearby rack. There were a variety of different fabrics, but they all felt expensive: silk and velvet, damasks and brocades. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’m just trying on anything,” Nami called from where she was, before stepping out from the room divider she’d been changing behind. She wore an emerald dress with a plunging neckline, the patterned silk clinging to her curves, and did a little spin. “What do you think?”

Luffy shrugged. Zoro wrinkled his nose, barely glancing up from the armchair he was lounging on. “I think it looks nice,” you offered, but Nami still seemed dissuaded.

“Ugh, these two are impossible. What are you going to wear?”

“Uh, I’m getting there,” you said with a little laugh. “It’s a bit overwhelming; I’d rather help you guys pick first. Luffy, have you found something yet?” You turned towards the man in the center of the room, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I found this!” He raised up a black waistcoat. You frowned at it.

“Um, Luffy, waistcoats are supposed to be worn with a suit,” you said, then paused, seeing his blank look. “...Never mind.”

“And I’m wearing black,” Zoro added, despite the piece of clothing slung along his lap definitely not being black. You exchanged a glance with Nami, who just rolled her eyes. They’re stupid, she mouthed, then returned to the rack she was glancing through. She worked quickly, pulling out various numbers that she scrutinized before either setting on the couch beside her or putting back.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Need me to find you some pants with that, Cap?” Nami and Zoro let out identical groans as you spoke the pet name, both turning to give you exasperated looks. You suppressed your laugh.

“Stop calling him that,” Zoro said with a tired sigh. “You’re encouraging him.”

“Kind of the point, yeah,” you said cheerfully. While Zoro and Nami were both still largely unconvinced about the whole pirate crew thing, you’d joined the bandwagon rather quickly. Zoro rolled his eyes, and you turned towards the racks to find Luffy some slacks. “Assumedly you need something other than that shirt too?”

“I’ll look later,” Zoro said passively. You watched him out of your peripheral vision. He was outfitted in a patterned kimono, his three swords slung along his lap. He didn’t seem too interested in his surroundings, though what he was doing, you weren’t sure. You let him be, turning to page through the racks of clothes again. Finally you found a pair of slacks that seemed like they’d fit Luffy.

“Here,” you said, passing them over to him. “And find some shoes while you’re at it.”

“Why does she even have clothes that don’t fit her?” Zoro murmured, sounding as baffled as he could get. “What, she just casually has clothes in all four of our sizes hanging around?”

“Rich people own things just to own them,” Nami called. She’d changed again; this dress had a halter neckline and was blush pink. Zoro motioned with a hand at it, and Nami frowned, glancing down at the dress. “You don’t like it?”

“Eh,” Zoro said. Nami made a face.

“At this point I think you’re hating just to hate.” She pulled up a few more options, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed them. Luffy was seemingly satisfied with what you’d given him, because he took the pieces off of their hangers and slung them over his shoulder.

“I’m off,” he announced. “Gonna go change in my room and do some exploring before dinner. Have fun!” With that, he left, and Nami sighed, turning towards you. She held up her final two options—a red cheongsam with delicate gold embroidery and a pastel blue dress with an a-line skirt. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you studied the two.

“I think the blue one might wash you out a bit,” you said eventually; it’d clash with her hair no doubt, and make her skin look even paler. The shade wasn’t a right match with her eyes, either. “I like the cheongsam; I think you should go with that one. It contrasts nicely with your hair.”

Nami raised up the dress again, inspecting it. “You’re right,” she said, ducking back behind the room divider to change. You started pursuing the racks again; Nami stepped out a few moments later, successfully outfitted in her new dress. “Okay, I’m going to go do my hair in my guest room. Good luck.”

“Bye,” you called, watching as she left the room. You clicked your tongue, almost alone now and with absolutely zero options of clothing. As much as you liked the idea of new clothes, the abundance of options was starting to seem a little daunting. “Okay, now that Nami’s done, it’s my turn to play dress-up.”

Zoro laughed from where he sat, and you startled, almost having forgotten he was there. He was watching you attentively, his attention having diverted from whatever it was he’d been thinking about earlier. “You like this kind of thing?”

“Well, I mean.” You shrugged, peering at a few of the pieces on the rack in front of you. You pulled out a deep green dress, eyeing the lace by the neckline before setting it back. “It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

“Not really what I’m into.”

“You wear jewelry, so clearly you have some fashionable instinct,” you pointed out, bending over to glance at the clothes hiding by your knees. These were all skirts or unreasonably short dresses, with so little fabric you were uncertain they would cover anything at all. “Unless the earrings are for another reason…?”

“Three swords, three earrings.”

“Makes sense. What are you wearing with your shirt?” You glanced back to see Zoro’s answer, but he merely shrugged. “Do you want me to find you some trousers? A suit?”

“You don’t need to find clothes for me. I can do that myself.” Still, Zoro made absolutely no move to do so. You rolled your eyes, but turned your attention back on what you’d be wearing for the dinner. Vaguely you wondered how Zoro would look wearing a suit. You flushed almost as soon as the thought popped into your head, shoving it into the very back of your skull and banishing it from seeing the light of day.

“If you say so,” you said instead, mostly to distract yourself from the beyond inappropriate thoughts starting to run through your head. Honestly, you barely knew your crew mates—the four of you were close to tearing each other’s throats out before you ran into Buggy, after all. And the fact that Zoro was, well, conventionally attractive—and you tried to keep your thoughts on that and that alone, anything emotional was strictly out of the question—shouldn’t be something your mind lingered on.

You picked out the first dress that looked to be your size. It was dark purple, backless with a tight trumpet skirt. Ducking behind the room divider Nami had used, you stripped off your clothes, donning the dress. There was a mirror along the other side of the divider, and you turned, trying to appraise the dress on your figure. The color didn’t look entirely right, and you were uneasy about the lack of mobility the skirt might have—Kaya’s staff were still extremely suspicious, after all, and you’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Let me see,” Zoro called from outside. You tugged at the dress, suddenly nervous, but stepped out after you couldn’t find a good enough excuse not to. Zoro’s eyes ran up and down your figure, and you did a slow circle, showing off the dress. The bare skin of your back prickled.

“You’re not going to be able to move in it,” he eventually said.

You huffed out a breath, the nervous energy that had accumulated in your chest leaving with the action. Something in your belly stirred; disappointment, maybe, that Zoro had only commented on the practicality of the dress, not how you looked in it. But you pushed those thoughts away with an angry shove. Not the time, and definitely not the person to be thinking those sorts of things about. “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Let me find something else.��

Zoro’s gaze didn’t flicker from your body as you started across the room, ducking between more racks to find something. “You dead-set on a dress?”

“I haven’t worn a dress in a while,” you answered, picking out a red one before remembering Nami’s choice and setting it back. “Might as well take the opportunity.” The next one you pulled was blue, all shiny and soft. The material looked like some kind of tender silk. You set it aside to try on. “Why?”

“Haven’t seen either you or Nami in a dress before.”

“Actually, you have. I’m wearing one right now and Nami tried like five on earlier,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to shoot Zoro an unimpressed look. He scoffed, though there was a smile at the edges of his mouth as he turned his head away. Your next choice was soft pink, and made of tulle that vaguely resembled a puff pastry. You pulled it up. “Think I should try it?”

“I mean, pick whatever,” Zoro said, though he seemed mildly disgusted by the amount of fabric the skirt had, all bunched up with layers like something a ballerina might wear. “What are you trying to achieve with the dress?”

“What am I—I’m trying to look nice, Zoro,” you said, stifling your laughter. You set the pink dress back, replacing it with a sage green number instead. “Not everything has ulterior motives.”

“You always look nice.”

You froze, a soft chill curling around the back of your neck. Carefully, you straightened up from where’d you been bent over yet another rack of clothes, turning to look Zoro in the eye. His eyes hadn’t moved. “Oh,” you managed out, throat all dry and tongue like sandpaper in your mouth. “Well, thank you.”

Zoro cleared his throat, a dull noise he made in the hollow of his throat without even parting his lips. His gaze flickered away. “Yeah. Go try those on.”

Wordlessly, you stepped back behind the room divider and slipped on the blue dress. It had a texture like water—it was some kind of high-end silk, flexible enough that it was near liquid in movement. The dress itself fell to your ankles, and had a simple square neckline. You stepped outside, doing another slow twirl. “Better,” Zoro said.

“Better how?”

“You can probably run in it.”

You twisted your lips, trying to suppress the urge to turn them down into a frown. “Okay. It’s not doing it for me.” You ducked back behind the divider to change yet again; the sage green one was satin, with long sleeves and a neckline you hadn’t anticipated would be that deep.

Still, upon exiting the divider and turning for Zoro again, he didn’t have any worthwhile feedback. “It’s kind of plain,” he said eventually, not meeting your eyes.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest; you had to almost resist stomping over to the racks to find something more, and spent another few minutes gathering dresses and trying them on.

To your immense disappointment, each one garnered little to no reaction from Zoro. You even shoved on one of the tiny, too-little fabric dresses you’d disapproved of earlier, but all Zoro did was scan you from head to toe and say, rather flatly, “you’d get stabbed pretty easily in that.”

Frustration bled into your nerves as you hid behind the divider again. You glared at yourself in the mirror—your skin had started flushing with how annoyed you were getting, which might’ve been funny had you not been so ticked off. Men, you thought, irritated. Was it really so hard to tell you that you looked pretty?

He’s a bounty hunter, you had to remind yourself. He doesn’t care about this kind of thing. Besides, he was the last person you should be setting your sights on anyway. You tugged at the short dress, the hem just barely grazing the tops of your thighs.

You heard footsteps approaching from outside the divider, suddenly too close as you snapped yourself out of the reverie of thoughts you’d been lost in. Zoro turned the corner, arm propped up against the divider edge as he peered in, brows furrowed. “You stopped coming out,” he said. He was still in his kimono, swords tossed over one shoulder. The shirt he had was, assumedly, left on the couch he’d finally stood up from.

“I’m frustrated,” you told him blandly. His frown deepened.

“Because of… clothing?”

You suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape your lungs. “Never mind. I’m fresh out of ideas.” You pushed past Zoro, opting to stand in the center of the room as if analyzing it from a different view would magically give you more options. Zoro turned to stare, still looking perplexed. “With so many options, it’s hard to make up my mind, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Zoro was still studying you. “Did I do something?”

“What? No,” you said hastily. Too hastily. The words had ripped out of your throat like a hiccup, and you seriously needed to learn how to lie a bit better because now Zoro’s expression was even more confused. “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, turning away from Zoro to stare at some of the clothes hanging on the wall above his head. These were too high up to properly look at, and as you stepped back, you glanced through the dresses hanging off the arch of the ceiling. You perused them without too much interest, eyes glancing over the various colors and fabrics until—

Zoro stepped next to you. “Hey,” he said, and you jolted, head snapping down to look at him. You let out a noise of irritation, then turned your focus back on the ceiling.

Your gaze flickered through the racks until finally falling on one particular dress hanging by the mouth of the room. It was somewhat hidden, tucked in a little corner beside a few other pieces, but from your vantage point it seemed about your size.

You took a step closer to it, surveying it with your neck craned. The material looked soft and comfortable but it still retained shape, and the color—even in the dim lighting of the closet—was one of your favorites. The undertone would suit your skin perfectly. And, well, you didn’t want to put all your bets on one dress you hadn’t even touched, but it was certainly promising.

Zoro stepped past you, barely exerting any effort to reach up and bring the dress down from where it hung up high. “This one, right?” he asked, and you swallowed, some of the annoyances you had towards him dissolving as he extended the dress hanger towards you. You nodded wordlessly, taking it. You stood there for a second before Zoro gestured with his head towards the divider. “Go try it on.”

You did so, retreating safely behind your wall and stepping out of the little dress. You surveyed the one Zoro had grabbed for you again, heart lodged in your throat. It really was beautiful, and exactly your style; now that you saw it up close, you could safely affirm it was your size too, but nervousness still pulsed through your veins at it.

Carefully, you slipped it on, adjusting the fabric around your hips and fixing up the neckline to rest evenly on your skin.

Zoro spoke out from the rest of the room. “So why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not—” you sighed, dropping your arms before returning to fiddle with the dress. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Is it because I wasn’t being helpful with the clothes? Because I already said that’s not exactly my area of expertise—”

“It’s not because of the clothes, Zoro,” you said sharply, cutting him off. Zoro clicked his tongue, the sound reverberating around the room and thudding in time with your heartbeat. You turned your attention back onto your reflection. “It’s just me being silly. Don’t worry about it.”

‘I’m worrying about it,” Zoro deadpanned. You sighed, adjusting the dress one final time before arranging your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror. It fit you perfectly, emphasizing all the right places and hiding all the parts of your body you were more insecure about. “Changed yet?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice limp.

“Let me see.”

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous about how he’d react. Knowing him, it’d be something like it’s okay or the color’s fine; perhaps can you even walk in that? or weird shape if he was feeling a little more critical. Still, you stepped out anyway, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you spun for him, letting him look at the dress from all angles. When you’d finished posing you glanced up, eyes meeting him tentatively.

“It’s…” Zoro cleared his throat, ripping his gaze away from the dress on your figure to flicker up to your face. His gaze dropped again nearly as fast, like he couldn’t bear to keep eye contact. “Uh.”

“It’s what?” you prompted, turning to face the nearest mirror. Your lips twisted into a worried frown, turning to glance at the dress again. Was it really not as perfect as you’d thought originally? “Do you like it? It’s my favorite so far, I think, but if you don’t like it—”

“You look pretty in that,” Zoro blurted, cutting your rambles off with the strident, too-loud sentence. You froze, eyes flickering to meet him in the mirror. Carefully, he glanced up at you, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Oh.”

Zoro coughed, averting his gaze as you slowly turned around to face him. You couldn’t see properly with the less-than-ideal lighting of the room, but his face seemed to have taken on a ruddier complexion. “I like it,” he said, words softer than they’d been before. “It’s the one.”

There was a little rush of something through your veins, and you felt vaguely lightheaded. “Okay,” you barely managed to squeak out. “Thanks.” You stumbled back behind the divider, sucking in a deep breath and trying to regulate your breathing. God, this was actually shameful at this point.

You composed yourself quickly, gathering all the dresses you’d tried on and abandoned to return to their proper places. Zoro was still watching you attentively, and you glanced over your shoulder at him. Sparks prickled along your skin as your eyes met. “What?” you asked.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am not.”

Zoro stood up, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his head from side to side. He glanced through the racks and, without even a minute’s hesitation, plucked a suit jacket and matching pants out from beside him. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

“You’re just grabbing those without thinking about it?” you demanded, eager to change the subject. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“I picked them like fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “Just didn’t grab them until you were done your whole… thing. Now spill it. You’re all red again.”

You swiveled towards the closest mirror, unable to suppress your gape as you saw that your skin had indeed turned a distinctive shade of scarlet, flushed undertones creeping their way up your skin. It was entirely recognizable even in the terrible lighting. Even your skin was treacherous, now. “Nothing,” you muttered, unable to meet Zoro’s eyes as you spit it out. “I was annoyed because you weren’t telling me what you thought of the dresses.”

“I… did, though?” Zoro said, perplexed. You let out a grating sigh, cheeks flaring even hotter now that he was forcing you to confess the entire extent of your sins.

“Yeah, like, practically,” you said, wrapping your arms defensively over your chest. “You’ll get stabbed in that so easily. You won’t be able to walk. I just wanted you to tell me that—” you cut yourself off with another groan. “Don’t make me say it.”

Zoro blinked. “I have no idea what you’re edging towards, so you’re going to have to say it.”

“I just wanted you to tell me I looked nice!” you finally burst out, turning so you wouldn’t have to look at Zoro’s face. God, you were going to have to quit the Straw Hats after this. It was so entirely stupid.

“But—” There was a laugh in Zoro’s voice, and you glared down at the floor, all of your dignity having left you by this point. You had no shame left to feel anymore. “I said ‘you always look nice’. Doesn’t that insinuate—”

“That’s not the point,” you said hotly, tone almost argumentative now. “I wanted you to think I looked pretty in a dress, Zoro.”

Zoro didn’t respond for a moment, brows creasing and face taking on a baffled expression. “But why—” Zoro cut himself off, and you turned even redder, holding your breath as he finally connected the dots. A single word fell from his lips, like a soft breath of air as he spoke. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the almost whining tone your voice took on. Zoro stepped closer to you, a hand wrapping around your wrist and forcing you to look up at him.

“I said you looked pretty in this one.”

“I know,” you insisted, still all red, “which is why I’m not totally mad at you, but—”

“You looked pretty in all of them,” Zoro said. He didn’t look bashful, per se—you didn’t think Zoro could get shy—but his voice was low, all hoarse in a more tentative way rather than one of his grating remarks this time. “For the record.”

Your breath caught.

“This one’s my favorite, though,” Zoro muttered. And then he was leaning down to kiss you, the ghost of his lips just on the corner of your mouth. You gaped up at him in shock as he averted his gaze, staring at some spot about your head. “Was that—” he started, before clearing his throat and trying again with a little more of his dignity this time. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” you blurted fervently, and before you could fix up the moment with something more, well, suitable, your big mouth ruined it for you. “But I think we’re holding up dinner. You should get changed, and I still need to find shoes.”

You bit your tongue immediately after the words had been said, but it was too late—Zoro coughed, turning away from you. You panicked, and now it was your turn to grab his arm and tug you towards him. “Wait!”

Zoro glanced down at you, perplexed, and then you leaned up to kiss him square on the mouth. He stumbled back, surprised, but adjusted quickly, hand going to cradle the back of your neck and pressing you right to him before you finally broke apart.

“You should steal it,” he started. You stared up at him in question. “The dress, I mean. You should steal it.”

“When am I ever going to need to wear this again?” you asked, perplexed. Zoro shrugged, fingers tugging at the edge of the dress's neckline.

“Dunno. Just take it. She probably won’t even notice.”

“You’re adorable,” you teased; Zoro wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain, opting instead to move away and pick up the clothes he still hadn’t changed into. “Go change. See you at dinner.”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, his eyes not straying from your figure as you ducked out of the room. Before you could fully leave, though, Zoro grabbed your wrist, spinning you around towards him.

You didn’t have enough time to ask what he was doing when he leaned around to kiss you one final time, his hands cradling your face as your lips moved against each other. It was only a moment later that he stepped away, looking rather sheepish but not very apologetic as he finally let you go.

“You look more than pretty,” he murmured, eyes sinking into yours, and your throat dried, any words you might’ve formed dying away within seconds. “You always look more than pretty. You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, and then he ducked back inside the closet to change.

#opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #reader insert #x reader #opla #one piece live action #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #opla fanfiction #opla fanfic #one piece live action x reader #opla x reader #kiki writes!

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kaciidubs · 4 months

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24 to 25 [Merry Christmas] | 8 Days of SKZcember

Prompt: meeting each other's family for the first time over the holidays

❣ Summary: There was a first for everything, and Christmas in Australia was definitely one of them. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.07k ❣ Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Chris is a doting boyfriend, slight humor, the whole Bang family is here ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Baby, and Love, unedited, this was meant to be short, not over 2k words ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023

Having family living in a different part of the world often meant having to visit whenever time off would allow; however, having a boyfriend in the industry whose family also lived in a different part of the world apart from your family meant those visits were even rarer.

“...and once again, we would like to thank you for flying with us this Christmas eve.”

Toying with your fingers subconsciously, you glanced out of the window of the plane at the vast expanse of land thousands of meters below, your stomach doing flips in the meantime.

“Baby?”

A soft touch brought you out of your thoughts, turning your head to see Chris’s hand covering yours with a gentle squeeze added for good measure.

“If you’re nervous about the landing just close your eyes - you can even close the blind if you want?”

Your heart fluttered and you had to stop yourself from swooning at how cute he was, squeezing his hand back with a small smile, “It’s not the landing that I’m nervous about, Channie - well, not entirely nervous about.” Looking down at your entwined hands, you deflated slightly in your seat, “I’m just worried they won’t… like me, you know?”

You were both currently on your way to Australia to visit Chris’ family for the holiday; the decision being made after a long winded debate and heavy consideration over you not wanting to take the opportunity away from his visiting home, and him not wanting you to sacrifice seeing your family just for him - the resolution resulting in two plane tickets and the promise of the next vacation dedicated to your hometown.

Chris scoffed your name lovingly, “You’re worried over that? You know my mom adores you, and my dad asks about you whenever he calls - and you already know how Hannah is, you guys basically talk everyday! Hell, even Lucas brings your name up, you know how rare that is?”

“Hannah doesn’t count cause I’ve already met her - but your mom, dad, and Lucas? We’ve only ever talked over the phone, it’s different from meeting in person - what if I’m not what they expected?”

“Love, look at me.”

Looking at him with a soft pout, he gave you a comforting smile, eyes shining with a fondness you’d fallen for time and time again.

“My family is going to love you, because I love you, okay? They’ve heard me talk about you so much that my mom actually started threatening me to bring you to visit!” When you cracked a smile at his confession, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, “Everything’s going to be fine, yeah?”

Giving him a small nod, you watched as he pressed a small kiss to your knuckles just as the seatbelt light turned on and the plane prepared for its final descent.

It wasn’t long until the plane touched down and you were both following the line of passengers toward baggage claim and car rentals, Chris claiming that having more than one car would be best this time around.

“Alright,” he clapped his hands, seat belt buckled and car running, “Hannah knows we’re on our way - apparently Dad’s busy grilling and Mom’s running around trying to make sure the house is in order.”

“And your brother?”

“Waiting to catch Mom’s reaction when we walk through the door, I’m sure.”

The time between the car pulling out of the rental lot and rolling down the familiar streets of Chris’ childhood neighborhood seemed too short to be true, and you found yourself fidgeting with the strap of your seatbelt as you looked through the window.

“Baby, you’re doing it again.”

Huffing out a short laugh, you shook your head, “I’m just excited - nervous, but excited. Don’t act like you wouldn’t be doing the same thing if you were meeting my parents!”

He puffed out his cheeks, “I wouldn’t!”

“Chris, you practiced talking on the phone for ten minutes before we video called my family for the first time.”

His silence was enough for you to laugh harder, cooing at the blush tinting his ears as he pulled the car into the driveway.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to gather your bags - or, rather, for Chris to gather the suitcases like the gentleman he was while you handled closing the trunk after - and make your way up the short path to the front door.

He looked at you with a glittering smile, tilting his head toward the entrance, “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to quell the butterflies in your stomach and nodded, signaling him to ring the doorbell.

The sound of muffled barking soon followed suit, Berry readily alerting the home of their potential guests.

“Coming!”

No less than a second later, the door swung open to reveal a bright eyed Hannah, a wide smile stretching her lips as she practically flung herself into your arms with an excited squeal of your name.

“You made it! Oh my god, hi! Welcome to Australia!”

You hugged her back with a laugh, “Thank you! It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Chris muttered, though the smile on his face betrayed any attempts of annoyance he tried conveying. “Your older brother? The person you grew up with?”

“Exactly, I grew up with you which means I’ve seen enough.”

“Hey!”

Breaking from the hug, she led you both into the house as she went to find the rest of the family, leaving you and Chris in the foyer with a very excited, yet curious Berry.

Your boyfriend wasted no time in crouching down, baby voice in full effect, “Hi, Berry! Berry! Hi! I missed you! I missed you so much!”

The king charles spaniel jumped onto his arms, panting happily before falling back down with a series of excited barks and tail wags, then turning her attention to you with similar gusto.

Bending down, you offered your hand for her to sniff with a small smile, “Hi, Berry, it’s nice to meet you! Chris talked about you so much, part of me thought this trip was just to see you and no one else.” When her curious sniffing stopped, she ducked her head under your hand for you to pet her, which you graciously accepted, “Oh, aren’t you the cutest? You’re the best girl, aren’t you?”

The sound of footsteps broke you from your puppy praise break and you stood just in time to see his mom rushing around the corner with a bright smile on her face, “Oh my goodness!”

Taking the initiative, Chris stepped forward with an equally wide smile, an air of sheepishness surrounding him as if he were a teenager bringing home their first partner. “Hi, mom.”

She wasted no time in pulling him into a hug, holding him in her arms as much as she could despite how grown he had become - the epitome of a mother’s hug, always ready to cradle their child no matter how much they’ve changed.

Your heart swelled at the display, catching a few murmurs of how much she missed him and how big he’d gotten until she pulled away to look in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve heard so much about you already that I don’t even need an introduction,” she laughed, letting her son out of her arms to stand next to you, “but I’ll let him tell me anyways, I know he’s been practicing this moment.”

“Mom, really?”

“That’s hilarious,” Lucas snickered from the sidelines, which gave you the chance to notice him holding his phone, most likely recording for future memories.

Huffing lightly, Chris took your hand in his and you squeezed in earnest, watching him relax considerably. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend,” he turned to you, a warm smile on his lips, “and this is my mom, the person responsible for giving me life.”

“And your good looks,” she teased, stepping forward to bring you into a hug similar to the one she gave him; welcoming, comforting, accepting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you - pictures do not do you justice!”

You could feel yourself melt in her embrace, your previous nervousness vanishing into thin air, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Bang.”

“Oh, please, it’s an honor finally meeting the person who’s responsible for my son being this happy,” holding you at arms length, she gazed at you with sparkling eyes, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Just as you went to give another complement, the smell of grilled meat wafted through the air and Chris all but floated off of the ground; a weary sigh escaping him as he eagerly looked toward what you could only assume to be the kitchen.

“I missed dad’s grilling so much.”

“Good, cause he’s been at it all day,” Hannah shrugged, looking at you with a smirk, “He made one of everything - I’d like to think of it as pregaming Christmas dinner.”

Their mom let you go and headed through the hall, “I’ll go help with setting the table - Chris, your room is all set if you want to drop off your suitcases and give her a quick tour, other than that I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

He gave her a short hum in response, sharing a quick hug with Lucas and a brief introduction between the two of you before guiding you to his old room - or, better known as the room you’ll be sharing for the next few days.

“If the bed’s too small, I can always camp out on the floor, you know.”

You scoffed out a laugh as you danced your fingers along the carefully laid out blanket, “You say that as if we don’t practically sleep under each other already - this is perfect, baby.”

You couldn’t help but take in the details of his old room, scanning over the posters and pictures that decorated the walls, and spotting the board of medals that laid propped against the floor - not that it was hard to miss considering the wide array it held. Before you could get entranced by any more trinkets and hidden gems, his hand gently grabbed yours and he pulled you into his space, trapping you in his arms with a careful gaze.

“How are you feeling so far? If you’re tired from the flight I can always ask my dad to save you a plate for later, he’ll understand and-”

“Baby, I’m okay!” Wrapping your arms around his waist, you smiled up at him, “I’m not tired, and I’m not worried anymore - meeting your mom made me realize I had nothing to be scared about, and just from smelling your dad’s food I know we’re going to get along just fine!” You narrowed your eyes slightly, tilting your head with a soft pout, “Are you okay? Not that I hate the sudden check in, but you seem stressed, Chris.”

Heaving a deep sigh, he ultimately relaxed in your arms, a tired smile falling on his lips, “I’m okay- more than okay, actually, I’m just…” He stared at you, brown eyes warm with love, “I guess I’m just excited over having you here with me, with my family - I want to make sure everything’s perfect and I’m not pushing you into things too soon.”

Cooing at his sentiment, you laid your head on his chest, surrounding yourself in his scent and warmth. “Channie, you’re not pushing me into anything, you hear me? I’m happy we decided to come here, and even if we haven't been here long, I already feel more than welcome.”

His hold on you tightened a bit more as he rested his cheek on the top of your head, grounding himself in the moment until his mother’s voice floated through the hall.

“Chris! Food’s ready!”

“Well,” pulling away from him, you shot him a teasing smile, “ready for your first family dinner featuring your extremely brave girlfriend?”

He chuckled at your antics, “My brave girl, for sure - I was born ready for this.”

As you led the way out of his room, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he snuck a glance at the screen to see a text from your mom; your family’s flight still on schedule to land tomorrow morning.

Biting back his grin, he sent a quick text in return before grabbing your hand and guiding you toward the dining room.

“Dad, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader

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heartpascal · 1 year

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something is rotten

▹ — joel miller x niece!reader

▹ — summary: part two of to an empty house — arriving in jackson brings painful feelings, and even worse conversations.

▹ — a/n: UGH!! guys im not all that happy with this one!! ive changed it a couple times too D: but i have left yall hanging long enough!! lemme know if you want anymore about these guys :’) && ty guys sm for all the support ILY!!

▹ — warnings: slight spoilers for episode 6 ‘kin’, swearing, ANGST!!!, a bit of comfort, father figure joel, reader has daddy issues, and abandonment issues, and is generally not struggling in life PLS

▹ — tags: @canpillowscry @randomstory56 @angsty-twihardxx @frogtits1 @exiledangel @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @vee-vee-writes @rhyanna6012 @snixx2088 @mona-aiko @mymommmy (those of you tagged in italics asked for part 2 in the comments of the first part! drop me a message if you want your tag removed!!)

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Life in the apocalypse had been non-stop since you had left that hydroelectric power plant, left behind Tommy, and for a while, all thoughts of him. There hadn’t been time to worry about that sort of thing, between almost losing Joel, and then almost losing Ellie, and then finally reaching the hospital that had been your end goal.

In some ways, you were glad. It kept your mind racing, the feeling of constantly being on edge allowing your brain to stay away from silly things, such as your father.

But now, with that whole chapter finally being over, Joel and Ellie were ready to settle down, to live in a home, rather than travelling miles upon miles, never feeling safe. The three of you had been through a lot, and since the… incident with Ellie, her joke book had remained closed.

You knew that Joel had noticed the change in her, just the same as you had. What she had thought to be her purpose, the justification for everybody who had been lost on your journey, their sacrifice, had been for nothing. It was tearing her apart, and it hurt you to watch it happen.

There was no question about your next destination, though you tried to ignore the reality of it for as long as you possibly could, you were fully aware that Jackson was what Ellie needed. Hell, you’d even go as far as to say it was what Joel needed, too. But deep down, you knew that going there was going to tear you to pieces, despite the way you liked to put on a strong front, following in Joel’s footsteps even in that sense.

You didn’t share your concerns, content to continue the journey in silence, pretending not to notice the way Joel and Ellie looked at you the closer you got to the town.

“Hey, you okay?” Ellie murmured to you, the final stop of your journey feeling like something similar to that of impending doom. She nudged your arm with her elbow, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes like it used to.

“Mighty fine.” You responded, her dim smile reflected in your own, and you let it fall the moment she nodded at you, despite clearly being unconvinced by your words.

You fell into step beside her and Joel, and felt his hand grasp on to your shoulder as you caught glimpse of Jackson in the not far enough distance. He squeezed your shoulder the slightest bit, and gave you the biggest reassuring smile he could muster, though it didn’t soothe your worries like it used to.

Maybe it was everything the three of you had been through over your journey, or maybe it was the impending arrival at Jackson, but you were starting to notice the world had become much dimmer than you remembered it to be. Joel’s grip less reassuring, Ellie’s smile less genuine, that faint hope in your gut long gone. With a frown, the thought came to you that this was what it meant to grow up.

The lines on Ellie’s face said the same thing, the sigh that had left her chest, made up of pure exhaustion, just told you that her naive nature had vanished. Jokes no longer received the same laughter, and the world no longer held beauty. Growing up felt like hopelessness settling, nuzzling its way in and making itself at home in that space around your heart. The grip it had made it feel like perhaps, it wouldn’t be all too bad if that heartbeat slowed, but you pushed that thought aside for another time.

For now, you’d have to focus on the problem at hand; arriving in Jackson.

It was warmer now than it had been when you’d left the power plant, and it showed in the way that the green lands had brightened, the sun settling and warming the back of your neck. The heat meant less layers, and the three of you had removed your jackets long before arriving in the town.

The lookouts had spotted you all before you’d been anywhere near the gate, so it was no surprise that Tommy was there to greet the three of you when the gates were finally pulled open, allowing you a peek into the home he valued so much.

Walking in, you had already begun your self-appointed mission of ignoring every word Tommy Miller said, but felt yourself almost blown away by the sights around you. For a moment, just a split second, it was nice.

That thought went out the window a second later, catching a glimpse of your so-called father, and you couldn’t help but recall the way you’d sat for endless nights, waiting for that very man, and imagined yourself living a life with him in a town just like this one.

You felt sick.

That little kid deserved better, you decided. You were worthy of living this kind of life, of getting to sleep in a warm house, of not having to worry about if Joel and Tess would get enough ration cards to feed the three of you, of getting horse riding lessons! The facts of the situation stared you in the face, getting clearer the longer you looked around. Your own father denied you of this life.

With building anger, the feeling white-hot, burning, you turned to Joel where he was speaking with his brother. “Where are we staying?”

Tommy looked between you and Joel, swallowing when Joel just raised a brow at him, and spoke, “Uh, little place just a couple blocks over. 38, I think. Rancher Street, I’ll take you guys over—”

“I’ll make my own way.” You snapped, before he could even finish his sentence. If you had to look at him for even a second longer, you were sure that the overflowing anger and resentment would explode, and you weren’t convinced anyone would be able to pick up the pieces that would be left behind.

You stormed down the street before he could say another word to you, turning down the first alley you saw and standing still in the street on the other side, letting out a harsh breath.

You couldn’t be sure how long you’d stood there for, trying to turn down the simmering emotions inside of you, but it was clearly long enough for somebody to notice. “You good there?” A young girl asked, and you turned to her, brows furrowed.

“‘M fine.” You responded gruffly, and even you could hear the way your speech reflected Joel’s own. The thought calmed you, almost, reminding you of who your real dad was.

She stepped closer, clearly not taking a hint, “You sure? New in town? You look lost.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m not lost.” You said to her, though you didn’t exactly know where you were. She just raised her eyebrows at you, and you huffed, “Lookin’ for a Rancher Street.”

The girl nodded, something between a smirk and a smile on her face, and pointed forward, “First left twice, then a right. Should get you there just fine.”

“Thanks.” You said, immediately heading off in the direction she’d guided you in. You kept your head down, brows furrowed, and tried to keep your attention away from the world around you. It was clear that it’d just make you more angry.

You counted along with the house numbers as you passed by, Rancher Street wasn’t that densely populated, if the look of the houses were anything to go by. There was quite a few that looked run down, number 38 included, once you arrived. You went inside, the door already unlocked, and sneezed when you inhaled all the dust that clouded the air. This place must’ve been barely touched throughout the last twenty years.

Grabbing a book left on the coffee table, you pulled it open, and sat on the edge of an old sofa, sighed through your nose when even more dust floated up from it.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“You’ll go, because it’s the polite thing to do.” Joel told you firmly, sighing heavily as he looked over at you with his arms crossed.

“You think I give a shit about being polite?” You asked him, mirroring his stance by crossing your own arms. He rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he clearly brainstormed a way to get around your stubbornness.

“Just this one time,” He told you, saying your name pleadingly, “Then you’ll never have to go ‘round there again.”

That peaked your interest, and you uncrossed your arms, “Really? You promise?”

“Swear.” Joel replied, and sighed something near to relief, finally calling Ellie’s name. The stairs creaked, and she appeared less than a second later.

“You coming?” She asked, thought she had obviously been sat on the stairs, listening to yours and Joel’s… conversation, the whole time.

“Yeah,” You sighed unhappily, “I’m coming.”

The three of you made your way across town, with Joel checking a scrap piece of paper that you could only assume held directions. Lights had flickered on by now, the darkness of the evening being offset by the yellow lamps that poured light over the street. It was weird, you thought, being able to see so clearly in the darkness.

Joel knocked at the wooden door when you arrived, looking back at you where you stood, just off the porch with Ellie, like he thought you might run away if he didn’t keep his eyes on you.

Though the thought had occurred to you, you wouldn’t do it, not if it meant that Joel’s promise would be vacant. Just this once, he had sworn.

The front door opened as Ellie knocked your arm with her elbow, giving you a slight reassuring smile. You appreciated the effort, but the reassurance fell flat. There was something about this situation that you just couldn’t put into words, but it hurt. Her arm wrapped through your own as Joel followed Tommy inside, and she led you in after them, closing the door behind you.

Immediately, you were tense. Your heart felt as if it was beating in your throat, like it was going to stop if you took another step. You tried not to look around, keeping your eyes on your battered old shoes as you let Ellie continue leading you through the house.

Her abrupt stop had you stumbling into her, and lifting your head with furrowed brows. You glanced to where she was looking, seeing the names Kevin and Sarah written in a scrawl on a chalkboard in what you guessed would be a living room. You frowned, and gripped Ellie’s arm tighter, breaking her from her stare at the board.

You pretended not to notice the homely feel to the house, the warmth of it making your palms sweat. If you allowed your mind to wonder too far, you’d be reminded of how you had dreamed of living a life like this as a kid, dreamed of a house just like this one, shared with your father. You would be reminded of how he chose to have this, chose to have it without you.

Good job you keep your mind on a tight leash, you supposed, gritting your teeth and blinking away the angry tears that wanted to rise and fall from your eyes.

You breathed in deeply through your nose, looking up as Ellie began to loosen her grip on your arm, having arrived at the dining room. The concept had always been strange to you, having lived in a shitty apartment for basically all your life, and having a whole room just for eating seemed like a waste of valuable space.

Ellie took a seat, and you quickly followed in her example as Joel stood talking to Tommy by the doorway, engaged in conversation like they were as close as they had been two decades ago.

“You got this.” Ellie said, her hand on squeezing your arm as she looked towards where you were wringing your fingers together, your stomach feeling as though you’d left it back by the porch. You nodded at her, swallowing and smiling tightly.

You stayed quiet as Tommy finished setting the table, before he was moving back and forth between the dining room and kitchen, bringing various plates and a few sauces with each trip. Finally, he sat down at the head of the table beside Ellie, and you kept your gaze away from him.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there to greet you guys when you got in,” Maria called, finally approaching from the kitchen, and you were keeping your gaze on your hands until Ellie frantically began tapping your, her expression saying something you’d couldn’t quite understand, something close to pity in her eyes. “Kinda hard to get around so quick, these days.” Maria laughed, placed a big plate down on the table before standing back up, her hands on her back and—

If you had eaten any food, you were sure you would’ve thrown it all back up.

There, standing in front of you, was your father’s wife — pregnant.

It felt like a million different feelings were running through your head, faster than you could catch up, all your thoughts were racing, clashing together and leaving only one that was literate: What the fuck?

Maria sat down beside Joel, at Tommy’s side, and you could see in Joel’s eyes that he hadn’t expected this, could see the pity building in his eyes just as you’d seen in Ellie’s, and it was all far too much.

“I can’t do this.” You announced, slamming your hands on the table and feeling some satisfaction in the way the cutlery clattered together. You pushed your chair back, standing up, and saw your father open his mouth to speak.

He said your name, and you snapped.

“Don’t talk to me! What the fuck is wrong with you?” You cried out, staring daggers at the man who was supposed to be your dad. The angry tears that you had managed to push away earlier came rushing back, one already falling down your cheek. You wiped it away angrily.

“Kid, just listen—”

You seethed, “Kid? Do I look like a fucking kid to you? You missed out on that, Tommy. You have no idea—” Your voice broke for a moment, as you thought of all the things that had happened to you since your father had been around. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my dad, remember? You left your daughter, years ago. You have no idea what we’ve been through.”

Ellie was stood beside you, her hand on your shoulder, though when she had got there, you had no idea. The edges of your vision were red, and you could feel the way your throat was tightening.

“I’m sorry,” He started, your name leaving his lips once again, and Ellie held firmly against you as you leant towards him, your blood warming in your veins as your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“I don’t think sorry cuts it.” You laughed, humourlessly. “I don’t think anything does, actually. I will never forgive you. You hear me? You listening? Never.”

You turned away, Ellie’s hand falling away, and you even avoided Joel as he stood up and tried to reach out for you. You couldn’t face them, not like this, not when it felt like your father had taken a chisel to your heart, and left you with only splintered ribs. You were choking on the emptiness of it, the reality of your life and what it meant to the man who had helped create it.

You were more certain now than ever that he had never cared for you, that he had left because of you, not just despite you.

It was horrible, and it was something you had always suspected. A part of you wished that he had died alongside the Fireflies, because at least then he wouldn’t have had a choice in staying away, right? But no, he was alive and well, thriving in the home he’d made without you, while you worried back at the QZ that barely provided you with enough food to get by.

You were storming away, and had reached the house you'd been allocated before you even really noticed that you had left. The blood in your veins had reached a boil by now, and you could feel the steaming in your lungs, in the way it suffocated you and made every breath burn against your throat.

The backpack in your hands was still filled with everything you owned, seeing as you hadn’t bothered to unpack into somebody else’s bedroom, though it had been theirs a lifetime ago. It didn’t help the deepening rage within you, the despair that was tilting your entire world on its axis. Everything in your life was in this bag, probably weighing less than the plate of food Maria had brought out.

Meanwhile, your father had a whole house full of shit that belonged to him. You scoffed, feeling that burning sensation crawling up your chest, so close to hatred, but something far more raw, more painful.

Your feet took you back out to Rancher Street, legs moving before your mind was fully caught up. You met the rest of the Miller’s halfway through your trek, with them on their way to Joel’s new house, whilst you were trying to make your way to the gate, prepared to leave, rather than get left behind.

Joel called your name, his expression displaying the panic that was crushing his chest. He had been a builder, before. He had fixed things — it was what he did, what he liked to do. But this was something he didn’t know how to fix, something that may have just been broken beyond repair… he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“Joel, don’t,” You told him, voice trembling as you spoke, stopping in front of the man who had looked after you for your whole life. “Please don’t. Nothin’ that anyone says could make me not hate him. Not even you.”

Joel swallowed, glancing back to his brother behind him, where he stood with his wife, before glancing to Ellie at his own side.

“I—I didn’t mean for this,” Tommy said, arms up by his head as if he was surrendering, but you knew he was just trying to make himself feel better. “I swear!”

“I don’t care,” You cried, feeling your frustration build that none of these people had the ability to understand you, to understand how it felt for your own father to look at you and leave you behind. They couldn’t get how crushing this was, that he was starting over. “Go ahead, start over with your wife. First time ‘round didn’t work, but second time, surely!”

He flinched at your words, as if they had hurt him, but your expression hardened. He had no idea what true hurt was — how could he?

“I know I wasn’t the greatest dad—”

“You have never been my dad. Joel is my dad. He’s looked after me my whole life while you were out lookin’ for something, who knows what, because I don’t believe you ever found it.” You spat at him, feeling Ellie approach your side, hold on to your wrist as your hands clenched into fists.

Joel’s face fell, the reality of your feelings towards your father were crushing, but he could see why you’d feel that way. He’d agree with you, too, if anybody deserved the title of your dad, it’d be himself, not his brother. He remembered a few times when you’d used the name for him, though you had been sick or exhausted down to your very bones both times, and he had figured that in your muddled mind, you’d gotten him confused with Tommy. That was the reason he had never corrected it, not wanting to squash whatever little amount of hope and love you had for his brother. He’d had no idea that the truth was that you saw him, not his brother, and your mind had made that connection.

He felt like he could cry when you turned to him, that glassy look in your eyes, and he saw the pieces of you that his own brother had broken. “I want to leave.” You told him, lip trembling as you said the words.

Joel didn’t know what to reply with — the two of you had nowhere to go, and Ellie didn’t, either. This place was your best option, your only option, really. He shook his head, mouth slightly agape as he tried to think of something to say, something that could convince you.

Ellie said your name, and you drew your gaze to her, where she looked guilty, far guiltier than you had ever seen her. “I want to stay.” She told you, her eyes darting away from you as if she was confessing some awful sin to you.

“I know,” You said, letting her hand slip from your wrist to your own hand, and squeeze tightly. “But I…”

Your gaze moved to Tommy and Maria, and your expression hardened, features turning to stone when you looked at the two of them. “I’ll stay. For now. And I’m still a Miller, but— but if anybody asks, I’m Joel’s daughter.”

Joel nodded, smiling thinly at you, tears welled up in his own eyes, and you nodded back to him.

“O—Okay.” Tommy said, swallowing, but you shushed him before he could continue.

“As for you, I don’t wanna see you. Let’s keep it the way you decided we should be.“ Your voice trembled, but you remained firm on your words. “I don’t wanna see your face, or hear your voice. I don’t want to know you. Joel can do what he likes, but you stay far away from me, you got it? The only kid you have is that one.” You finished, gesturing toward where Maria held a hand over her stomach.

Tommy looked as if he was going to disagree, but people had begun peeking through the windows of the houses on either side of the street, and when Joel stepped beside you, arm immediately going around your shoulders, he knew he had no choice.

“Hope you’re a better father to that kid than you were to me.” You hissed at him, seeing the way his face crumpled and finding satisfaction in it.

The small part of you, the darkest part, hoped every one of your words hurt him. Hoped that he lived the rest of his life knowing that he fucked up, that he ruined you, and that when you built yourself back up, he’d never get the chance to know you.

Joel took the backpack from your shoulder, pulling it over his own, and turned you away from the father you had disowned. The three of you walked away, not looking back to see the way Maria had to herd him away as he stared at you, something close to grief in his eyes.

When you arrived back at 38 Rancher Street, Ellie held your hand tightly while Joel opened the front door, dropping your backpack by the stairs as he moved towards the dust filled living room. The two of you followed him, and he turned around to see you squeezing Ellie’s hand, your lips trembling and your face crumpled as you looked up at him.

“Did I make a mistake? Did I ruin everything?” You asked him, trying so hard to keep yourself together, to tape all the little pieces of yourself into something that resembled okay, but it wasn't working.

“God, no, kid.” Joel said, and he was in front of you and Ellie before you could get another word in, pulling the two of you into his arms and breathing out a tired exhale. “I’m proud of you, proud of you both.” He told you, and your whole facade collapsed beneath you, leaving you sobbing into his arms, wondering where everything had gone wrong, wondering what that little kid would’ve said if she had heard your words tonight.

“We’re gonna be alright.” Joel told the two of you, feeling Ellie squeeze her arms tighter around him, until she let go, pointing upwards to let him know where she was heading. He nodded at her, an understanding expression on his face, and tightened both his arms around you.

“You swear?” You checked, unable to help yourself, and let yourself breathe a shaky sigh into his neck when he responded.

“Swear.”

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bradshawssugarbaby · 22 days

Text

Hurricane - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's regretted breaking off his relationship with you for months, but when he sees you walking into the country club after his round of golf, he knows he has to fix things.

a/n: I haven't written much angst before but I'm really trying to branch out a little bit. Inspired by Hurricane by Luke Combs, and also this weird recurring dream I keep having.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: buckle up bc there's a lot? angst (happy ending), parental death, depression, hurt, cancer, goose's accident + carole's reaction, carole literally never getting over losing goose, bradley being a commitmentphobe, pregnancy (i think that's it?), also entirely unrealistic bc you know what? I can't keep roo sad for long.

word count: 3.6k

taglist: @avengersfan25, @nouis-bum, @floydsmuse, @mamachasesmayhem, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @djs8891

Then you rolled in with your hair in the wind Baby, without warning I was doin' alright but just your sight Had my heart stormin'

Bradley narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses, the glare of the hot mid-morning sun harsh on his chocolate brown eyes. He grabbed his nine-iron from his golf bag, taking a practice swing before teeing up for his next shot. Bob, Jake, Reuben and Javy stood to the side behind him, watching as he lined up to take his shot. He hadn’t golfed in years, in fact, he’d only ever golfed a handful of times in his life, all of them back when he lived in Virginia. His uncle had taught him when he was 15, a welcome distraction when his mom became sick, and he’d gone out a few times when he was in college after a roommate of his on the school’s golf team had invited him out. He held his breath as he heard the club make contact with the small, white orb, watching as it soared through the air, disappearing somewhere onto the course. Jake let out an impressive whistle as he looked on, placing his hands on his hips as he shook his head in disbelief.

“You’ve never golfed before, Bradshaw? You sure?” He drawled, raising one of his manicured (though he’d deny it if asked) blonde eyebrows suspiciously.

“I told you, a handful of times. Not never.”

“You did say less than five,” Bob shrugged as he cleaned his glasses before replacing them on his nose. “Less than five suggests you haven’t really hit a course.”

“Not to mention you said in years. That was the swing of a man who’s at least hit a driving range a few times,” Reuben pointed out to the course in the general direction of where Bradley’s ball had landed as Javy, Bob and Jake nodded in agreement.

“I wish Nat had tagged along, she wouldn’t ride my ass this hard,” Bradley huffed, shaking his head.

“Nat doesn’t golf. You know that. She acted disgusted that I even asked,” Jake shrugged.

“Maybe it was how you asked,” Bob suggested as he disguised his jab at Jake as a helpful criticism.

“Just take your turn, Robert,” Jake hissed, rolling his eyes dramatically as Bob smirked.

Bradley normally would have joined in with a quip of his own directed at Jake, but his heart just wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t even in the game. The only reason why he’d agreed to go golfing with the guys for their usual monthly game was because you left him. He needed to get over you and move on - it’d been six months and with no deployments coming up, he had nothing to focus 100% of his attention onto. Reuben had noticed it first - Bradley was withdrawn on nights out, his usually chatterbox self now quiet, calm and keeping to himself, barely breaking eye contact with his beer bottle. Then came Natasha’s barrage of questions - he knew she meant well, but God, it was hard to listen to.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew why you left. And it was entirely his fault. You’d gotten upset because he’d stopped spending as much time with you, kept getting cold feet about committing to your relationship. He’d never tell you why he couldn’t commit - it was too hard for him to explain to anyone, really. In fact, he was fairly confident that Reuben was the only other person aware of it.

Bradley wanted to be the partner you needed - he really did. He wanted to be the doting, affectionate boyfriend who’d whisk you off somewhere beautiful, propose to you, start a family with 2.2 kids and a dog, cart the kids around to sports practices on weekends - the American dream. He knew you deserved that much. And yet, no matter how badly he wanted to give that to you - he couldn’t. He’d told you he didn’t want it - he didn’t want to get married, he didn’t want to have kids, he never wanted it. He watched you fall apart the minute the words left his mouth, and it killed him inside. He wanted to hold you close and tell you he was making a mistake, tell you it wasn’t true and he didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t, because he was terrified.

Growing up without his dad was one of the hardest things he could have experienced, he was sure of it. He was too young to truly remember how his mom reacted when she learned her husband had been killed in a training exercise, but he remembered her crying a lot, feeling paralyzed by loss and guilt, angry with the world for taking the man she loved away from her. He remembered as he grew up, she never remarried, never went on a date, never even as much as looked at another man. His dad was her everything, and losing him crushed her.

When she got sick, Bradley was a teenager - old enough to understand what it meant for her, what her odds of recovery were, and old enough to be realistic about the future. When they found out she wasn’t going to get better, he’d half expected her to react the way she did when his dad died, but instead, she seemed almost at peace with the idea. She’d spent 14 years of her life missing his dad, and she knew that, even though she was horrified by the thought of leaving Bradley on his own, she wouldn’t have to spend another minute missing her husband.

Bradley decided then that he’d never want to put someone through that. He’d never be able to hurt someone he loved like this - leave them widowed before they turned 30, alone with a toddler at home to raise on the opposite side of the country from their family and friends, with nothing but a military pension and an apology over his death.

It was at 16 years old that Bradley decided, if he wanted to become a pilot, he was going to have to spend life alone, and for the most part, he was ok with that.

That was, until he met you.

He tried to deny his feelings, pretending you were just a casual fling, some fun sex here and there between deployments and missions and nothing more. That was, until three months in, he accidentally told you he loved you. It wasn’t a lie, he did love you, but it caught him off guard when he said it - he didn’t mean to blow his cover and let his guard down like that. And when you said it back? He knew it was game over.

He tried his hardest to push his fears aside, he tried SO hard. He was getting older and beginning to realize he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone, especially as he neared the mandatory 20 years of service cutoff for aviators. He’d grown almost fond of the idea of settling down with you, seeing you with a ring on your finger, picturing you with a baby in you, his baby. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. But, the fears and anxiety he had reared its ugly head, and he couldn’t bring himself to get past it.

It was on their last mission, when he had to eject and landed in the middle of a snowy mountain, unsure if he’d make it back home to you. His mind raced with thoughts of how you’d react if he didn’t make it home - how you’d crumple to the floor when you saw the two uniformed officers on your doorstep, the blood-curdling scream you’d let out in pain when you heard them say it, tears staining your pretty little face as you were handed that folded American flag - he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand the idea of putting you through everything his mom had gone through. Not when you were so young and had everything ahead of you. When you could find a man who wasn’t putting his life in danger nearly every damn day, risking himself and risking a chance he might not come home to you.

This golf trip was meant to take his mind off you. Reuben had mentioned it in passing to Jake and Bob, who exchanged worried looks with one another. Javy had overheard Nat’s line of questioning when he and Mickey returned to the table with a fresh round of beers, both of them offering Bradley silent looks of sympathy as they nodded in agreement to Nat’s advice. Bradley was struggling, in over his head with emotions and regret and sadness, but he knew he’d fucked it all up. And he knew that even if he tried, you wouldn’t want him back, and who could blame you?

Bob had suggested he reach out to you and apologize, and for a while, Bradley considered it. He strongly considered calling you, going to your house, begging for forgiveness and begging you to take him back, but after how you reacted when he broke things off with you, he wouldn’t even take him back. He’d been a dick in every sense of the word, and now, he had to try and move on, adjusting to life without you in it.

The next nine holes passed by with little conversation from Bradley and worried glances exchanged between his friends. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, he’d explain, shrugging the concern off before focusing back on the game. Bradley was thankful for his friends’ efforts, but it was beginning to feel like nothing would help him move on.

He slumped down into a chair at a table in the country club after their round of golf, sipping back the beer Jake bought him. He caught himself downing the liquid quicker than he should have, but at this point, being drunk would at least provide him with that much needed numbness he craved. He could hear Bob bickering with Jake over golf scores and who truly won, prompting an eye roll from Javy as he pulled the crumpled scoresheets from his pocket and placed them on the table. Reuben noticed the glazed over look in Bradley’s eye and clapped a sympathetic hand down on his shoulder.

Bradley was about to thank Reuben for being there for him when he saw your face. You were walking into the country club with a couple of your friends, laughing and smiling as you spoke.

God, he loved that smile.

He gulped back the rest of his drink before placing the glass back down on the table, the sound of Bradley slamming the glass down a little harder than he intended prompting Jake to spin his head around as he saw you.

“Oh..shit,” he murmured as Bob and Javy both turned to look discreetly towards you.

Bradley’s eyes widened as you walked past the bar, revealing a very unexpected new figure. He blinked his eyes a few times to ensure they weren’t playing tricks on him - positive that this had to be some kind of optical illusion or something. It was impossible. You couldn’t be.

“Pregnant.” Jake whispered as he leaned into the table, “She’s pregnant,”

“Did you know, Bradley?” Bob inquired as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“N-no.” Bradley choked out, feeling the walls closing in around him as the room started to spin.

Without hesitation, Bradley rose from his seat and made his way over to you, despite the protests from Bob and Reuben, the two voices of reason to Javy and Jake’s voices of impulse. Bradley approached you cautiously, clearing his throat for a moment to garner your attention. You spun your head around, your cheeks rosy and your skin glowing with that pregnancy glow everyone always talked about. Bradley had never really believed in that kind of stuff, but you were proving him wrong.

“Bradley?” you asked, your face paleing to a shade of ghostly white.

“Can…can we talk, please? I need to talk to you,” Bradley rambled with desperation written on his face.

You huffed a sigh, nodding your head slowly as you excused yourself from your friends, who were now whispering and exchanging uncomfortable glances with one another. Bradley followed closely behind you as you stepped out into the fresh air, finding a discreet corner of the parking lot to discuss everything from the last six months.

“I…Is it mine?” Bradley whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer as his eyes wandered to the bump that was evident under your sundress.

You sighed again, following Bradley’s gaze down to your abdomen, a protective hand resting on your bump as you nodded slowly, humming in confirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowned, shaking his head quickly, “I-I, I would have helped you.”

“Bradley,” you said, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head quickly, “You told me you didn’t want this. You dumped me and told me you never wanted to settle down or have a family, you didn’t want to be with me anymore, and being in a long-term relationship wasn’t what you ever wanted. You told me you didn’t love me. So please, tell me why I should have told you?”

“Because,” he said softly, his heart aching as he heard your side of things, “I didn’t mean any of that. I was wrong.”

“Oh, you were wrong? Tell me, were you always wrong, or are you only wrong now that you’ve seen me six months later, heavily pregnant?”

Bradley was speechless. He gazed down at his feet, kicking at the pavement in his golf cleats. He sighed as he thought for a moment, taking a second of quiet reflection to compose his thoughts before speaking. He wanted to get this right. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up again.

“I was always wrong. I was wrong when I said it, and I knew I was wrong,” he shook his head vigorously before looking up to meet your gaze, “Did I ever tell you about my mom?”

“You told me she died when you were a teenager, and you didn’t really mention anything else about her. Or anyone in your family, for that matter.”

“Right,” he nodded his head slowly, taking a deep breath before beginning to explain. “My dad died when I was 2. He was an RIO, a Radar Intercept Officer. You know Maverick, right?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded slowly, a look of annoyance flashing across your face as you listened to Bradley, you were used to his excuses, and you were really hoping this wasn’t another one.

“So, Maverick was my dad’s pilot. Best friends. Did everything together. He was flying when my dad died, their plane lost control, had to eject, my dad hit the canopy. Died instantly.” Bradley paused, taking another deep breath as he felt himself getting choked up, “My mom, she, uh, she was really young. My dad was 25, my mom was 23. He was her high school sweetheart. She was devastated. I was too young to remember a lot, but I remember her hurting, and being sad all the time, unable to function some days because she just missed him so much,” he explained as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Bradley, I’m sorry,” you sighed, shaking your head as you sympathetically rubbed his bicep to comfort him.

“I just…when she died, she was…peaceful, I guess, because she knew she wouldn’t have to miss him anymore. She wouldn’t be lonely. She never remarried or dated after him, she couldn’t bring herself to. She’s buried with her wedding ring still on her finger. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off her,” he took another deep breath, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

“I couldn’t do that to you,” he finally said, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over again, “I couldn’t leave you like my mom. Heartbroken and alone your whole life. She never moved on, and I didn’t want that for you if we got married. God, I would have given anything to marry you. I would have taken you to the courthouse and married you on the spot if you would have agreed to it. But, I couldn’t risk breaking your heart. Not like that.”

“Bradley, you’ve always come home in one piece,” you said softly, fingers still stroking his upper arm soothingly.

“But I almost didn’t. I had to eject and all I could think about was you getting that knock at the door and going through what she went through, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to you, or…or to a baby.”

You shook your head, processing everything that Bradley had just said as he poured his heart out to you. He’d never opened up like this to you before, but you could tell each and every word was genuine. As much as you hated him for leaving you, you couldn’t deny that you still loved him with all of your heart.

You missed him.

You missed waking up to him after the two of you had fallen asleep watching a movie together. You missed the way he yelled at the tv when watching baseball, how passionate he got over football games, how he’d pick the olives out of his nachos like a toddler and put them on your plate. You missed how he couldn’t eat apples unless they were baked in a pie, how he’d scarf down an entire red velvet cake if you didn’t gently stop him, then regret it hours later. You missed the way his big brown eyes would stare at you, a look of pure adoration on his face like a lovesick puppy whenever you spoke to someone else, as if he was hanging on every single word that fell from your lips.

You burst into tears, throwing your arms tightly around Bradley as you shook your head. “God, you’re an idiot, you know that?” you murmured, laughing softly as you hugged him.

“I know, I’m the biggest idiot. I still would marry you if you let me. I wanted to have kids with you, I want to be around for this one,” he nodded, gesturing his hands at your bump.

“Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Bradley said with an expression of complete seriousness on his face, “I wanna know everything about them. Everything. I wanna know what you’re having, what name you’ve picked out, what your cravings are, how you’ve been feeling, when they move, what does it feel like? I want to know how far along you are, and how they’re doing, if they have my nose or your nose, or if they’re gonna be tall like I am, I want to know what helps you sleep at night when you’re pregnant, and what their favourite song is. I want all of it, honey.”

“Ok, ok, slow down, breathe, Bradley,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Take a walk with me?”

As you and Bradley walked around the pedestrian pathway on the golf course, smiling as you spoke fondly about the baby, answering all of Bradley’s questions.

“Well, baby’s a girl, I don’t have a name in mind for her yet, I’ve been craving oranges and Sprite, anything sweet and citrusy. I’ve been ok, better now the morning sickness finally dissipated. It feels like bubbles or something when she kicks, it’s like a fluttering, almost? I’m 28 weeks along, so I have about three months left. She looked like she has your nose on the ultrasound, there’s a 50/50 chance on her height, I sleep pretty much sitting upright because I get bad heartburn otherwise, and I play her music all the time. She likes Elvis and The Beach Boys, just like her dad.”

Bradley’s smile spread wide across his face, a small laugh of disbelief escaping his mouth as he nodded along with your words.

“That’s great. A girl? Really? You’re gonna have a daughter running around,” he said softly, almost as if he was daydreaming about what the little girl would look like.

“We are going to have a daughter.”

“You’re gonna let me be there? After everything?”

“Bradley, as much as I hated you for what you did and how you ended things - I never truly hated you. I loved you, more than anything. I still do.”

He held you tightly, burying his face into your hair as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring softly against your hair.

“God, I love you so much, honey. I promise, I’m never going to do something stupid like that again.”

“I know you won’t,” you laughed, shaking your head as he looked down at you, ��I know you’d never leave Carly and I again.”

Bradley froze in place for a moment as he stared at you, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“What did you call her?”

“Carly. I thought, I don’t know, after you told me about your mom just now, I thought maybe you’d like to name the baby after her? Carole’s nice too, I just figured Carly gives her a name that’s her own too, they share the same root.”

“Carly,” he nodded slowly as he repeated it, “I love it.”

Bradley took your hand in his, his large fingers enveloping your hand as he held it tightly, as if he was terrified of letting go. He made that mistake once before, he wasn’t about to do it again.

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sxtaep · 2 years

Text

THE ONE YOU NEED - JJK

after getting dumped, jungkook finally had the opportunity to swoop in and heal your broken heart.

pairing — jungkook x female reader

genre — angst, fluff, smut

word count — 2k

warnings/tags — roommates!au, confession!au, softdom!jk, sub!reader, lots of cussing, swearing, reader is angry & upset, jk is in love w you, mentions of a bummy ex, crying, very soft, so much love, touching, romantic, sexual tension, hickeys/neck kisses, first kiss, explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys), penetrative sex, soft dirty talk, overall very raw and soft

a/n: something short and sweet and a little fast paced 😰

inspired by this song 💗

“Literally FUCK HIM,” you curse whilst pacing around your apartment, clear frustration evident on your face as you threw a strop. Breakups were generally easy as it took a lot for you to get attached but this one… it wasn’t going too well.

You’d been in a mood all day after your boyfriend decided to call it quits all of a sudden because he felt you were “too high maintenance” which, on its own, was pretty offensive but that didn’t really tug at your chest. The fact that he couldn’t handle your high maintenance self made you wonder if anyone could ever deal with you.

At the moment, it looked like no one could.

Jungkook, sat at the edge of your couch, merely watched you pace around with his hands clasped together over his mouth, his eyes following your every move and being cautious as to not topple you the wrong way.

He learnt the hard way; let you rant for as long as you need to and soon enough you’ll calm down.

“Calling me, of all people, ‘high maintenace’, who the fuck does he think he is?!” You aggressively turn towards Jungkook, as if directing the question to him, and you know you caught him by surprise when his mouth fell ajar, practically speechless.

“He never spent time with me, never even acknowledged me, you’d think I was dating a brick wall!”

Yeah, Jungkook knew all of that. He knew your boyfriend was an ass and only showed you attention when he wanted to fuck, which you so willingly gave to him because you always grasped at ‘romantic’ intimacy, and Jungkook hated it. He bet the guy wasn’t even that great in bed since you’d always come back the next day in an awful mood.

“I can’t believe I spent all those nights with him. He couldn’t make me cum once, it got tiring faking all those orgasms.”

That’s his doubts confirmed.

You continue to pace around, spilling all your thoughts and dramatising your hand gestures until you stopped. Jungkook looked straight at you and his features softened when he noticed how teary your eyes had become; on the verge of spilling down your cheeks. He could tell you were trying to hold in the tears, but why? You knew you could comfortably cry around him.

Right, because on many occasions, he pointed out that your boyfriend was a dick, an unappreciative one at that and you decided to ignore his opinions. Your relationship was like watching a girl in highschool chase after her much loved crush who had no interest in her. It was kinda sad and all Jungkook could do was sit back and watch you get hurt over and over again.

If you were with him, you’d never be treated like that.

He hated seeing you in this state. As someone who deserved nothing but the best, seeing you upset over a stupid ex boyfriend made him feel all sorts of things; predominately anger, but that was a given. It also pissed him off beyond words because Jungkook had every chance to swoop you into his arms and keep you to himself, but a part of him genuinely thought you were in love with the guy, so he stayed put.

“Am I really too much to handle?”

Jungkook could’ve sworn his heart broke right then and there, and it hurt more seeing you cry over something that was complete bullshit. His fist was twitching (the things he’d do to punch the living daylights out of that asshole) but you were his first priority.

“Y/N…” he starts, getting out of his seat to approach your form, which looked even more fragile now than when you were mad. “Honestly, that guy has no clue what he’s talking about,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, leaning down slightly and reaching his hand towards your face, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes.

The pout on your lips only became more prominent as your cheeks heated up from the kind, yet subtle gesture. That’s weird. “No guy wants a girl that’s ‘high maintenance’, is that what he’s trying to tell me? Because I know damn well he didn’t do half the shit I had planned for us—”

“—You’re not high maintenance, you’re eager,” Jungkook adds, bringing you closer to his chest so you could rest your head against him and cry to your heart’s content. “Besides, it’s not a bad thing.”

Your fist lands a punch to his chest, “Obviously it’s a bad thing if it’s the reason why my boyfriend broke up with me, stupid,” you say, through short, broken sobs.

Your roommate only chuckles, his chin resting on your head as he embraced you in his arms. “I don’t think it’s bad. I like my girls high maintenance,” Jungkook smiles ahead at the blank wall, hoping his words would be enough for you to catch on.

“You don’t mean it. You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you grumble, looking up at him with your glassy eyes and tear stained cheeks, expecting him to make a joke about it but nope, he seemed pretty content staring at the wall like it was the love of his life.

“I think I’ve had my fair share of handling you, and I’ve done a pretty good job at it,” he shrugs, showing you a sheepish smile, “because I care that much about you and I’m willing to put in the time and effort to show you that.”

Was he saying this in a romantic or platonic way?

“Your ex was probably the guy you wanted, but we both know I’m the one you need,” Jungkook whispers softly, leaning down towards your face, and you think he’s gonna kiss you, but he stops before your lips could make contact with his.

Your silence factored out his words being false, and from that, he knew he got you. “I know you felt what I said,” he calls you out on your bluff, pulling you away from him so he could look at you properly and deem his thoughts correct. He shifts his hand over to your chest, right above your beating heart, “…Right here.”

With the way you were staring at him, you were either extremely turned on by him indirectly confessing his feelings to you, or extremely heartbroken that literally anything and everything seemed attractive to you right now.

Who were you kidding? It was all Jungkook.

You finally speak up, your voice ten times quieter than it was earlier on, “And what if I did? What does that mean?”

“I don’t need you confirm or deny it, I know you well enough to know you felt my words in more places than one,” Jungkook’s eyes dance down you body to settle where your poor cunt was jumping between your legs, making it all the more obvious that you were clenching your thighs shut.

Shit. He was good.

He laughs softly, “How could he ever leave a pretty girl like you unsatisfied?”

A part of you still wasn’t convinced by his words, “If you really wanted me, you could’ve had me by now,” you throw at him, expecting him to stutter, but Jeon Jungkook had eyes on you for a pretty long time, so he had a lot to say.

“It’s kinda hard going after a girl who was too busy chasing someone else. You know I don’t roll like that,”Jungkook tugs at your arm, urging you to turn your back towards him so he could rut himself against your lower half whilst his hands slowly, yet with so much need, trailed up and down your arms, warming you up and giving you the chance to relax. “Besides, being patient always works out in the long run.” He was adamant on showing you the love you deserved and if you were planning to be ‘high maintenance’ about it, you bet he had a couple tricks up his sleeve to deal with that.

As if it were second nature, your body was acting on its own, easing into his touch as his hand slipped under your shirt, drawing small circles over your stomach. It wasn’t much, but this is exactly what romantic intimacy felt like, and it made you wonder why the hell you weren’t with Jungkook to begin with.

A pair of soft lips were grazing against your untainted neck, leaving short, supple kisses as they dragged downwards, giving himself more room. “Did your ex ever show you love like this?” Jungkook mumbles, too caught up in kissing you, but he didn’t need to hear you say no. “Why couldn’t he cherish you, huh? I should’ve snatched you up when I got the chance, how stupid of me.”

You’re unable to respond, your senses letting you down much faster than you anticipated and you could practically feel the smirk Jungkook was sporting right now, so you turn around to face him and boy, you weren’t wrong.

“Oh, that’s got you speechless?” He wasn’t mocking you, he felt sorry for you. These past boyfriends of yours never took the opportunity to appreciate the being that was you, never took the time to touch you or show you the love he felt you were entitled to.

He would be a dead man if he didn’t just do it himself.

“Look up for me, would you?”

You hesitate at first, but before you could bask the sight of his face, Jungkook had trapped you in a slow moving kiss. It’s not too fast, nor is it too slow, but it’s just enough to ease your mind and completely take over your being as your arms reach out to snake around his neck, eagerly pulling him in to deepen the kiss.

Your forwardness reassured him that you were all for what was about to go down and before you knew it, Jungkook was holding you tightly within his embrace whilst you straddled his lap, taking his cock like you were made for it. You’d completely forgotten about your broken heart; Jungkook’s constant care and reassurance helping you to disregard today’s events and focus on him.

All these months of watching you chase after a man who didn’t deserve you, Jeon finally had you to himself.

This wasn’t going to be ‘just a quick fuck’. The last thing he wanted was for you to assume he was doing this out of pity, but no, this would simply prove just how much he yearned for you. Jungkook’s top priority was to please you first and foremost.

“Bet that asshole couldn’t fuck you like this, huh?” His tatted hands grip the flesh of your ass, squeezing generously as you whimpered on top of him, masking the illicit sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. His hushed groans joined in as he looked down to where you both met only to see a glistening mess of your arousal coating his length.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be in this position with your roommate and you only wished you realised sooner that the one who truly cared about you was right under your nose. You felt kinda stupid letting yourself go through useless heartbreaks and dodgy boyfriends when the one you really needed was here all along.

With Jungkook burying his face into the crook of your neck, things felt incredibly raw and intimate, not to mention, you felt so full, you wouldn’t need to force yourself to fake an orgasm around him.

“Gonna come..” You breathe out, your soft walls clenching around him as your hips moved up and down on its own, this time at a much faster pace, but Jungkook was eager to see you finish by his own doing.

His suddenly lifted his hips off the couch, thrusting up in you at such a deprived pace, knowing he was hitting all the right places by the pleasured look on your face. His arms snaked around your waist, his pace unwavering, “Right there, huh? That feel good?”

You nod without hesitation, ignoring the way your inner thighs were tensing in anticipation, waiting for your high to drain you.

“Go ahead and cum, baby. I know how long he kept you waiting.”

perm taglist: @aliceaflor5-blog - @kookiecrumb - @jjkeverlast - @prettyghost - @kooliv - @koobsessed - @gimmethatagustd - @pb-n-juju - @aslias17 - @ririlovesangst - @kootonins - @taehyungseggs - @dewamused - @jungshook7 - @jiminsneckkisses

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#sxtaep #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x oc #bts fluff #kpop imagines #kpop smut #bts #jeon jungkook smut

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hollyhomburg · 3 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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themotherofblood · 10 months

Note

Hey love! Can i request a rough sex with Daemon and reader .. like he had an argument with Rhaenyra so he takes it out on ms blood bag👀

absolutely, yes!!

masterlist | Bloody Baby Series | Vampire AU

warnings: major smut warning, dubcon headed to noncon, rough, blood drinking, broken bones, aftercare(if you ever consider it in a dubcon situation) mean!daemon eventual softie! daemon. this is also dark? I suck at tagging so I’m sorry

“hobres ao,” Rhaenyra exclaims at Daemon as she shucks as vase at his head, seething red hot anger from every pore. Over a millennia gone and yet the irrationality of hers never once dwindled. Fuck you

Daemon glared at her, teeth bared and ready to stop her from leaving this room. He was older than her, stronger than her. She would risk all that their identity was built upon for this. “We have been looking for over a century Daemon!” Her eyes watered with the thought their blood, her bloodline still living on, breathing fire into the mother that she once was.

“Rhaenyra— my love, knowing us will only endanger them more.” Daemon reasoned, hoping to sway her to leave them alone. Daemon had known all along, having found Baela’s bloodline in 432 AC, the Faith, all too knowing of their kind burned the one family he found.” The world ever changed and growing still, the knowledge of their existence a mere myth, a history watered down over generations. Such power was a farce, and the lived content knowing so.

“The Faith will burn them if you do not eat them first,” he barked. This time Rhaenyra was pissed, she took a deep breath— masking her surrender before whooshing towards Daemon and twisting his neck. He fell to the floor with a thud, Rhaenyra knew he was right, she was too proud to admit it. Years spent chasing the hidden Guild of the Faith, and watching just one Hightower spawn grow their family for decades. Only to slaughter them like pigs, leaving just one alive every time.

Daemon’s bones soon healed, he groaned. Shaking his head, willing away the pain as anger filled him this time. Rhaenyra long gone as he angrily stood to his feet, ready to go after her as he reached for his phone on the table. A text from his wife already docked on his screen. “I won’t visit them.”

Though the text should have soothed his bubbling ire, it didn’t. She fucking broke his neck and left him here on the floor. He needed blood, his head still pounding from his healing injury, not quick enough he groaned. He would have headed for the long fridges in the kitchen, stacked with bags and bags of blood from people of all ilks but he, no he craved something warmer. His teeth craved to sink into soft flesh, feel his prey thrash underneath him.

The stroke of midnight, a distant clock singing away the time as he climbed the steps to your bedroom. Prepared throughly for their little capture from the party, they hadn’t broken you yet, which was surprising. It had been a month. Something about the glint in your eyes just bubbled soften into bodies when they weren’t collectively violating you or having their dessert.

You lay asleep in your giant poster bed, cuddled and warm under the heavy duvet, a book laying idly by the other pillow as your chest rose and fell. He could hear the calm thudding of your heart, the blood under your skin and small gasp like breaths from your parted lips.

He shuffled onto the side of your bed, lifting the book away from your pillow. You stir, whimpering into the sheet as his heavy hands stroke at your hip. You flutter your eyes open as you sense his presence, you know it is him. Rhaenyra never wakes you so, it is always her lips you feel upon your temple, every morning.

When you open your eyes the room is still dark, bed curtains pulled and the moon high in the air, you frown, bottom lip jutting out “Daemon? Are you hungry?” you whisper, cuddling further into the sheets. He nods, his ominous figure still a shadowy silhouette sat next to you. You lift out your wrist from under the covers, offering him your hand as your eyes closed once more. You had gotten used to sting from when they fed from your wrist. The pain in your jugular and inner thighs still unbearable but for whatever reason you let them.

He grunts, flicking the bed side lamp on. You silently gasped the second you saw his face, eyes darkened as the veins around them popped out. He wasn’t here to leisurely drink from you, that was sure. “Daemon?” You asked once more and then squealed as he tore the blankets away from your body. The cool air of the room prickling your skin to goosebumps.

“I am hungry for something far more than blood,” he hissed as he pries you legs apart, your bare cunt just greeting him, ready to be fucked raw.

His nose wantonly took a waft from your cunny, before growling at the back of his throat and devouring the taste of you. His nose nudging at the hood of your clit as your back arched. More than he loved feasting on your sweet coppery blood, he loved this cunt. How it always swelled to his attention, the adorable bud peaking through it hood, begging him to graze his fangs upon it. The shudders and squeals it can elicit from you, though any other day he could spend hours, kissing and licking you away.

Today he was in no mood, he knew it pained you so, he wanted hear that pretty cry of his name. “Daemon!” you cried, the harsh sting radiating from your thigh as he sung his teeth deep into the supple flesh of your inner thigh, groaning as his craving graced the actual taste of you.

He unlatched, flipping you over as the open wound dripped onto the sheets. His hand immediately laying sharp slaps on your ass as he pulls you up by the hair. There— there it was, the hammering of your heart inside your chest, the arc of your back giving him a good view of your neck and that pulsing spot, calling to him, seducing him.

He undid his pants, sliding away his leather belt and wrapping it around your neck. He tightened the buckle, uncomfortably wrapped onto your slender neck. You gasped for air as the pressure of the blood started to make your ears ring. Daemon plunged his cock into you without a warning, hammering away his frustrations with his cock. One hand held firmly at your pelvis and the other holding your jaw. The harsh slaps of your hips meeting echoed through the room.

“D-daddy,” you gasped, Daemon smirked still pounding away, obident little pet of his, just as he commanded you weeks before, you keep his name— he would rather hear the “your grace” or “my prince” yelp from your mouth but that part of Daemon has laid dormant for over five hundred years. Plus it’s all the rage within the youth these day, he likes the sound of it, daddy, kepa—he would teach you soon.

“My little fuck pet aren’t you? Even when I do such horrible things to you,” his hold on your jaw loosened to lay a sharp slap on your cheek “huh? Just a broken slut, begging to be used.” he growled against your ear “my whore.”

The words modern to his tongue but his whore, he thought of Rhaenyra. Just as he fucked his ire into you, his body brought him back to the brothel’s of King’s Landing, his family, his children— gone. Cursed to out live everyone, even a pretty poppet like you. His hand ventured lower, laying three sharp smack onto your unsheathed clit. You wail, cry pretty girl. He was an ugly, violent man then and he is far worse now—breaking away yet another cunt, moulding it to his liking.

He was a predator and you his prized prey.

You nodded to his words, you were his. His whore, you were. Broken you were. Finding joy in something so violent, so ever-consuming you felt your pussy flutter, sobbing as you felt the bitter pinch of his finger upon your nipples as he tore the silk down from your torso. You babbled some nonsense to stir the bed play but you were too lost, fucked too small under his heavy hold.

Daemon still in another world, sweaty head rested upon your shoulder as he rutted into your hips, his eyes flickered upon. The sheets under you stained in the blood dripping from your thighs, your blood— his blood. His grip tightened, finding his bearing once more, he felt the flutter of your cunt as his finger worked swiftly against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“I better hear you beg, bunny. Cry louder,” he growled, knowing full well your orgasm pushed against its dams.

“Please,” you wheezed “please let me come daddy.”

“Louder!” He barked, a sharp, bruising smack against your ass

“Let me come please!” You screamed, praying he gives you his permission. Daemon slapped at your cunt.

“Go on, come from me slut,” he hissed, making your cry out as the pain of his stinging slaps mixed with the tingle of your orgasm. Your face covered in tears as you sobbed, your peak pushing through in waves.

Daemon once more sunk his teeth under his belt, that throbbing thud around your neck as you came undone. He wanted to feel it on his tongue, blood once more dripped down your torso as you screamed at the sting, reaching up to push away his head. Daemon caught a glimpse of the blood once more, not seductive, gore, the images flashing before his eyes as he drank from you.

His hold upon you had been so crushing, your yelps and hisses came to a sudden halt as a crunch echoed in his ears, and then your scream.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Daemon pulled away, his cock long spurted his cum into your cunt and creaming around the base of his cock. What he heard was worse as you fell forward crying out.

You cries of salacious agony turned fearful, he realized what he had done. He shook his head, looking over your body to see what exactly he broken with his crushing grip. You leaned to the left, hands trying to graze over your right. He broke your pelvic bone. He sighed, eyebrows scrunched, the violence long faded from his blood and replaced with guilt.

You cried harder as he turned you, he bit into his palm, letting his own blood trickle to the surface before pressing it against your lip, you groaned in distaste, getting fed on was one thing, feeding was another. Your teary eyes looked up at him as he coaxed the blood into your system.

The blood would do work its way to the injury as he had a servant draw a bath for you and prepare fresh pink sheets for your bed. You groaned as he readjusted your body and pressed his fingers against your pelvis, leading your hand to do the same as your yelped. You felt the bone realign with time within you. Your whimpers and mewls subsiding.

“I’m sorry, pet.” He pressed kisses to the side of your head before scooping you up effortlessly to deposit you in the blue bath waters, a fizzing bath bomb colouring the water as he sunk in along with you.

You couldn’t understand it, the fear, for there was none. You felt them countless times, Daemon nearly choking the light away from your eyes or Rhaenyra sucking your blood dry. You pouted “Daddy?”

Daemon let out a soft sigh, seeing as though you were still in your fucked daze, Daemon, I’m Daemon pet he wanted to say, you however needed your time. Instead he hummed as a reply.

“D- did you and mommy compel me?” you whispered, fingers dancing against the rim of the tub.

“For what?” He whispered against your ear.

“I’m not scared, so either you compelled me or I’m stupid.” you hummed, finding an idle entertainment in twisting the signet ring on Daemon’s left small finger.

“I’m afraid it might me the latter darling,” he hummed apologetically.

They did compel you, thinking they’d enjoy the hunt of breaking you into a perfect pet and here you were willing curled against him. The compelled you, to never leave the palace. Watching your torn face as you stood on the grass with the main gates open wide, you couldn’t walk out no matter how much you might ever want to.

Daemon kissed your shoulder, coaxing the life back into you as the last of your pain subsided. He rubbed your dry before helping you dress in another night gown before tucking you under the fresh sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder, you knew they never slept, they sat there all night with one another as you dozed in between them.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled sleepily.

Daemon was about to ask why.

“For what they did to you, to Rhaenyra.”

Ahh I typed this in one go at 4am, this is not proof read, I hate proof reading (I’m sorry not sorry) hope you enjoyed. Again I’m taking requests for this au, this au will be a weird mix of dark and lovely. Idk how to describe it. Anyways.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #daemyra vampire au #vampire au

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lilac-5ky · 4 months

Text

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

#gojo x reader #gojo birthday #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader

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hyuckmov · 1 year

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request #3: posessive dom!haechan smut, 18+ minors dni, some fluff wc: 4.4k content: dom haechan in general, temperature play (ice cubes), filming during sex, oral (f recieving), fingering, overstim, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, praise, light degradation (calls you doll etc), jealousy & possessiveness but ngl it wasn't that serious, marking, he slaps your ass once a/n: can't believe i was like i'm gna take a break from smut after gseb2 and immediately i wrote this...ngl this is just something silly for the dom haechan agenda </3 if i want ONE person to like this it would be that one anon who sent in that ask about dom hyuck i hope i did him justice. sorry about inconsistencies in tenses and poor transitions truly this is just something silly and fun and self indulgent. rlly hope this is hot. send me an ask/reply in tags if u liked it!

at the sound of the bedroom door opening, mark puts down his phone and thumbs lazily at the remote for the television.

"hey, do you wanna finish that show we were talking about?" he asks, as haechan crosses the living room to head to the kitchen.

"can't," haechan replies lightly. grabbing a waterbottle from the fridge, he takes a quick sip of water. "i'm taking care of y/n tonight."

"oh." mark frowns, turning to look at haechan in concern. "is she feeling unwell?"

a wry smile spreads across haechan's face as he starts to fill up an empty glass with ice. "something like that."

"well…" mark blinks a few times, finally selecting a documentary about penguins to watch. "i hope she feels better soon."

"don't worry about it, mark," he replies smoothly. closing the door to the fridge and strolling back to the room, he casts one more glance at mark. "i'll make sure she does."

haechan had been tucking you into bed, stroking your hair gently while he waited for you to fall asleep, when your hand wrapped around one of his slender fingers and tugged to get his attention.

"haechan?"

his movements slowed at your tone, the slightly breathy way you said his name usually a sign that you were feeling needier than usual, or slipping into a different headspace. "yes, baby?" and sure enough…

"i need you," you nuzzled your face into his chest, feeling embarrassed. "take care of me, please."

he cooed at how adorable you sounded, deciding to go easy on you tonight right then and there. "baby needs my help?" you nod, and he rubs at your shoulder gently as encouragement. "how long have you been waiting for me, angel?"

"since dinner," you whisper.

"good girl." he leaned down slightly to kiss the crown of your hair, when suddenly the sound of footsteps made him halt.

outside, he could hear mark sink down into the couch in the living room. he must have left the guest room, waiting for haechan to join him after you'd fallen asleep.

since dinner, you said you'd needed him. it made sense: haechan had been unable to keep his hands to himself the entire time, even with mark at the table — stroking your thighs, pulling you into his lap during dessert, feeding you bites off his spoon. the way he had babied you getting to your head, making you feel that familiar ache between your thighs.

truth to be told, haechan had known exactly what he was doing, and he had done it for a clear purpose. it had been about a week since mark temporarily moved in because his apartment was getting renovated. and while it had been exciting at first to be living with both his girlfriend and best friend, he couldn't help but notice that mark liked to sneak glances at you from across the room, his voice melting with affection whenever he spoke to you. and he couldn't stop himself from pulling you closer when mark would talk to you in the kitchen, or keeping you in his arms during movie nights on the couch.

the thought of mark, outside, oblivious to the current mood you were in, sent a thrill through haechan's body, settling deep in his gut.

"haechan?" you look up at him, timidly, wondering what he was thinking to have this look on his face. "are you gonna…"

"of course."

taking care of you. he liked the sound of that — a sense of protectiveness swelling in his chest. you needed him to take care of you in a way that no one else could.

now, closing the bedroom door, he takes in the sight of you on the bed. you'd taken off the shirt and sleep shorts you usually wore, leaving you in just a set of lingerie. it was the one reserved for nights when he would call you princess or angel, eating you out while you were laid up against the pillows, holding you tenderly as he praised you.

you truly had no idea what was coming for you.

"is mark outside?" you ask, nervously.

annoyance flickers through haechan, causing him to straighten from where he leaned against the closed door. "why do you care?" he shoots back, tone a little harsher than you were expecting.

you blink, surprised. "i just…" you hesitate. "so he'll just be alone tonight?"

"would you rather he come in and join us?"

"no!" flustered, you try to get up from where you're kneeling on the bed, but haechan puts out a hand, motioning for you to stop.

a moment passes.

silently, he watches as you obediently rearrange yourself back into your original position, trembling slightly from your nerves. you were just so good for him.

"no?" finally crossing over to you, he places his cup on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed next to you. reaching out a hand to play with the lace of your panties, he leans in close so you can't avoid his gaze. "you don't want mark to see you like this?"

you shake your head.

"but you look so pretty, baby." he frowns, mockingly, relishing the conflicted look on your face. "you don't want him to see how pretty you are?"

"look pretty for you," you mumble, the words almost swallowed by your lips. "only want you to see."

a genuine smile spreads across haechan's face. dipping his hand lower, his fingertips just brush the apex of your thighs, partially hidden from the way you were kneeling. "you act like such a good girl for me," he muses, watching the way your eyelashes flutter with need.

"i am good for you," you plead, slowly inching your knees apart to give him access to your aching core. "haechan, can you please-"

he smiles at how needy you are, but even through the haze of your mind you can tell there's something sharp to it, his eyes burning you with a heavy stare. withdrawing his hand, he nods towards the pillows you'd arranged. "lie back, baby," he says, his voice quiet and controlled.

a pulse of what feels like both fear and arousal thrums through your body.

"hae-"

"i said i would take care of you, didn't i?"

you swallow at the harshness in his voice, but you can't deny that it makes your skin feel warmer, and you're sure your lace panties are transparent by now. inching backwards, you lie down on the pillows and sigh as he finally tugs your panties down your legs, easing your knees apart and exposing you to him.

gently, he begins to rub your clit in small circles, leaning down to suck bruises into your neck, marking you for everyone to see. gasping, your body feverish with pleasure, you roll your hips up into his hand, hoping he'll get the message and push his fingers inside you.

"more, please," you whimper, and haechan indulges you, running a finger up and down your slit.

"feels good?"

slipping a finger inside you, he curls it against your walls, his thumb continuing to circle your clit. his other hand pulls down the cups of your bra, scraping his blunt nails over your nipples and pinching at them, something that never failed to make you moan out in sensitivity.

but mark was outside.

pushing your face into the side of your pillow, you manage to contain your sounds to a soft whine. your hips chasing his touch, you pant heavily as you try to beg haechan to bring you to your first climax. "fuck" you whisper, words punctuated by gasps as haechan adds another finger, trying to stretch you out. "i'm, fuck, haechan, i'm gonna-"

but suddenly, haechan leans back and away from your body, his eyes narrowed. smearing your arousal on your upper thigh, he sucks off the remainder on his fingers, watching as your face falls with disappointment, movements jerky you sit up to look at him.

"why-"

"did that feel good, baby?" haechan tilts his head at you, eyebrows raised.

"yes…" you try to close your legs as surreptitiously as you can, starting to rub your thighs together to relieve the feeling of achy emptiness.

eyes downcast, he shakes his head condescendingly. "you were being so quiet, baby." he reaches out a hand to sweep your hair out of your eyes, messy from the way you were nuzzling your head into the pillow. "it made me sad," he murmurs.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, reaching out quickly to latch onto his hand. "i just… i didn't want mark to hear."

he bristles at your words. mark this, mark that. mark will be alone tonight, don't want mark to hear.

"you were thinking of mark as i was touching you?" he challenges.

eyes widening, you take his words seriously, pushing yourself up and crawling into his lap. his arms come around to circle your waist as you throw yourself onto him, words tumbling from your mouth in a jumble of sounds.

"not like that- i just- i want it to be- i didn't want him to- for you-"

grabbing your chin, he interrupts you by kissing you heatedly, nipping at your lip. you part your lips for him, and he licks into your mouth, silencing every single one of your protests until you lose your train of thought completely.

"don't worry, baby," he breathes, easing you back onto your back. "you're going to make it up to me now, okay?"

your eyes focused on his, you nod.

"good girl." reaching for the cup he'd brought over from the kitchen, he dips his fingers in and swirls them in the icy water. lifting his still dripping fingers out, he lightly brushes your inner thigh, grinning when he gets the exact reaction he wants, a loud wail tearing from your throat.

he knew you got sensitive over cold temperatures easily, often surprising you by pressing his cold hands to the back of your neck, or freckling cool kisses on your stomach after sucking on an ice cube. it was for this reason that he rarely used ice when playing with you in bed — the way you'd squirm from his touch and the slew of sounds you would make becoming more of an inconvenience.

but tonight, it was exactly those sounds that he wanted to hear from you.

taking out an ice cube, he rubs it lightly on your chest and over your nipples, a hand shooting out to pin you to the bed as your back arches and your body twists. "do i need to tie you down, doll?" he muses, watching the ice cube melt against your hot skin, your muscles tense and trembling as you whine loudly at the pet name.

you mouth words that mean nothing as he rubs a fresh ice cube on your navel, inching closer to the apex of your thighs. you buck your hips, threatening to unseat him, but he only pins you down even more firmly with his body, your sensitivity manifesting in a loud moan of his name that seems to bounce around the walls of the room.

"so sensitive…" he muses, easing two fingers inside you, making sure you could feel the icy coldness of his fingertips. you let out another cry, choked breaths stuttering as he pumps them in and out of you, enjoying the way your arousal leaked out all over his hand.

"louder," he demands. carefully picking a partially melted bit of ice from the cup, he presses it into your clit harshly, and you let out a scream, torn between the pleasure his fingers were giving you and the sting from the cold.

"you think mark knows what we're doing right now?" he spits, pulling out his fingers from your core. when you don't respond, he gives your swollen clit a harsh flick, and you moan, barely able to understand what he was saying. "answer me, doll."

slowly, you try to recall his question. "n-no," you stutter, breath uneven and throat sore from screaming.

"really?" he laughs lowly. crawling away from your grip, he pushes your legs up until your feet are planted on the bed, his arms snaking around your thighs to hold them in place. taking another piece of ice in his nimble fingers, he begins to rub your clit with it, shushing you as you start to tear up.

"should i give you more, then? make sure he gets the message?" slowly, he starts to slip the piece lower and lower, teasing you over your slit, eyes watching for your reaction.

you start to cry in earnest, sobs wracking through your body. "more-" you cry out, hands reaching down to grasp his arms, wanting to cling onto him. "more please, i wanna cum so bad-"

and so haechan decides to give you exactly what you want.

pushing the piece of ice into you, he chases it quickly with his tongue, his neck shuddering as he delights at the taste of you in his mouth, his plush lips parting so he could lap at you messily. angling his face so his nose bumped into your clit, he reaches blindly for the cup of ice, impatiently upending its contents all over your sopping wet cunt. he lets out a groan just as you scream, the feeling vibrating through you and causing your hips to lift up.

grazing his teeth over your clit, you barely make out his command for you to cum before you're releasing all over his mouth and chin, the feeling flooding over you as he helps you ride out your climax. licking gently at your folds, he releases you from his grip the moment your body stops shaking, climbing up the bed to pull you into his arms, aware that he'd pushed you a little harder than usual this night.

he lets you curl yourself into his side, the rush of adrenaline not yet faded as you continue to sniffle quietly, your legs tangled with his. brushing your hair away from your face, he gently wipes you dry with a warm towel, apologising softly when goosebumps erupt on the surface of your skin from the residual coolness of his touch.

"you okay, baby?" he asks, tentatively.

dazed, you nod, holding onto him even more tightly and hoping the heat from his body would seep into yours.

"cold?" tugging his shirt off, he pulls it gently over your head, dragging the blanket over for good measure. "you did so good for me today, baby."

you hum in pleasure, pressing light kisses to his bare arms as you feel your heartbeat ease, content for the moment to be cuddled by your boyfriend.

next to you, haechan continued to stroke your back as he slipped his phone from the nightstand to check the time. but the moment his lockscreen lit up, he saw that he had several unread messages sent around 20 minutes ago.

all from mark.

mark, 10.59pm: dude is she ok? she sounds like she's in real pain mark, 10.59pm: do you need me to go get medicine or smth mark, 11.00pm: oh mark, 11.00pm: fuck nevermind

"haechan?" pushing yourself up to get his attention, you tap his shoulder lightly.

distracted, he turned towards you, eyes still glued to the words on his phone. "hm?"

"i…" you can feel the arousal inside you begin to mount in pressure, the sensitivity between your legs fading off into the familiar ache when you realised that he hadn't even fucked you yet. "more, please?"

surprised, he gives you his full attention, putting his phone back on the nightstand and draping his arms over you. "you want to keep going?"

nodding, you push yourself into his hold. "please. you don't have to be gentle, –" you cut yourself off, embarrassed. "i can take it," you mumble, hoping he wouldn't tease you.

but haechan only smiles at you proudly. "you're perfect," he holds your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly, languidly. you feel your mind turn to mush, your body beginning to squirm in his touch, trying to push his thigh in between your legs as your whole body heats up.

getting the message, haechan shoves the blanket away, rolling on top of you and caging you in with his arms. he surveys your neck, already littered with marks from before, and dips his head down to nip at your collarbone. you're a mess underneath him, your legs wrapping around his waist and grinding up on him, feeling his hardness through his sweatpants.

"please," you whine, scrabbling at his back and trying to push his face out from your neck, needing him to help you.

he groans at how fucked out you sound. "give me a second, baby. i wanna try something."

clambering out of bed, he crosses over to the table, fumbling with something you can't see, your view obstructed by his broad shoulders. when he turns back to you, you see his new camera clutched in his hands. he'd bought it recently, excited to get into photography, taking any and every opportunity to take photos of you and whatever you were doing. it was endearing, yes, and adorable, but right now the way he's looking at you through the lens is sending shockwaves of arousal down your spine.

"so fucking perfect," he breathes. sliding back onto the bed, he grabs your chin gently, looking at you carefully. "if i let you ride me, can i film you, baby?"

"yes," you blurt out, a little too eagerly. tugging at his pants, you manage to free his hard cock, slapping up against his navel. the tip looking angry and red, you eagerly spit in your hand and start to stroke his shaft, relishing the weight of him in your palm.

haechan indulges you, leaning back against the headboard as he sighs and lets out a string of pretty moans. "my little fuckdoll," he croons. "you'd do anything as long as i give you my cock, right? you'll let me film you, tease you…fuck-" his hips rut into your hand as you start rubbing at his tip, covering it with your fingers. the camera jolts, and he uses his other hand to steady his wrist. you smile down at his lap, a small look of triumph on your face.

reaching out, he grabs your face, making you look at him.

"had your fun, doll?" slapping your hands away, he reaches out to prod at your folds with his fingertips, laughing meanly when his fingers come away glistening. "so wet, just from touching me?" sucking on them casually, he picks up the camera again, hitting the record button this time before panning down slowly to where you hover over his cock.

"sit" he orders, watching through the tiny screen as you rub his tip between your folds, teasing your clit before slowly sinking down on him just as he had commanded.

as you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself, he takes a moment to thank whoever recommended him the camera, the high quality images practically dripping with sin as they take in every detail — the muscles in your thighs trembling, your shaky breathing as you feel him deep inside you. you roll your hips a few times experimentally, moaning softly at how good it feels to be filled by him. without waiting for permission, you start to slowly rise up and down on him, whimpering when you feel his tip brush your soft spot, making your legs feel weak.

"haechan-" you plead, wondering why he wasn't moving or reacting to you, needing him to touch you like he usually did whenever you rode him.

but haechan had his eyes fixed on the camera, resolutely pretending his cock wasn't throbbing inside your heat. he wanted to get you desperate, to put on the best show for the video. "what's the matter, doll?" slumped on the pillows, he barely flicks his eyes up from the screen, looking at you through his lashes. "you're gonna have to try harder if you want my attention."

the words swirl around in your gut, your cheeks feeling hot. fucking yourself down harder on him, you start bouncing on him in earnest, setting a fast pace. you see his body tense, cock twitching inside you, but still he resolutely stares at the camera screen, zooming in on where your bodies connect, your arousal smearing all over his lap messily.

your movements grow more frantic on him as you tire, pathetically moving your hips this way and that, no longer able to lift them. clumsily, you try to steady yourself with one hand, the other moving to your clit and rubbing at it jerkily. haechan hisses as your movements cause you to clench around him even harder, finally straightening up and looking at you.

a hand darting out to grab your hip roughly, he begins to thrust upwards into you expertly, ramming his cock into the one spot he knew you liked. "got so needy for the camera, doll," he pants, barely minding how shaky the footage was getting, his brain completely focused on the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. "did you like putting on a show? touching yourself?"

gripping onto his shoulders, you let a moan rise from your chest, surrendering fully to his control. displeased at your lack of response, he slaps your ass to bring you to attention, rubbing the spot with his hand as you wail.

"you gonna cum for the camera?" he coaxes, eyes checking the screen to make sure you were still in frame.

you nod, furiously, so desperately close. haechan can feel the way you spasm around him, your movements jerky and erratic, fingernails digging in his shoulder-blades hard enough to leave marks. leaning in, he licks at one of your nipples, sucking the firm bud into his mouth and scraping it with his teeth, and it's that feeling that tips you over the edge, cumming so hard around him that black spots dance in your vision.

underneath you, haechan lets go too, letting out a low moan as your walls hug his cock, milking him of all his cum. continuing to thrust shallowly, haechan lets go of the camera in favour of holding you in his arms, rocking you back and forth until he physically can't move his hips from the sensitivity any longer.

"you okay?" he murmurs into your hair, arms smoothing over yours.

"yeah," you whisper back, smiling contentedly.

"perfect." slotting your lips with his, he gives you a gentle kiss, pushing you gently onto your back. kissing you again, you feel a slight urgency to the pressure of his lips, as his hands start to roam your body again.

"haechan…" you sigh as he licks into your open mouth, and you feel his body lift off yours as he moves to kneel between your legs. "wait, i don't know if i-"

but haechan is groping around the bed blindly for the discarded camera, his eyes focused on your sopping wet cunt, stuffed full of his cum. "so pretty," he mumbles to himself. "fuck. you're so hot, baby."

your breath hitches as he finally locates the device, the red blinking light indicating that it was still recording. puffy lips pouted in concentration, his tongue poking into his cheek, his eyes go dark as he zooms in on the sight, making sure the camera captured everything. suddenly flustered at the scrutiny, you shuffle your legs, trying to close them, but haechan's hand shoots out to pin your thighs exactly where they were.

"don't be shy, baby…" he breathes, fingers straying towards your swollen and abused pussy. you grip onto his arm but it's no use, he's already dipping his fingers into your slit, pushing his cum back into you.

"please," you beg, "'m sensitive, it's…i don't think…" but your words die on your tongue, pleasure starting to overtake the pain again as he slips in another finger, making scissoring motions, monitoring his ministrations completely through the screen.

"sorry, fuck, sorry, i just…" his thumbs comes up to press your clit softly, applying a pressure that makes you keen. "sorry," he blurts out again, curling his fingers and pushing them deeper in, "just one more time baby, i need to see it one more time…"

granting his wish, you cum all over his hand, a mixture of his and your juices gushing out of you, your walls fluttering around his fingers, until he could barely move them inside you. haechan's moans rival yours, his pupils blown out and curse words falling freely from his throat at the lewdness of the images on his screen, he can hardly believe his eyes.

there's a pause as the two of you are left speechless, the room filled with nothing but wet sounds and heavy breathing. switching the camera off, haechan lowers it slowly to the bed, eyes trained on you.

"so…" you reach for him, and he slumps down into your arms, pulling you close for what feels like the umpteenth time that night.

"so…" he repeats back at you.

"so what are you going to do with the video?"

"mark, can you help me grab my camera from my room?"

"uh, sure okay, hold on-" shuffling into haechan's bedroom, mark spots the camera on the bedside table. it still seems to be turned on, paused on the thumbnail of the last video it took.

and mark doesn't mean to look, it's just that the screen is right there.

and it very clearly shows an image of you, sinking down on haechan's cock, one of his distinctive hands gripping your waist possessively while the other presumably holds the camera.

"did you find it?"

haechan breezes into the room, and mark jumps, fumbling and dropping the camera onto the bed where it bounces a few times.

"fuck, sorry-"

"- woah, be careful. it's expensive."

haechan picks up the camera, and takes a long exaggerated look at the still lit-up screen, eyes widening dramatically. "jeez, mark. you're such a perv"

"i didn't-"

"-like wow, mark. that's private." a serious look on his solemn face, haechan turns the camera off. "it'll upset y/n if she knew you were watching her."

"i wasn't watching-" "don't tell her you saw this video, okay?" turning and walking out of the room, he casts one more look back at mark, the slightest hint of pride tinting his voice as he adds, "it's mine."

taglist: @91qowngus, @sundhaelatte, @jaemboi64, @sassy-author, @matchahyuck, @prdshobi

#haechan smut #donghyuck smut #haechan scenario #haechan au #nct smut #nct scenario

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kaciidubs · 1 month

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Versace Crowned Prince

❣ Summary: A fashion weekend with the Prince of Versace, what more could you have asked for? ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.7k ❣ Warnings: Implied Black! Reader, smut with feelings, fluff, mention of alcohol ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Hyunjin is referred to as My Prince/Versace Prince, Hyune, Baby, Reader is referred to as My Goddess/Love/Muse, this one turned out very romantic, he brings out a faux poetic side of me ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

If you could describe the past few days as anything, it would be a dream - no, a fairytale, a life you never thought you’d find yourself living yet here you were, going up in a fancy elevator to a fancy hotel room with your dashingly handsome boyfriend after attending a party honoring one of the most well known fashion events for one of the biggest brands in the world.

“Did you have fun?”

You hummed happily, leaning your head against Hyunjin’s leather jacket clad shoulder as your conscience floated through the warm buzz of the drinks you had at the party - not quite drunk, but a pleasant tipsy that strung your words together and made your giggles that much more frequent.

“Mm, yeah - it was amazing.” You drawled, squeezing his hand that was currently entwined with your own, “I already know you had fun, Mister Versace Prince.”

He scoffed out a laugh, pulling you to stand in front of him as he leaned against the elevator wall, “It was only fun because you were there, my love.” His fingers caressed the smooth, ruched fabric near the waist of your skirt, “Thank you for coming with me.”

The warmth of his palms seeped straight through your clothes and settled on the skin underneath, sparking goosebumps to spread along your arms while your alcohol addled brain soared with your - ironically - heightened senses.

Sliding your hands up his chest, wrinkling the designer shirt in your path, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as a dazed smirk curled your lips. “Going to Milan to watch a Versace fashion show with my breathtakingly gorgeous, ambassador boyfriend,” playing with the hair at the back of his head, you tilted yours to the side, “how could I have said no?”

It was bold, being in this position in the elevator where one unexpected stop could spoil everything, but neither of you seemed to care, not with the way his hold on your waist tightened as he leaned forward to fully invite himself into your space.

“Does that mean you’ll be my plus one for the next event?”

His husky murmur made your toes curl in your heels, though you didn’t back down, arching into him with a gaze that could only be read as a challenge.

“If the prince requests my presence, then so be it.” Gaze flicking to his full lips, you leaned in just enough to graze them, “Anything for you.”

The chime of the elevator floated through the charged atmosphere and Hyunjin chuckled, a low, sultry sound that made your heart flutter.

Untangling himself from your hold, he slid his hand into your own before leading you through the sliding doors toward the specially booked suite that had been your home since the beginning of the eventful week.

With a swipe of the key card - which wasn’t easy with your barely muffled giggles and wandering hands - you were finally welcome to the privacy of four walls yet again; stumbling through the door with your new goal set on removing your heels first and foremost.

Hobbling your way to the large king bed, you watched as he shrugged off his leather jacket in record time, breathing a sigh of relief as he dropped it to the couch before unceremoniously following suit with a loud “Oof”.

You giggled to yourself, managing to undo the straps to let each shoe fall one at a time, humming softly as you flexed your slightly achy feet until something shiny caught your eye.

Resting atop his suitcase was a familiar golden crown he’d received mere hours earlier, and you found yourself padding over to the accessory instantly.

The second your hands touched the plastic gold, you instantly brought it to your head and placed it atop your curls, feeling the coils cushion the new weight before sauntering around the back of the couch with an extra sway in your hips.

“How do I look?” Placing your hands on your hips, you carefully angled your head like the models you’d seen on the runway, “Am I fitting enough for the prince of Versace?”

You’d expected a fit of giggles, a bemused chuckle even, but when your eyes met his, you were subject to a gaze that had your breath catching in your throat.

Hyunjin’s hungry stare traced your face before trailing down, taking in the black corset top that was so simple in design, yet held a level of elegance on your body that he couldn’t begin to comprehend as it further accentuated the curve of your waist while the neckline cradled your breasts. Observing further, his tongue peaked out to lick his lips as he scanned the skirt that was just under his fingers mere moments ago, admiring the design as if it were a sheet artistically draped around your hips, yet despising the tantalizing hint of your right upper thigh in its slight asymmetrical fitting - it had taken an ungodly amount of willpower to keep himself from leaving the party early just so he could get you to himself.

All of that, paired wonderfully with gold accessories that matched his shirt and the accessories he had on himself, combined into a recipe for his downfall - and, boy, was he falling.

“Fitting enough for me?” He breathed as his eyes flicked up to meet your own, “Baby, you should’ve been out on that runway,” reaching his hand out, his fingers wrapped around your own before gently tugging you closer, “if it were my show, you would be the only model I’d need.”

His sentiments sent waves of chills down your spine, though it did nothing but feed the growing desire the high of the alcohol left in your system, curling in your abdomen and sprouting warmth that bloomed like a spring flower.

Wetting your lips, you squeezed his fingers softly, “Those are bold words from the Prince of Versace.”

The words fell in a whisper, dipped in honey and wrapped in the finest silk crafted by the wisest hands.

“I can only hope my words are enough for a goddess like you, my love.”

His voice was crowned in gold and anointed with the sweetest nectar, the sound dancing from lips that held their own form of enchantment.

“Why hope,” slipping your hand from his, you made a slow path to the side fastens and hidden zipper of your skirt, “when I can show you what your words do to me, my prince?”

It was all too easy to let the skirt fall to your polished toes, just as easy as it was to undo each tedious hook of the ribbed corset until you were able to take a fuller breath of the lust-tinted atmosphere - all the while, the golden crown remained in its place amongst your curls.

In the same breath, it was all too easy for him to undo his pants just enough to free his hardening length from the leather confines and boxer briefs.

You took your rightful place in his lap, a throne unlike any other, specially curated just for you, and eagerly accepted his confident touch; warm palms following the curve of your thighs to the width of your hips, up the flesh of your stomach to the dip in your waist, higher and higher until his fingers were playing with the simple gold necklace resting against your sternum.

“It’s a shame,” Hyunjin murmured, one hand working the necklace through his fingers while the other slid down to cup your breast, “even the most elite designer clothes don’t hold a candle to you wearing absolutely nothing.”

“You’re one to talk, Hyune,” bringing your hands to the hem of his shirt, you gently dragged the material up, “everything makes your candle burn brighter - it’s no contest.”

“Then let me take it off so we can burn together.” As his hands left your chest to meet the ones resting against his stomach, you tightened your hold on the hem of his shirt, prompting him to raise a brow. “My love?”

“I… I want you to keep them on.” Widening your stance against the couch, you dropped your hips to grind along the underside of his cock, the thin lace of your panties leaving nothing up to imagination. “Please, keep them on?”

Hissing out a short breath, his hips canted up into the slick mess dampening the gusset of lace, bringing a breathless chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“Anything for you.”

Anything for you - it echoed as you rose to your knees just enough to use your fingers to tug your panties to the side, paying no mind to the way it hugged your hips just a bit tighter in the process.

A slow drag of your bare cunt along the underside of his dick brought a shivering breath from the two of you, and he worked a hand between your thighs to catch the tip against your fluttering walls, licking his lips in preparation for what was to come next.

Breathless moans filled the room as you slowly sunk down, relishing the stretch you’d been craving since the beginning of the party - though, if you were honest with yourself, the desire had been simmering since the runway viewing.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes trained on where you were both connected as his hand caressed your thigh.

Lifting your hand from his, your fingers instead found their new home on his chin, gently tilting his head back to have his fiery gaze meet your own, a new heat enveloping you in the process; igniting, burning.

“Gorgeous.” The word escaped him like a sacred prayer, a whisper intended only for the sole recipient before him.

You ran your thumb along his bottom lip, toying with the plump flesh before he dipped his chin to press a slow kiss to the pad, and if his effect on you wasn’t shown through the catch in your breath, then the clench of your pussy was a clear indicator.

There was a tentative roll of your hips, a slow rock to seat him as deep as he could go, before you began to ride him in languid, hypnotizing bounces - kindling the all consuming fire that only served to burn brighter and hotter with each bump and grind.

Hyunjin’s hands made their home on your hips, squeezing the supple flesh as he guided you with each rise and fall, his sharp gaze bouncing between your bliss-wrapped face, the sparkle of the jewelry whenever it caught the light just right, and the short glimpses of his arousal-coated dick leaving and entering your heavenly cunt.

Each panted moan that left you was mirrored by a breathless grunt by the man underneath you - an airy cry of his name floating by when his tip would graze that spongy spot just right, and a whimper working its way into the mix with each sinful roll of your hips.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, further wrinkling the designer article as you fought to keep yourself upright, your head dipping slightly as pleasure steadily rendered your limbs useless.

“Chin up, my love,” he moaned, velvety voice invoking your attention with ease, “keep your crown on for me.”

The crown - you’d forgotten about it the minute you sat in his lap, and him turning your demand on yourself had your abdomen clenching.

The subtle correction of your head hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor did the way you tried to spread your legs that tiny bit more to meet his hips more flush.

Licking his lips, Hyunjin moved his hands to your forearms before tugging gently, leading your torso to rest against his and the once thorough bounces turned into short back-and-forth rocks.

Resting your forehead against his, your lidded eyes met his with ease, countless emotions floating in the blown out brown of his irises, unsaid words understood through the beating of your hearts.

You brushed your lips against his, languishing in the feeling of them as if it were the first time all over again, until your body jolted with a sharp thrust that had your lazy kiss connecting.

Whatever sound that intended to leave you was now muffled against his mouth as the thrusts continued, his hands interlocking at the base of your spine as he fucked up into your heat, the soles of his feet digging into the poor leather of the couch for leverage.

The room was soon filled with the noise of straining leather, the wet drag of your walls along the length of his cock, and needy moans broken up by the messy smack of lips and tongue.

It wasn’t long until your body was trembling above his, your face dropping to his shoulder in hopes of catching the loud cries against his shirt, “H-Hyune, I’m- oh fuck, don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” the needless promise came through gritted teeth as he splayed his left hand against your lower back while his right slid to your ass cheek, squeezing the swell graciously, “come on, love, give it to me - please give it to me.”

Your body reacted before your mind could even process, the sound of threads snapping at the seams under your relentless tugging at his shirt going unnoticed as you came with a cry of his name on your tongue.

He did his best to ride you through your orgasm, but the rhythmic pulsing of your walls quickly shattered his resolve as he found himself chasing his own climax with heated breaths against your bare shoulder.

“Muse, I’m- I-” Hyunjin choked back a whine, trying to blink away the fog clouding this mind, “I-I’m gonna come, fuck-”

His arms wrapped around your back once more as he held you as tight as he could, rutting his hips against yours until he came with a shivering moan, coating your walls with his release.

Littering whatever place you could reach with kisses, you slowly lifted yourself up to admire his euphoria filled features; basking in the glow of his sweat-shined face and rosy cheeks, and marveling in the contrast of your lipgloss’s tint against his skin - that is, until your eyes trailed to his shirt.

Immediately recognizing the stain of your foundation against the black fabric, you didn’t try to hide the embarrassed laugh that breezed past your lips.

“I might’ve flown too close to the sun here, baby…”

Clocking the insinuation without bothering to look himself, he shook his head with a dazed smile on his perfect lips, “I don’t care - make a mess of it, ruin it, I’ll just get another one,” bringing his right hand to your face, he cupped your cheek softly, “and when that one gets messed up, I’ll buy another one.”

You scoffed incredulously, lips curling into a small smile, “The prince of Versace ruining his clothes for me? How scandalous.”

“If it’s by the request of my goddess, then so be it.” His eyes sparkled as he ushered you closer, leaning in just enough to graze your lips, “Anything for you.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #black reader insert #black! reader

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atimeofyourlife · 4 months

Text

Wake up every morning to this groundhog day

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: time travel au | rated: t | wc: 552 | tags: time loop au, pre steddie Steve gets stuck in a time loop, but is he the only one? Title from Rio by Mika

The first day, Steve thought it had been a weird dream when he woke up to everything being the exact same as it had been the day before. He tried his best to convince himself, despite the fact he felt like he was repeating everything he'd done the day before, the strangest sense of deja vu.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Soon enough, Steve had lived a week of the same day. Waking up to the clothes he'd worn the day before clean in his closet again. The leftovers he'd eaten for dinner were back in the refrigerator. The weed he'd purchased was gone from the pocket of his bag, the money he'd spent on it tucked in it's place. It was really starting to freak him out, but he knew he couldn't bring it up to anyone without them thinking he was insane. Not that he had many people to bring it up to, he no longer spoke to Tommy and Carol, everything was awkward with Nancy since the break up, and there was no way in hell he was going to mention it to the kids, because they would convince themselves that it was somehow Upside Down related and panic and throw themselves into trouble.

So, for the most part, he just tried to follow the motions. Hoping that it would resolve itself. He kept a look out to see if there were any tiny details that changed in each repetition of the day, but came up blank. Even if he tried to change parts of his routine, skipping buying weed, skipping school, changing where and what he ate, it didn't make much difference. He still kept waking up to the same day over and over again.

He ended up buying and smoking weed everyday. It helped calm him down, stop him from freaking out so much. He guessed that because the day kept resetting itself, the weed disappeared from his system when the time moved back. And it wasn't like he was wasting tons of money on it, was he was spending the same money each day, he'd even memorized the serial numbers on the bills, checking them each morning.

"Jesus Christ, Harrington. Chill, you seem so on edge today." Eddie said as he watched Steve from the picnic bench in the woods. Steve had stumbled into the clearing for the daily deal, feeling more and more out of it each day.

"Sorry. I just. I feel like I'm going insane." Steve mumbled, dropping to sit on the opposite side of the bench. He buried his face in his arms.

"I've been feeling like that ever since I started high school." Eddie replied, pulling out baggies of weed from his metal lunchbox. "Tell me what's going on, if I'm feeling generous I might throw in a little extra for free."

"It's. I keep living the same day over and over and over and over. Everyday, it's the Third of April, and it's been like that for so long I've lost count. No matter what I do, nothing changes. I just wake up the next day and it's the Third of April again."

Eddie didn't say anything for a few moments, instead just watching Steve closely. Then finally, "It's been happening to you too?"

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #pre steddie #time loop au #steddieholidaydrabbles #atimeofyourwrites

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nexysworld · 1 year

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Hello!

I hope it’s ok for me to request this (and sorry if my English is not well)😭👉👈

Can I request for Leon and his girlfriend/wife being on a mission together (maybe during re4r, vendetta or re6) and during the mission reader finds out she’s pregnant with Leon’s kid. She’s maybe reluctant on telling him because it might jeopardize the mission or put more weight on Leon’s shoulders, but eventually tells him.

Leon is truly over the moon with the news but at the same time worried since they’re on the mission and was about to call Hunnigan to get her to safety. but girlfriend/wife refuses to abort the mission and leave Leon.

the angst and overprotective and soon to be father leon >u< pls

Thanks so much for the request! The plot for this one actually got away from me more than expected so it's not quite as angsty as I had planned. I had most of it written already so I didn't want to scrap it tho. I hope you like it anyway - I might just redo this one in the future because I like the prompt so much and think I could do it more justice - especially expanding more on Leon's internal feelings. ~ Expectations to Keep Going ~ Read on AO3 🖤 Requests are Open 🖤 Masterlist Pairing: Fem!Reader x Vendetta!Leon Tags: Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Unplanned Pregnancy Word Count: 2.2k

You paced back and forth in the living room of your once-shared apartment. 60 seconds felt like 60 minutes as you watched the timer slowing ticking down, heart racing. With a shaky hand you picked up the stick and to your dismay saw the little + indicating it was positive. “For fuck’s sake, this can’t be happening right now.” Ever have one of those moments where you say ‘at least it can’t get worse.’ Well, this was the universe’s way of reminding you that things can always get worse.

Leon had walked out on you. He didn’t explicitly say the relationship was over, but he didn’t really need to. He’d shown up drunk, shoving everything he owned into a suitcase, and disappeared on what he called his ‘vacation.’ Except that vacation had lasted weeks now, with not so much as a phone call home. When you attempted to contact him, same thing, radio silence.

You tried remaining calm, knowing what had happened on his most recent mission. You just told yourself he needed time, but with each passing week the feeling that things were over kept washing over you.

You weren’t one to wallow, freak out, or really deal with your feelings in general. So you did the only thing you knew to cope, you threw yourself into work. Mission after mission, clearing them as fast as you could – that was until weird stuff began happening. Fatigue was the first thing you noticed. You were always tired no matter how much sleep you got. Then came the nausea. Your skin had even begun to break out, your breasts were sore. It was like PMS cranked up to the max – except no period. That in of itself hadn’t been alarming since you didn’t really get one on birth control, the other symptoms though? They had freaked you out, leading you to this moment right now, standing alone in your apartment, positive pregnancy test in hand.

“I can’t deal with this.” You said to yourself, slumping back onto the couch. Luckily for you, your phone rang. “Redfield? Yeah…yeah…No, I don’t know where he is…yeah, I can help.”

A mission. Relief flooded through you. Was it a good idea to accept it considering your current condition? Probably not. But a mission would make a great distraction right about now. Besides, with enough willpower, you were sure you could overcome any symptoms for at least a few days, especially if the fate of the world was at stake, right?

That’s the plan. Save the world again and afterward, you’d figure out what to do.

Your heart stopped when you saw him at the table chugging down another glass of alcohol. He didn’t look great, and he didn’t look happy to see you or the two companions who’d followed. His normally clean-shaven face was now scruffy, the bags under his eyes intensifying the steely blue even more - his hair was dark and greasy. This wasn’t your Leon. You would’ve been happier to not have seen him like this, but Chris and Rebecca insisted on locating him. “Cancel that!” Chris shouted when Leon attempted to order another glass. Leon instantly pulled out a flask from his back pocket with a smirk – of course, he had a backup. It honestly would’ve been funny and so very Leon if the context of the situation didn’t have you feeling so awful. Leon hadn’t acknowledged you once, and you hadn’t tried to speak. What could you possibly say? Now wasn’t the time to talk about your broken relationship or the other elephant in the room - he looked so broken down. “I never plan that far ahead anymore.” He slurred to Chris. “There’s no point. There’s always some new bad guy to fight. My life is just a vicious loop. So what’s the point in thinking about the future?”

Ouch .

Those words definitely stung, adding to the growing barrier between the two of you. Now a new worry bubbled in you that if you did tell him, it would be too much. That would be the thing that sent him spiraling over the edge he was already teetering - you couldn’t do that. Not to him, not to yourself. No. This was something you would need to deal with alone .

This was a mission. You were a professional. That’s all that mattered right now – let everything else go. Following through on that was hard. Much harder than expected, especially now that you’d found yourself alone with Leon, separated from Chris, and Rebecca abducted.

Nausea had come back in full force, this was the third time you found yourself making him stop his bike so you could lurch behind a dumpster to spill stomach acid and spit.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” “I’m fine.” You assured standing up. You knew he wasn’t buying it, even a half-sober Leon still remained a great agent, sharp as ever. Moodier than usual - even if you hardly spoke. Slower than usual - almost getting mowed down by the Gatling gun in the hotel. You almost never got sick - now you’d spilled your guts several times. Something was definitely up, and he didn’t need to accuse you for you to see the suspicion on his face. Not to mention how he’d been hovering over you like an overprotective guard dog ever since the attack at the hotel.

Guilt. Guilt is what you felt when he looked at you. He was worried about you and you had the truth of what was wrong kept caged behind closed lips. You took in a few deep breaths to help ease your sour stomach - it doesn’t work and you’re in tears now as more gagged coughs are ripped from your throat. A comforting hand rubs your back as a bottle of water is placed in front of you, not bothering to question where he’d gotten it. Greedily you downed the entire thing, using the last sip to swish the terrible flavor from your mouth. “Were you bitten?”

You shot him a glance of horror. “No! Of course not.” “Then tell me what’s really going on.” “I’m fine.” “You’re obviously not fine.” “Well of course I’m not fine. I’m stuck alone on a mission with the guy who walked out on me after 10 years together. Now can we go?” You don’t know why you said that, your mood just kept ping-ponging through different emotions. You guessed this time it just landed on anger. When his hand was on your back you wanted to cry from the comforting touch, but now that you had to stand and look at his face you were annoyed. This wasn’t the time or place. You knew that, you’d reminded yourself of it several times, and yet emotions were getting the better of you. Damn these stupid hormones. His brows came together in thought and confusion, you really weren’t acting like yourself. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He finally responded. “I know. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have – “ “No, I deserved that. I’m surprised you didn’t come into the hotel swinging, honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you. It was shitty how I left.” It wasn’t an apology, but the acknowledgment definitely helped a little.

The two of you stood there awkwardly for a while. Leon had radioed Chris for a status report, his team had breached the building and were on a steady path of clearing out the enemy. It bought you and Leon a little more time to continue your awkward stand-off. He brought his gaze to meet yours again. “Look, I know I don’t deserve to know what’s going on with you. I get it. But at least for the sake of the mission, tell me what’s wrong physically. If we need a medic–” “I’m pregnant.” You didn’t know what possessed you to say it after you’d spent the entire time telling yourself that you couldn’t - no - shouldn’t. It was probably the fact you couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you anymore. But there it was, the truth slipped right out.

“What.” “I’m pregnant.” “I don’t understand.” You’d never seen such a stupefied look on him before. It was like you had just spoken in tongues, for some reason that irritated you. You finally confess your big secret in the middle of a super important mission, and that’s all he had to say? “What don’t you understand? I’m pregnant and it’s yours. You got me pregnant. I am pregnant with your baby. You put your –” You were cut off by your own crying, feeling every emotion simultaneously, the tears continued to spill against your will. Damn. Damn. DAMN these stupid hormones.

“Ok. Ok. I get it, calm down.” He put his hands out defensively as he walked towards you, caging you against the wall. “I can’t!” You shouted. Leon pressed your foreheads together, snaking his arms behind you into a hug. He didn’t say anything, just held you tightly for a few moments letting you sob it out. Once the waterfall of tears was reduced to some hiccups and sniffling, he began to rub soothing circles into your lower back. You dared to glance up at him through wet lashes, there was an unmistakable smile plastered to his face. “It would be just like you to distract yourself from huge news with work. But you shouldn’t be here if you’re pregnant. Let me call Hunnigan, we can have a ‘copter sent in to pick you up.” “No!” You brought your hands up to push him away from you, shaking your head. “No, I am not abandoning this mission. Chris needed my help to unlock the building’s computer systems so they can collect the virus’ information. I’m not going anywhere - wait - why are you smiling like that?” His gleeful look didn’t waver. “Sweetheart…you’re asking me why I’m smiling? Obviously, because I’m happy.” “What?” “I’m happy? You told me I’m going to be a father. There’s going to be a little ankle-biting Kennedy running around. I’m happy! Not quite as happy you knew and came here anyway. I guess that’s my own fault though.” “I don’t understand. You left me. You literally said there was no point in planning for a future.” It was your turn to look absolutely stunned, it was so far from the reaction you had expected it almost gave you whiplash. He reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it assuringly. “Yeah, I was wallowing in some deep self-pity. But seeing you almost get killed in the hotel was a sobering reminder of what I can’t afford to lose. Hearing that I’m going to be a father? That doubles it for me. I realized I was looking at things the wrong way. I know I’ll always be running headfirst into danger, but maybe having a future to look forward to is the motivation I need to stay alive while I do it. Wait are you seriously –oh, come on Honey don’t start crying again.” He sighed pulling you close. “I’m calling Hunnigan and getting you out of here.” “No! I have to complete the mission. Just give me a minute.” Your words lacked the bite you intended. “Look, I think I’d already flop at this whole fatherhood thing if I let the mother of my baby get hurt or killed on day 1.” Leon pressed a few soft kisses on your forehead and wet cheeks before finally connecting your lips together. He tasted like alcohol masked with mint and the short hairs on his face scratched you, but it was still comforting. “Let’s negotiate then.” You offered. “This isn’t the time for that. You’re jeopardizing the mission and you could get killed, it’s not safe.” His tone was caring, but stern now. “Look. I know it was stupid of me to take this on while pregnant. You’re right it was a distraction and I thought I could handle it better. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m the only one who can get into those systems.” You managed to finally get the tears to stop, rubbing your eyes dry and raw. You could see he still wasn’t fully convinced. “Leon, there isn’t going to be a future for our baby if we can’t stop this. Please.” “Fine. But only if you promise to stay on the defensive and avoid action as much as possible. Do as I tell you to and let me handle any enemies that his team may have missed.” “Come on Leon, I can handle–” “No. We do things my way or I’m calling Hunnigan and you’re leaving.” You were annoyed despite knowing he was right. You would’ve argued further but the look of worry on his face shut you up instantly. “Alright. Alright. I’ll follow your lead, promise.”

“Good, and Baby?” “Yeah?” “No more missions for a while. Got it?” “Deal.” You shook his hand as if it were a business meeting, rewarding you with a laugh on his part. He captured you in one more quick kiss before leading you over to his bike, both steeling yourselves back into your professional personas. You hopped onto the back, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he took off in the direction of the building to get the remainder of the mission over with.

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