#goddamn these is a hard set of letters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

Me & Mr. Miller

au!Joel Miller x f!Reader [5.2k] summary: You and Joel had a deal to stay away from each other. The only obstacle is—neither one of you wants to do that. He might be the father of one of your closest friends and someone a few (many) years older than you, but... who cared. Not you. Not him. The deal wasn't going as planned. 📝 in this scenario the outbreak never happened! joel miller is doing just fine! If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, misunderstanding, secret relationship, pining, strangers to lovers. Oral (f receiving), penetration (p in v), unprotected sex, dirty talking, love-making.

masterlist |

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Winter of 2023.

"Aw, shit, Joel. Fuck," Tess turned to him with her face twisted into a weird, panicked smile, and that's exactly when Joel realized he'd gone and fucked up again somehow. "You set me up. You set me up!"

"What?!"

"We could've at least told me you were inviting me to Sarah's birthday to be eaten fuckin' alive—is she still looking at me? Goddamn," the panic left for a second, replaced with a knowing smirk that he was unfortunately too familiar with. "She's got really nice eyes, I'll tell you that much. Were you gonna tell me I came here to make your girlfriend jealous? And really—is she still looking? 'Cause those are very intimidating eyes, and I'm gonna need to prepare myself."

There was no preparing to look into your eyes.

Joel would know.

He was done for the minute he laid eyes on you. The way you looked at him.

His hands started to sweat, and his mouth ran dry. He had to look. Gravity couldn't keep him from it.

"You know... a lot makes sense now," Tess starts.

"Don't."

Tess chuckles, hiding it in her drink. "Jeez—did you win her by blabbering her ears out? 'Cause I only got a single look into Miss Daggers for Eyes, but she looks—"

"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna regret having brought you, won't I?" Joel interrupts because he can't turn around as sharply as he'd like, and he can feel it already. Your eyes on him.

Tess stops hiding her laughter, "Oh, for sure. And only because I'm gonna make it very hard for you because you didn't tell me. Because you think that not talking about it makes things just... go away," she wiggles her fingers like dandelions in the sky, and Joel loves his best friend, but she can be a bit of a dick.

"I was gonna tell you," he sighs, fidgeting inside the stupid blazer; sipping his bourbon to ease the jitteriness inside his skin already proved to be a terrible fucking idea when in your presence. "I was—" and where are you? There are a lot of people behind Tess' shoulders and Joel could spot you in a football crowd.

"Jesus." Tess enunciates every letter. "Joel, find her so you can have your focus back."

"Just for the record, she isn't my girlfriend," he states.

Tess scoffs, and it says more than words could.

"She isn't," he presses.

"I believe you," says Tess. "But now I also know I wasn't crazy when I said you were happier last year after going to New York. You were. And Miss Daggers for Eyes—"

"She has a name."

"—is the reason. Does she? Does she have a name, Joel? Her parents are so kind for giving her one," Tess sasses. "I would know her name if you hadn't hidden her from me."

"I didn't hide anybody, there was nobody to hide. Also, can you shut up? You're louder than my thoughts."

The next laugh comes accompanied by a slap on the shoulder, and Tess walking away, but not before whispering in his ear. "Joel, buddy, I wholeheartedly believe you had the best intentions with bringing me here, but here's a tip you didn't ask for: Not one of you is as over whatever the hell happened as you may think. Talk to her."

Talk to her.

As if it was that simple.

As if there wasn't a deal.

Joel needs to find you, but first, he needs another drink.

He gulps down his glass and tries to smile as the guests pass him by. None of them seem to notice his imminent heart attack. None of them see through his carefully curated nonchalance, and he's happy about that.

There's already a person present who can see through him like glass, and he can barely deal with that one.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤNYC, Spring of 2022.

You stood no chance against him.

The first time you saw him, Joel looked like a Wes Anderson visual.

Pink suit, grey strands unabashedly mixed in his soft, shiny black hair, and a shy smile to put any of the other men present to shame.

You were drawn like a moth to a flame.

He looked quite serious without that beautiful smile on—he looked like someone who would, in fact, never wear a pink suit, so you walked over to him and slid right next to his spot at the bar. "That's a bold outfit choice," were your first words. You smiled when his eyes landed on you, so wide and filled with surprise; warm, and stunning like a hot summer day. "But it suits you."

Joel looked stunned for a moment.

He blinked, sipped his bourbon glass and his eyes did a not-subtle-at-all up and down. Then, he put down his glass and the corner of his mouth twitched with the idea of a smile. "I lost a bet," he answered. You recognized the southern accent immediately. "Believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe you," you chuckled.

"It suits me, though?" he asked, opening his arms to the sides.

You nodded. "It does," your peripheral vision caught Bruna approaching behind the bar, and you smiled at her. "Hi, babe. Can I get a caipirinha, please?"

"Hey, girl," she smiled at you and used all of her subtlety to glance at Joel observing the exchange. "Sure thing. Vodka, sake, or cachaça?"

"Bruna, you know there's only one way to do a proper caipirinha," you rolled your eyes.

Bruna smiled. "Cachaça it is, then. Lemon, or something else?"

"Hm, how about an unexpected fruit? Surprise me."

"You got it. Anything else?" she asked.

"Nope, just remember to drink some water. You always work too hard," you winked at her.

Bruna left to make your drink with a blinding smile on her face, and you turned around to find Joel staring. He leaned on the counter with his arm supported on it, and as soon as you looked at him he asked, "Where d'you two know each other from?"

You pointed at the huge banners of NYU standing behind you. "She goes there — I go there."

"You go to NYU?"

"I do," you answered. "Getting my phD, actually," your smile always came out at that.

Joel's face never hides his surprise, but the smile was unexpected and very welcome. "Wow. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I imagine you're here because of the Spring exhibition?" you looked around at the gallery where everyone around looked as posh as you and he did, save for the curious New Yorker just enjoying their walk.

"I am. My daughter has a paper on display on the third floor," he replied.

"Politics and Law area?"

"That's her," he confirmed.

"I have a few close friends in the department," you smiled. "It was my first stop."

"Are you here showin' something too?"

"I'm actually here as one of 'somethings' to show?" No matter how long in the business, talking about being the art itself was always surreal. Especially in front of otherwordly handsome and charming men. Where was Bruna with your drink when you needed her? "My roommate's exhibition won the main exhibit, and we — dancers — are her tool. Her paint."

"You're part of the main exhibit?" He looked every bit impressed, and you nodded, feeling giddy at the prospect. "Double wow. Wait—shouldn't you be backstage, then?"

"Oh, no, gods, no. This whole thing stays here all afternoon, the final piece is only at sunrise—6pm, kinda?"

"Okay. And do I get to know your name before you run off to become art or d'you plan on dropping a crystal shoe so I can roam around later tryin' to find out?"

That had been the first time he made you laugh.

Truly laugh; not a few breaths out of your nose or an easy chuckle—Joel was silly, and he looked like modern-day Adonis in the stupid pink suit that he only wore because of a goddamn bet, and you had no chance.

"I'm Joel," he extended his hand.

That had been the doom of it all—no last names. Only smiles.

You shook his hand and offered your name back, only for him to repeat it out loud.

Test it on his tongue.

You were always doomed.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Winter of 2023.

Jealousy looked godly on you.

Joel hated himself for even thinking it, but he hated himself a lot this evening.

He had hurt you, for starters.

The only thing he set himself not to do, and he'd done it.

More than a year has passed since the fateful day you stepped, yet better—waltzed into his field of vision, and had he known a day of peace ever since?

The day he met you still played on his head like a broken record stuck inside a player:

Saying goodbye to Sarah in front of the gallery, turning around the corner, and seeing you with smoke blowing in front of your face, smiling at the sight of him. You in your green dress. The happiness written all over you, the obvious and earnest glee of seeing that Joel was still around.

Walking with you all around New York, feeling three times less intimidated by the imposing streets with you by his side. The smell of your apartment, the street food you two got on the way, the conversation that flowed as easy as a river stream.

Joel had the imprint of your shining personality burning behind his eyelids. The taste of strawberry from your caipirinha permanently inked on his tongue.

He stood no chance against your eyes—as much as she teased, Tess was right.

Miss Daggers for Eyes.

The way you looked at him at said, "You gotta stop looking at me like that, Joel. I'm starting to think you're not paying attention to what I'm saying," even though you already knew that to be true. Since the moment the strap of your blouse fell from your shoulders and you kept on talking, Joel was fish in a net.

He had the taste of your cunt and the smell of being buried between your thighs waking him up late at night for the next months to come.

The way you rode his face just as he asked you to—no mercy, no shame, only that, only your desires and the alcohol and the weed and the conversation and everything—everything, everything, everything.

Joel took it all out like a starved, greedy man, and you took it back, and neither of you slept until the sun was shining again in the sky.

The next couple of months were filled with texts since Texas demanded him back home and you were already home.

It could've been just friendship.

It was supposed to be simple.

So what if you two called each other and got off while on the phone like a couple of young adults who can't bear to be away from each other? So what if Joel texted you and had to endure Tess and other co-workers smiling at him and wondering, "what the hell's got Joel Damn Miller in a good mood, huh?"

So what if Joel learned more about you than he could admit to himself that he even wanted to know? Even if he was the one asking?

It didn't matter, because it wasn't simple.

Because when you called and said, "Your name is Joel Miller?" he realized why Sarah said he was such a 'distant concept'. No social media meant nobody to pry, but it also meant misunderstandings.

It also meant having to answer you with apprehension, because your tone had never been that off. "It is. Why are you sayin' it like I'm on a list or somethin'?"

"Joel." His stomach fell at his name alone. "You're Sarah's dad. Fuck. Of course you are—"

"Wait, you know Sarah?"

"Yes, I know Sarah. I'm friends with Sarah, or I was before—oh god, she's gonna kill me. She is, isn't she?"

He had assisted you through your panic even though he felt the same.

He walked outside his office, talked you through your next breaths, and guaranteed you there was no reason to panic. "That's it, it's ok, hun'—," he stopped, cursed mentally, and rectified his mistake with his name. You were not his hun, and Joel had been lost on cloud nine without realizing you could've never been. "Just breathe. She doesn't know. She won't know. You two are fine."

That had been it, or so he thought.

Joel stared a lot at the last message he received from you. Thought about sending something else. Continuing the conversation.

Instead, he let the silence make the dust settle.

It had been a haze.

A dream, or a glitch in the matrix—it wouldn't be happening again, and no matter how much he looked at the text you sent weeks prior — i really like talking to you, Joel — nothing would change.

Except it did.

Except — the silence amounted to nothing.

One look at you across the street and Joel was dragged back in.

That Summer when Sarah invited him back, Joel had almost said no, but he remained as able to deny her anything as when she was a kid. The weekend went perfectly, and Joel did his best to not think of you as he was there, but all it took was a few words on a screen:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤSaw Sarah's IG stories. You loaok so good when you smile , JoelㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLove how the sweater looks on yoyu

Drunk baby. Honey.

The second time there was no deal on the table yet, but there was you.

Joel appeared at your apartment door at twenty past two in the morning and only left a couple of hours before his plane left.

You two pretended your apartment was a bubble.

It worked.

Joel had missed you. It sounded silly when he thought it early in the morning before leaving for work—when everyday routine served as bitter medicine it was enough to convince himself it was all just wishful thinking.

With you in the same room as him, lying was harder.

There was no 'wishful' part on how well you two worked.

There was a divine inspiration in the way you made him feel like something new.

Joel felt warm, wanted, devilishly handsome under your gaze. Your careful touch.

"You're so fucking handsome," you repeated to him.

He never thought about his looks, but he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the truth in your words. How much you believed them. "Glad you think so."

"Don't snicker at me like that, Mr. Joel—"

"Snicker? I ain't snickerin', I'm laughin'. You keep tracing my wrinkles like that and I'm gonna get a complex, hun."

"The drama. You're so lame! Oh my god."

"And yet, you're laughing. You know, that's the same shit my daughter says. I'm startin' to think it's true."

"It is. You're silly. But it's okay —" the tip of your fingers tracing his features felt like the first drops of rain hitting the skin. Joel shivered under your touch more times than he cared to count, and he'd only been present for it a couple of times. He'd hate to think of how much you could ruin him with enough time given. How much no other touch would suffice anymore. " — 'cause it's all part of your charm..."

Who would've thought Joel still had it?

Charm.

No amount of charm made up for the situation, though, and before you left, you asked the inevitable question. "No one can know, right?"

"No." He knew what was at stake—your friendship with his most important person. Maybe more. "It was just our last time."

"Right. We're not doing this again."

"We can stay away from each other. I like it like this," he said, pressing his face in your beard-burnt neck, inhaling your sigh and perfume. "But I know..." she can't know.

No—no one can know.

He nuzzled into you, and you nuzzled back. Dug your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. "We can still... talk, can't we?" you asked.

Joel's chest clutched and he held you a little tighter. None of you were at fault for the circumstances, so you both deserved some more stolen time. "We'll talk." He kissed under your ear. "We'll stay away from each other. Talk. Friends can talk. We just—we don't do this anymore. And, no one can know it happened."

"Okay." You sounded muffled against his chest, and Joel thought about how he'd miss touching your hair like this. "I'll just — take a while. To be able to look at you and not —" you stopped abruptly, and pulled away to look up at him and show him not what.

Not look at him with eyes that demanded a kiss.

Without pulling him in by the fire in your eyes.

That had been then — July gave him you again. You for the last time.

The next time Joel saw you after that had been a few weeks ago. Sarah invited you to a party during the holidays, and third time was the charm.

You two talked like good, old friends.

The longing in his chest was ridiculous, the whole entire time.

Now—

jealousy looks good on you.

Sarah's birthday was big enough for Joel to have his eyes on you without you even realizing it. From his bedroom porch, Joel saw you walking by the pool between the guests with that set to your jaw. Another friend of Sarah's stopped you and started a conversation, but the look refused to leave your face.

The problem was—there was nothing Joel could do.

If he pulled you aside to clarify that Tess was only a friend, a work friend who Sarah has called 'Aunty Tess' since she was fourteen, he would be wrong.

Rubbing salt on the wound.

What did it matter what Tess was?

You two had a deal.

Gods, Joel was getting too old for this—too old to watch things from a distance, to see the sadness on the pout of your lips and crave to run and kiss it away, to realize when the lights of the party hit your face in the right angles that your eyes are shining and fuck—

He gets back downstairs and leaves the glass somewhere along the way.

No more bourbon for him.

Joel hears his name called a few times. Allows himself to be distracted by conversation here and there. He's good at lying to himself—he's done it often enough by now. Joel keeps himself trimmed from the deep wants and needs that grow like weeds through his bones, even if he isn't sure why.

Something so rich like you — of course it wasn't for him.

What would he do?

You're Sarah's dad. Fuck.

Sarah's father — he clapped the louder, smiled the brighter, and when the candles were blown and she handed him the first piece of cake, Joel wondered if he should feel guilty for going after someone who's close with daughter of all people.

All he could feel was sadness as he saw you disappearing in the crowd after talking to Sarah in hushed tones inside a hug.

Joel needed to find Tess.

He should leave — his house would be the roof for a lot of people tonight and he needed to talk, maybe—Joel started laughing as soon as the thought came to him.

That's how much you affected him.

He leaves in direction of the kitchen, guarded by the commotion around the cake.

Joel had trouble finding people he liked talking to. You spoke with him for three hours as if time meant nothing, and now it got him wanting to talk about you to his friends, spilling all the bits of stolen moments here and there.

The texts he's read so many times he has memorized.

He needs to get those things off his chest if he wants to stop clinging to them— they've been inside his close fists since Joel got his hands on them — on you — and he hasn't let go ever since.

"Dad?"

He places the bottle down on the fridge shelf, happy he was caught before and not during the act. He pops his head out, and Sarah's standing on the door of the kitchen with a look.

"What?"

"I promised myself I was gonna stay out of this tonight, but — is there a reason? Any solid reason why you two decided to stay away from each other since you're both so... clearly happy about that?" she finishes, eyeing the fridge as if her view is made of x-ray, and the bottle weighs twice more in his hands.

Then—"Wait." Joel's brain freezes. "You knew?"

Sarah's eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. "Oh. My god." She blinks once, then covers a burst of laughter with both hands. "Dad. You and she are so not subtle—I thought you knew that I knew — oh my god. It's not because of me, is it? I mean—don't get me wrong, if you two as much as flirt in front of me at first I'm gonna hose both of you like, on the spot, but—I'm ok with it. Obviously. You two are two grown adults, and dad, don't take this the wrong way, but last year was the most I've seen you smile in a long, long time."

Joel needed a few minutes to take all of it in.

Was it just because of Sarah?

No one can know, you'd said. What if you were ashamed of him, too? Of the age difference, and —

"The same goes for her, obviously." Sarah's words pulled him out from underwater. "I've known her for a couple of years, but... last year was definitely happier than the other one."

He smiled. "You're the best, did you know that?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"Tell Tess I left?"

"Sure." Sarah's smile spread. "She just left. D'you want me to text you where she's staying?"

Joel had already gifted her, but that didn't stop him from walking over to kiss her cheek and smile proudly. "I'll buy another gift."

"You better."

Joel drove all the way hoping to be right.

Hoping it hadn't all been just a fluke — the moment, a chase, a thrill.

He breathed a deep inhale before knocking on your hotel door.

It took a second before he heard your footsteps, and he wiped his palms on his jeans. "Uhm — I didn't ask for room service?" you sounded confused.

And like you'd been crying.

Fuck him. "I know you didn't."

It was him.

You wished you hadn't opened. He looks good — like always, but better. Hair slicked back, thick jacket to shield from the cold and the soft eyes; it's what bought you, and what traps you again.

You're speechless, but Joel helps.

"I just have somethin' to say and somethin' to ask, then I can be on my way. If you want," he adds.

"I thought we had a deal." It's almost like a plaster. A veil to cover the pink hue on your cheeks, maybe. "And how did you get up here without them calling me?"

He lifted his hands — your scarf was in them, and he tried very little to hide his amusement when he explained. "I've lived in this town my whole life. I just told Nina downstairs you forgot your scarf at the birthday party and you left pretty early tomorrow mornin'." Joel looks past your shoulders. "You're not the only one with friends. Can I come in?"

You wonder if it's possible to say no to him.

You simply take a step back, and Joel walks past you.

He feels like an omen standing there in your hotel room. The one you'd gotten because staying at his house seemed impossible.

The one you dreamt about him appearing out of nowhere, just like now.

If you had drunk more tonight, you would think maybe you're out of it.

"I'll keep it short, mostly 'cause I feel like a nerve wreck." Joel clears his throat and turns around to look at you as you close the door behind you. "She knows. Sarah — she uhm, she asked me basically why we're makin' each other miserable."

She knows.

You feel splinted from your body for a moment as the weight of the secret leaves your shoulders.

"She knows?" your whisper is more to yourself than anything else, but Joel still answers.

"Yeah. And also — that was Tess, tonight. With me at the birthday party."

He closed it at that because the rest was implied — you heard of Tess, many, many times.

When you and Joel spoke before Summer and the few times you two spent hours on the phone after long periods of silence in between, Joel told you about his friends. He told you about his work colleagues, about old college memories, about anything you asked.

He waited for you.

Patiently, as you took in the fact that your only worry didn't exist, Joel stood there a few feet across from you with his hands in his pockets, waiting.

And then, "I get if that wasn't the only reason why you said we should keep it between us. But—"

"It was." You were just... flying. Free. You breathed out, weighing a thousand pounds less. So you could have him? "Joel?"

He takes a step forward. "Yeah?"

There's little to be said when both of you move like orbits.

Your arms already know the way around his shoulders. Joel's familiar with the inches of your waist, and more than anything, you missed this, missed him.

His clever hands wrap carefully around your waist, and you abandoned every ounce of worry that this might be a dream.

"What are you smilin' at?" he asks.

Joel asks you that as he molds your bodies into one—the man is nothing but broad shoulders and back, thick arms that act like tentacles on your body that melts into his touch from the get-go.

"I had a lot of dreams like this," you confess. It feels incredible to just say what pops into your mind.

"Well, then let me remind you that real life's better," he mutters, hands already cupping your neck and cheeks.

Joel is the type fo kiss with his whole body.

You have no idea how both of you deluded yourselves into thinking any sort of deal could prevail when you two are made of this:

His hands roaming your throat, squeezing as you cling your legs around his waist and Joel takes the full weight of you on him. The back of his knees hitting the bed, his body and yours falling into a mess and tangle of limbs.

No deal was bigger than the desire you had of jumping his bones whenever he was at close proximity.

You wanted to devour him — you sucked on the fingers he offered with the same gusto your hips rolled against his lap; Joel moaned for you, and he trembled for you, and he smiled for you.

"'m gonna take my time with you — you know I like to take my time, stop grindin' that pretty pussy all up on me," he growls, and you mewl.

Joel is relentless with his touches.

Every time he took you, it felt like a possession.

Like he was carving your body out of marble to keep the curves set in stone — his palms ran through every inch of you until all your clothes were gone somewhere in the room, and he laughed at himself every time you cried out his name in a loud plea for more.

"Please — please just gimme something," you begged.

Joel smiles at you, dropping his pants to the floor. The entire lower half of his face is shining with the slick and sweat from you — keeping his head buried between your legs, your thighs stradling his shoulders and squeezing around his ears — he always started the nights like that.

"I was givin' you somethin'," he replies. Voice low and thick as honey. Just as sweet, too.

He crawls over the bed, naked, and you have to stop yourself from jumping on him until he's on his back. It'd be worse for you afterwards — you learned it the hard way. Joel would milk every orgasm out of you until you blacked out if you kept him from touching your body to his liking before you could do anything, and who were you to complain?

"Need more, Joel," you cried.

"More what?" He palms your calves, and starts smoothing his hands upwards. "Ask for it, baby."

"Whatever you want to give me, just — please."

"Ah. She learned," he chuckles, and kisses the inside of your thighs. They tremble at the feeling of his beard, and he nuzzles his face there for good measure. "I usually wanna see you ridin' my face 'till you're screaming for the heavens, but —" Joel climbs all the way up, cages your face between his forearms and lets his body lay on top of yours slowly. He doesn't give you his whole weight, but part of you wished he did. "I really just wanna be inside you right now."

"Please!"

"We'll have all night, I just—"

He stopped there, but you got where he came from.

It was different.

Knowing you would wake up and he'd still be there — it was different.

Taking him in when you knew he had more to offer and that's what he wanted to give — it made every inch Joel pushed inside feel more real.

He held both of your hands over your head, intertwining his fingers in yours. He went slow, and kept his eyes on you, and you felt less silly about the hours you cried before because you thought he wasn't yours. Because you wanted him to be.

He must sense you getting lost in the what ifs because Joel's talk changes somewhere in the middle.

His praises, always the tether grounding you to Earth while he fucks your mind straight out of it, changes in words and tone. He whispers, "I'm here, baby," in your ear, and it makes your legs hug his waist tighter. Push him inside even deeper. "Fuck — like that. Does it feel good? Is this what you wanted?"

You wanted him. "Yes — want you so bad," you wanted all of him. "All of you, Joel."

That granted you a hand of his letting go of yours only to make a fist on your hair.

It was rare for Joel to lose control, but you loved it when it happened. When he let go of everything and you could see him without anything on — no pretenses, no clothes, no reservations.

Joel started to mumble in your ear about anything, his hips losing rhythm inside of you as he made you ride out your orgasm. He talked about how good you are, how much he'd spoil you, make you his, his his —

You were. You were.

💖 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @dilfsaremyfavorite — @rosymythologies — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111

#usernexusnyx #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller self insert #joel miller smut #tlou x you

4K notes · View notes

ode2rin · 8 months

Text

your tequila lips is my idea of luxury

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. fluff & university/college rom :D

in which: last night left you with three hazy memories — a dare, a kiss, and the name reo mikage

If college has managed to drill one thing into your head, it’s the gospel of abstaining from weekday drinking. After all, who in their right mind willingly marches to class with a pounding headache? Certainly not you.

But if there’s also one thing college didn't prepare you for, that is ignoring that one advice it drilled into you, and the golden rule of never, ever going against your own wisdom.

If it did, then maybe you wouldn’t find yourself seated at the table of your kitchen dorm, your elbows resting heavily on its surface and your hands cradling your throbbing head, with your fingers pressed against your temples in a feeble attempt to alleviate the pounding sensation that is making you feel like it’s your last day on earth.

And to add a splash of more chaos to the mix, you feel like your headache intensified by tenfold at the absurdity of what your roommate just told you.

“I did fucking what now?”

“You kissed Reo at the party last night! Reo freaking Mikage!”

Yup, it’s definitely your last day on earth.

“ —and we squealed so loud! We never thought you had it in you to pull shit like that!”

Well, you didn’t either.

“Hold on, talk slowly! I kissed him?!”

Furrowing your brows, you attempt to process the bombshell your roommate just dropped on you.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what happened last night!”

To say that your roommate did a poor job of filling you in on what atrocity happened last night is an understatement. The only thing you managed to register from the weirdly sequenced story were two things: kiss and Reo.

And from there, the memories of last night came rushing back to you.

Fucking hell.

You are damned, no doubt. Of all people, it had to be Reo Mikage. Are you even allowed to say that name so casually, even in your mind? That name drips gold and glory in every letter. He’s probably the richest guy on campus, the most famous (for sure), and on top of that, he’s the captain of the goddamn soccer team. Talk about a boring and plain college life he’s living.

And to kiss that said man in a party for a dare? You’re doomed. You’re done for. You did the worst thing imaginable.

You should’ve known better that nothing good comes out of college parties and dumb drinking games.

You made a lot of questionable decisions in your life, that you admit. But this one probably takes the top spot.

And it all started innocently enough – with a dare.

The kind of dare that only seems like a great idea after a few too many shots. You had been the reigning champion of beer pong for as long as you could remember, and your friends decided it was high time to knock you down a peg. The stakes were set: a dare for a dare, and you were handed the ultimatum. Win the game or face the consequences.

But as fate would have it, your well-practiced skills crumbled under the pressure, and you found yourself facing the ultimate punishment—eight shots of tequila, back-to-back, in quick succession.

Under typical circumstances, you could easily handle that quantity, but regular situations don't account for having a crucial presentation the following day. Eight shots? It's a nightmare, considering you've reached your limit.

And so, you found yourself stumbling through the crowd with only one goal in mind: redemption.

Or maybe it was the tequila that whispered that goal into your ear, urging you to prove yourself. It was hard to tell.

And in that hazy state, your eyes had locked onto a figure that seemed to glow amidst the dim lights of the party. Reo Mikage, a name that resonated through campus like a melody, stood there, his presence magnetic and his smile dangerously alluring.

Without much thought, you approached the poseur table he was located at.

“Are you single?” you asked him the second you got close enough for him to hear. Fortunately, he wasn't surrounded by his usual crowd.

Now, what happened to ‘hello’? To ‘are you having fun?’ That question is too straightforward for a conversation starter, isn't it?

“Yeah? Yes, I mean.” Reo replied, confusion evident in his tone.

“Okay good, listen.” Stepping closer, you caught him off guard, and he instinctively took a step back. His movement prompted a questioning look from you, tinged with a hint of concern because it was one step, yet he backed away for three. Little did you know, your proximity was affecting him more than the alcohol he'd consumed.

Undeterred and tequila-fueled, you continued. “I really don't want to drink those abominations in liquid form my friends dared me, so may you find it in your good heart to let me kiss the shit out of you so I’m saved.”

What the hell did he just hear? “Kiss the shit out of me…?”

“Yeah.” So, he heard you right. He’s not making it up. Good, he thinks.

“What do I get in return?”

“Lunch? My treat.”

Did you just offer a multimillionaire heir a lunch and promise it's on you? At this point, you're not drunk — you're certifiably crazy.

“Hmm, sounds good. Alright, please do show me how the shit out of me can be kissed by you.”

In the face of his agreement, you rolled your eyes at his mocking tone. But there was no time for second-guessing; this was your moment.

Grasping the front of his shirt, you tugged him closer. You saw how his eyes widened at what you did before it broke out to a boyish grin. A breath passed, and then — the two of you collided.

In the electrified space between heartbeats, your lips found each other hungrily. His breath mingled with yours, a shared exchange of anticipation as your mouths moved in sync, exploring each other with an urgency that defied logic.

The taste of tequila still lingered, a faint reminder of the daring choice that had led you here. But it was the heat, the fervor, that consumed you both. Your bodies pressed together, the proximity sparking flames of need that danced through your veins.

His fingers found purchase at your waist, the touch igniting a trail of sensation that sent shivers down your spine. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and a moan rose out of your throat as he drew your bottom lip between his teeth, a delicious tug that blurred the lines between who was kissing whom.

You pulled back from the kiss first, and a protest almost climbed Reo’s throat. But he knew better than to step in unwarranted, instead, he settled with savoring the image of your flushed state. Even in these neon blaring lights, Reo could discern your state with your heavy panting. Was it because of the alcohol? Or him? He hopes it’s the latter.

“That was… fuck. Thank your friends for the dare for me, yeah?”

And that’s how it all ended — with a kiss far from innocent.

Now here you are, nursing a splitting headache as you trudged across campus, textbooks clutched to your chest, trying to shake off the remnants of last night's debauchery. The taste of regret was heavy on your tongue—not just from the hangover, but from the events that led up to it.

In your slightly inebriated mind, the plan made sense. Kiss the hottest guy at the party, and you'd show your friends that you were up to the challenge. It was akin to hitting two birds with one stone: escaping the impending liquor onslaught and salvaging your pride.

At the time, it sounded good – sounded like a winning strategy. But now? You want to bang your head against the wall for even thinking it made sense. And you’d do it if it weren’t for your phone buzzing in your pocket interrupting your self-loathing.

Last night for Reo was enchanting, to say the least.

It was like a spark in the darkness, an unexpected surge of joy that he found himself smirking at the memory, reliving the sensation of your lips in his.

Last night might have been the spark, but it wasn't where it all began for Reo.

Before you approached him at the party, he remembered you from freshman year. It was hard not to—especially when he recalled the exact moment. He perfectly remembers how you looked him dead in the eye and quipped,“Why waste your time on that sport if your aim is as off as a blindfolded archer? The goal's over there, genius. Not me.” after his supposed goal went astray and hit you in the back.

Well, he took that personally— word for word. And within a year, he had risen to become the best player on the team.

Now add that memory to the daring kiss you shared last night? There was no way Reo would be forgetting you anytime soon. He was now on a mission to make sure that you remembered him as vividly as he remembered you.

Good thing you owe him lunch, and an even better thing that he spotted you just now on a bench near the field he was on. He chuckled to himself at the coincidence, he wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.

Reo, with his pragmatic and business-oriented mindset, was perhaps one of the last people on earth to put faith in notions like fate. But maybe he can make an exception to that philosophy if it’s you.

Because right now, this whole thing felt like a mischievous wink from the cosmos, giving Reo a shot at something he had only dared to imagine. Wasting no more chances, he pulled out his phone.

[Today, 8:32 AM]

Is this Y/N? This is Reo, by the way.

From his vantage point, he saw you reach for your phone immediately after he hit send. The widening of your eyes and the hint of surprise as you read his message didn't go unnoticed.

Cute. Peering down to his phone, he snorted with laughter at your response.

y/n: No. You’ve got the wrong number. [8:33 AM] Your friend confirmed it’s yours, though :P [8:33 AM] Also, I can see you typing. [8:34 AM]

Your eyes immediately scanned the whole field in search of the possible source of your college life’s impending doom. After a few seconds of looking with furrowed brows and a crinkled nose, there – you saw him, with his head slightly cocked to the side and his arms crossed over his chest, grinning at your display of reaction to his messages.

Your searching eyes transformed into bewilderment the instant he stood up, making his way toward you. Realizing that the two of you couldn’t be seen together under any circumstances to avoid igniting unnecessary gossip, your fingers danced over the screen of your phone, rapidly firing off messages that inundated his notifications.

y/n: what do you need are you trying to approach me stop right there stop walking!!!! everyone's looking i swear to god [8:37 AM]

Your frantic typing, however, seemed to make no impact. As if on a mission, Reo continued walking closer to you with the most annoyingly confident grin on his lips. His gaze was locked onto you, unwavering and undeterred.

Even from the distance that separates you two, you could make out what he was wearing. And you were damn sure, it was the sluttiest piece of clothing a man could wear.

The divine must really have its favorites, it seems. Because while you looked like hell had taken up residence on your head from last night’s festivities, he looked too sinful for a sunny morning in his compression shirt.

No one should look that damn good at 8 AM—it's practically criminal and a slap in the face to regular college students like you.

As Reo closed the distance between you, you could practically feel the weight of all those curious eyes fixated on the scene. Were they looking at him? You? Or both? The thought alone made you want to sink into the ground and disappear.

“Hi.”

Hi? You’re hyperventilating from the attention the two of you are getting and he quips a hi?

“What do you need?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady amid the prying gazes of onlookers.

Reo's grin remained stubbornly intact, seemingly oblivious to the audience around you. “I’m here to collect a favor you owe me!” he declared with an enthusiasm that felt almost out of place in this surreal moment.

He can’t be seriously asking you to buy him lunch, right? What does he even eat? A5 Wagyu steak? There’s no way your student budget can afford that.

“I don’t remember owing you anything.”

“Really? I’ll remind you then, you offered to buy me lunch last night before you grabbed my collar and kissed m–”

“Finish that sentence, and lunch is not the only thing you’ll get from me.”

Your threat hung heavy in the air, your words loaded with a blend of annoyance and embarrassment that had settled on your cheeks.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” and yet, ever undeterred from your hostility, Reo's voice took on a smug, teasing tone that matched the twinkle in his eye.

This guy. “You're a bit annoying, don’t you think?”

“No, I don't think I am,” he countered, “And I also don't think that's how you should speak to someone who, and I quote, found it in their good heart to kiss you and save you from eight shots of tequila, though.”

Reo was on a mission, that much was clear. And quoting your exact words from last night seemed to be one of his tactics to ensure you remembered him and that kiss you shared.

And lucky him, it looks like it’s working like a charm in which the telltale warmth in your cheeks revealed. Unfortunately for you, your simmering frustration combined with a throbbing headache could either launch you into a one-way ticket to expulsion or earn you a potential criminal record.

May the universe and all the saints grant you patience, because the overwhelming urge to wipe that damn grin off his face is slowly overtaking your senses.

You glanced at your watch, calculating whether you had enough time to wrap up your presentation before considering lunch. “Fine. Text me the location,” you conceded, your tone reluctantly agreeable. “I have a presentation to do first. I'll meet you there before noon.”

It might turn out to be a questionable financial decision to let him choose the lunch spot, but you were sticking to your word. You still owed him, after all.

“Sure. Good luck on your presentation. I’m sure you’ll devour the shit out of it.”

His playful tone, quoting your own words again back at you, made your eyes roll in a mix of annoyance and flustered embarrassment.

Reo, on the other hand, seems like he’s having the time of his life with your reactions.

Someone can’t wait for lunch time, it seems. And clearly, that’s not you but a certain purple-haired.

If anyone were to observe Reo in this moment, they might easily mistake his fidgeting for the anxious prelude to a first Tinder meet up. Of course, that would be utterly absurd, considering he was simply awaiting someone's arrival, who happened to owe him a wholesome meal.

The little bell above the restaurant's entrance jingled, drawing Reo's attention like a magnet.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you walk in, much to his surprise. Seemingly fresh and put-together now, you appeared quite different from the disarrayed figure he had spotted on the field earlier.

Your smile, which now adorned your face as you exchanged pleasantries with the hostess, seemed to hint that your presentation had gone well, and perhaps the remnants of last night’s headache were subsiding.

Casually dressed yet carrying an air of understated confidence, you navigated the room with ease. His eyes followed you as you moved, taking in the subtle sway of your hair, the way your lips curved into polite smiles for familiar faces. He observed this scene unfolding before him, almost as if he were watching a scene from one of those romcom movies.

When your gaze finally settled on him, Reo could feel the heat making its way to his neck that he hoped his collar was hiding well.

The moment you settled into your seat, you wasted no time in addressing the metaphorical elephant in the room. “I’m sorry I put you in that position last night,” you blurted out.

Conversation starters were not your strong suit, Reo noted with an inward chuckle. Last night's shameless question was understandable, given the influence of alcohol, but in the clear light of day, your choice of conversation openers left much to be desired.

“It’s fine,” he replied with a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a faint smile of reassurance. He raised his left hand to catch the waiter's attention, subtly signaling for the menu. “Glad it was me, actually,” he mumbled more to himself than to you, his own unfiltered thought taking him by surprise.

“What?”

Before you could even attempt to untangle the verbal knot, the waiter arrived with the menus, saving Reo from any further explanations. He observed as the waiter acknowledged you, a smile exchanged between you two. It seemed you were a regular here, and he found himself intrigued by yet another layer of your personality.

“You know him?” Reo inquired, nodding toward the departing waiter.

“Oh, I'm a regular here. It's my favorite place,” you explained with a hint of fondness.

“What are the chances? It's mine too.”

Your eyes narrowed in playful disbelief, seemingly not buying the idea of someone like Reo enjoying a meal at a diner like this. “You?”

You admit you were surprised when he texted you of this place being his choice of dining. You were totally gearing up for him to suggest some fancy French or Italian joint where you'd need to take out a loan just to cover the bill. After all, people like him should be dining on caviar and foie gras. But then he texted you this choice, and maybe he's more down-to-earth than you thought. Or maybe he just knows where the good food is. It's hard to believe either, though.

Challenged, Reo insisted, “Yes. Me.”

“Alright, what are you having then? I’m ordering their famous pesto pasta—surely you know what that is, right?” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“Of course, I do.” Reo was basically lying through his teeth, at this point. But he couldn’t back down from his claim. And what? Admit that it's his first time here and the only reason he chose this was because he often sees you eating here? Not a chance.

“Why don’t you order for us then?”

With no turning back, he quipped, “Sure thing,” before signaling for a server. He sensed your amused gaze on him, and a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“We’ll have two orders of your pesto pasta, please.”

“Uhm sir, we don’t serve pasta here.”

You let out a laugh, and Reo swears he could almost hear the birds chirping in the background.

Maybe a bit of embarrassment was a fair trade for that sound, he mused.

Lunch, for you, was not so bad and not quite the disaster you initially imagined.

Not until, out of nowhere, Reo brought up your embarrassing escapade from last night, “Was it because of that incident in freshman year that you approached me last night?”

“Freshman year?” you echoed, momentarily thrown off track. “Did we ever have a class together? Because I genuinely can't picture myself willingly signing up for economics or any finance-related course.”

“No, we didn't share any classes. And what's wrong with those courses? They're actually quite enjoyable.”

Yeah, if your idea of fun is spending hours deciphering graphs and balancing budgets. Enjoyable if you think that analyzing the stock market is the pinnacle of excitement.

“I don’t remember you from freshman year, though.” you admitted.

Reo's disbelief was palpable as he leaned back in his chair, a smug grin settling in. “You told me I suck at soccer a couple of years ago. Ring any bells? It was on the field.”

“I did fucking what now again?” You briefly questioned your past choices – or the lack of recollection thereof. Were you perpetually in a tipsy daze during your time at university? How could you miss every brash choice you made? Your brazen mouth could indeed get you into unforeseen trouble one day, that much is very clear.

“And here I was, thinking you kissed me on that dare as payback for me accidentally hitting you with a soccer ball.” Reo chuckled at your surprise, leaning back further.

“No,” you retorted, shaking your head slightly. “I did it because the dare was to kiss someone we found hot at the party.”

Oh. “So you think I’m hot?”

“My drunk self sure did.”

“Well, and what does your sober self think now?”

Clearly, this banter was a game both of you were more than willing to play. With a pointed gaze, you focused on Reo, a slow grin tugging at your lips. The effect on Reo was almost instantaneous—his throat cleared awkwardly, and his confident grin faltering.

“My sober self thinks my drunk self is absolutely right.”

You infused the word ‘absolutely’ with a nonchalant drawl, noting the flush creeping up Reo’s cheeks. His composure seemed to waver, and he hastily reached for his drink, downing it within seconds.

Satisfied that you managed to wipe his confident grin, you pressed on, “Are you blushing?”

“No,” Reo responded a bit too quickly, his voice a tad higher than usual. “It’s a bit hot in here.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” You chuckled at his flimsy excuse, your eyes catching the telltale shade of red tinting his ears and neck. Reo is easy to fluster as it is for him to do so, you noted. “Let’s get out of here, let me just pay.”

Just as you were about to signal a waiter, Reo halted you with his words, “It’s done.”

“Done?”

“I gave them my card before you arrived.”

What the fuck. “But the favor…”

Reo's smirk reappeared, a gleam of triumph in those amethyst orbs. “Looks like you still owe me a date.”

“A lunch,” you corrected him, but Reo shrugged nonchalantly, a playful ‘same thing’ expression on his face.

“Sure, whatever you say,” he mimicked your tone, “Let me walk you to your next class.” He offered, rising from his seat as you did.

“Thank you, but absolutely no.”

“Why not?”

Reo must be really oblivious to his fame, it seems. “Just because. Also, don’t you have practice?”

“I do, but ten more minutes with you sounds better.”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to charm you. “Are you slacking off, captain? Looks like my freshman self was right about your soccer skills after all.”

“I’m not slacking off, I just know my priorities.” and there it was again, that grin and that stare. Whether it was the tequila or just him, Reo really had a way of pulling you into his orbit.

Bashful, and at a loss for better retorts, you looked away. “Next time.”

“So there’s a next time, then?” he innocently asks, clearly fishing for another affirmation.

“Next time, I’m paying.”

“Got that.” Reo mindlessly agreed. He’s just happy there’s a next time, honestly. “Let me walk you out, at least.”

Both of you left the restaurant, walking side by side in companionable silence. After a few moments, you decided to break the quietude that had settled between you.

“I guess we're parting ways here,” you remarked, your voice carrying a hint of finality.

Reo’s disappointment was evident, though he tried to mask it. “Sure. Thank you for the meal.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “What are you thanking me for? You paid for it.”

“Let me rephrase it then, thank you for introducing me to this place. I’ve clearly been missing out,” he beams.

“You're welcome, Mr. Fine Dining.”

As you walked a few steps ahead of Reo, you turned your head to look back at him, seemingly remembering something to tell him. “Oh, by the way,” you start, a teasing smile making its way to your lips, “I’m glad it was you too.”

With that, you took one last glance at his starstruck expression before parting ways, leaving him with a lingering smile.

Maybe something good does come out of stupid college parties and dumb drinking games – in the form of someone with enchanting smiles and magnetic purple eyes, that is.

And now, for sure, with or without the tequila haze, there’s not a single chance you’re forgetting Reo Mikage anytime soon.

note. he makes me ill ( i love him very much and this is purely self-indulgent because i need him like air).

#☁️ my ode to you #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

690 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

Note

SPARKS FLY💜✨ - STEVE HARRINGTON PLEASE

sparks fly (steve's version)

warnings: mentions of issues at home for steve, talk of fear in the future

wc: 2k+

a/n: i need steve harrington to just show up to my house and kiss me please please please

Steve Harrington was tired of pretending.

He was tired of pretending his parents weren’t goddamn strangers on their worst days and roommates on their best ones, he was tired of pretending that it didn’t affect him that everyone seemed to believe he had peaked in high school of all times, he was tired of pretending like he wanted the picket fence life set out for him by the adults that had groomed him into their own vision since his youth. But most of all, he was tired of pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you.

It was a fight with his parents that triggered it. Another rejection letter had come through from another college, and his dad had resorted to only kicking him while he was down. The one time he had the misfortune of both parents being home, and it was only being used for them to express all their disappointment in him. His father’s tasteless yelling, his mother’s crocodile tears, everything he tried to say back being ignored – he couldn’t fucking take it. He’d left the house with no destination in mind, just jumping into his driver’s seat and knowing he needed to get as far from that godforsaken house as he could.

Distance. He needed distance. And apparently, in his mind, the one place that could take him farther from a house that would never be a home was you.

His tires had squealed during several of the turns taken until he was flying down your street. It’s storming, a nasty and unforgiving rain coming down in sheets. He should really be driving more carefully, but he can’t. His head and heart alike are racing, and every single nerve ending is just screaming for you.

You, with kind and nonjudgmental eyes, who had always supported him. You, who had never paid much mind to all that he once was when he bore the title of King Steve. You, who had somehow captivated him and had been filling this hole within his chest, one shovel-full at a time. With your laughter, with soft bumps of your shoulder when his mind took him too far from you, with patient ears during every single one of his raging rants about his parents.

He wasn’t parking in your driveway this late at night to trouble you with another rant.

His knuckles turn ghostly white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. This is a bad idea. A terrible one, his worst one to date, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any choice in all the other pretending; he could never get through to his parents, to anyone who had these preconceived notions and expectations of him. Tonight had proven that much. But with you…. With you, a change was possible. He didn’t have to keep biting his tongue when it came to you. Every time he’d look at you when you two hung out during dusk and the golden hour painted your every feature the prettiest shades he’d ever been witness to, he didn’t have to choke back down that pathetic confession of adoration. Every time your hand brushed his while walking to the local diner, he didn’t have to pull it away rather than weave your fingers together. He didn’t have to keep denying himself all these simple pleasures – interrupting kisses he’d fantasized about and holding each other on stormy nights just like this one that he had only dreamt of.

But if he tells you, if he fucks it all up, he loses you. And Steve Harrington doesn’t know if he could handle that.

“Just do it,” he mumbles, trying to privately hype himself up, “Just get out of the car, just go knock on the front door, just-”

He’s nearly hyperventilating. There’s only two endings to his night. He either returns back to his house, crawls into bed and licks at the wounds left by your rejection, or he doesn’t. Either he kisses you, and you pull him in from the storm raging on or you don’t.

Two options. It’s only two options, two possible paths. The world doesn’t end, regardless of which one he’s forced to take tonight.

Were all of his longing glances not returned? Had he not caught you staring in his direction more times than he could count on one hand?

His fists drop from the wheel, landing on the door handle and throwing it open before he could freeze up again.

Had you not whispered to him how he was your best friend, your favorite person, even more times than he had caught you staring? Over phone lines, in private corners of busy parties, sitting on his bed and doing nothing more than enjoying each other’s presence while his parents were out of town.

The rain soaks him immediately. Down to the bone, he’s drenched, the unforgiving winds whipping around him only making him shiver. He can’t even feel the discomfort of his jeans turning to plaster as he takes the long strides up to your front door.

Had he imagined that time you’d kissed his cheek at the county fair? When he’d won you that obnoxiously large teddy bear, almost too big for you to carry and adorning the most ridiculous sailor’s outfit either of you had ever seen, and you’d so affectionately nicknamed it after Steve’s place of employment – Scoops the Bear, Captain of Flavor. And had you not called the sailor’s outfit cute the moment Steve made the comparison to his own uniform?

He knocks hard enough that his knuckles sting, and he doesn’t care. The sting doesn’t reach him, his mind only flashing over a reel of memories with you. All he can feel is that ghost of an ache that always haunts his cheeks when he’s around you, the way his chest feels just a little bit lighter and he feels a little more himself when in your presence. You bring out the best in him – you make him want to be a better man, all while never making him feel as if he isn’t good enough. All he ever feels around you is wanted.

Had your eyes not shined as you looked up at him, all the colorful carnival lights and stars reflected in them as Steve tried to (and failed) to hide his vibrant blush? Had you not smiled soft enough to send sparks flying through his chest, threatening to catch fire at any given moment?

He hadn’t imagined it all – he couldn’t have imagined it all. You’d looked at him like he was the only boy in the world. You’d looked at him as if you could have spent the rest of your night there, feet planted in the grass and a bear nicknamed after him being crushed in your arms. It had been as if you could have stood by his side for the rest of your days, the rest of the world continuing to move on and the two of you left there to decay hand in hand, and it would have been a life well wasted. For both of you.

“Steve?”

Your front door swings open, and there you are. Still looking adorable while dressed in your most comfortable pajamas for the night. Even beneath the confused and worried first glance, that look from the fair is still there. Your eyes still shine without the lights.

“What’s wron-”

You can’t finish your question – before either of you can process what’s happening, Steve’s lips are on yours. He’s overeager and nowhere near graceful with it, his nose nearly taking out your eye as he throws himself against you at full force. Everything from the night, the last few months, poured into that kiss. You nearly fall backwards from the force, and his hands are quick to catch onto your hips and tug you back into his orbit. But it only changes the trajectory of your stumble; both of you are suddenly outside your door, the rain now soaking you as well as Steve.

When he pulls back from the kiss, he can’t breathe. He did it. The taste of your lips are still burning his, and he can’t open his eyes to wager your reaction. He doesn’t think you kissed back, it wasn’t much of a kiss beyond him just needing his lips on yours right that second, but he’s not sure. He isn’t fucking sure. He can’t open his eyes – he can’t risk watching himself lose you in real time.

“Steve,” your palm is warm on his frigid cheek. He jumps at the sudden contact, eyes pinching shut harsher, “Please look at me.”

When you ask him in that soft voice, please with that gentle tone that wraps him up in such comfort, he can’t deny you.

He opens his eyes. He can’t read your face.

It’s surprised, surely. Mouth still slightly parted and drops of water running down your cheeks. Your lashes flutter as your eyes dart down to his lips, and he swears to every God that has ever existed that you are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Something so precious, so warm, so home.

“What-” you start, but Steve is on a roll of interrupting you tonight.

This time, it’s his voice and not his lips as he sputters out, “Everything’s wrong. Every fucking thing is just wrong – my parents, my life, my decisions. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with myself. I’m lost, I-I’m so goddamn lost. Because everything is… wrong and bad and… and just… it’s wrong. Except you,” he takes his first big breath since the ramble began, eyes stinging and he tells himself it’s just from the rain leaking into them, “You are the only right thing in my life right now. You’re… Fuck. I’m in love with you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, because I know I’m fucking it all up right now. I’m finally letting the one right thing in my life go wrong, because I just can’t do it anymore. I am so fucking in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending I’m no-”

Your turn to interrupt. You surge forward, wrap your hands around the back of his neck and kiss him even more forcefully than he had you. The taste of the rain and your toothpaste mingle as your body collides with him. He almost forgets to react, so caught up in the fire finally erupting so freely in his chest.

And then you bite at his bottom lip, and he feels that beautiful smile, and he finally remembers to do something. His hands find purchase on your lower back and he tries not to laugh in glee as he hungrily kisses you back, lips moving in tangent and perfect synchronicity.

“We’re gonna drown out here,” you laugh against his lips, finally breaking off and resting your forehead against his.

“No, we’re not,” he insists with a cheesy grin, “I used to be a swimmer, remember?”

Another kiss and more laughter, and Steve can’t even hear the thunder in the distance anymore. It becomes clear which path he will be taking tonight.

“Let’s go inside and dry off, yeah?” you offer, taking a step back out of the torrential downpour, “I’m getting cold.”

He’s still starstruck as he looks down at you, nodding dumbly, still all consumed by those embers. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

You take his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with his just as he has yearned for. You pull shyly, continuing to walk backwards until you step back into the threshold of your house before stopping. The rain no longer pelts down on Steve’s shoulders, the ones infinitely lighter now as your grin is directed at him and he knows he’s home.

“Oh, and Steve?” you question, and he hums, eager to hear whatever it is you have to say. He’ll always want to listen to you. For the rest of tonight, for the rest of the week, for the rest of his life, “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

He can’t help it – he pulls you in for another kiss, kicking the front door shut behind him. Steve supposes he should have seen that one coming. He’s never really had to pretend with you, anyways.

"kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain."

#speak now (ghost's version)#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington blurb #stranger things

375 notes · View notes

starshapedkookie · 2 years

Text

At the End of the Day

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

➢ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➢ genre: high school friends to lovers, ex-baseball player jungkook, beach/vacation au, fluff, smut, a little angst

➢ warnings: language, angst, use of edibles, drinking, graphic depictions of smut (fingering, fem. receiving oral, light choking, dom-ish(?) jungkook, protected sex, obscene use of term baby) also i know that in the little mood board i created, the girl is a teeny white girl & i don't want to alienate any of my poc readers at all - i just thought these pics fit the vibe so take them with a grain of salt 😊

➢ word count: 13.3 k

➢ mini playlist: at the end of the day by wallows, satellite, late night talking, carolina by harry styles, no angel by beyonce, ICE (we should do drugs) by labrinth, unusual you by britney spears

posting this in honor of BTS' 9th anniversary. i think i will be sad about their hiatus for the next few days, but i know amazing things are coming for them. bts has saved me more than anyone could imagine - and this story feels like a love letter to jungkook. i hope you all enjoy.

∞

You’re secretly watching him through your sunglasses, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in your observation. The sun’s rays are hot and you should probably reapply your sunscreen, but you can’t budge in your chair. From this distance, he probably thinks your eyes are still focused on the open book in your lap but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You’re not exactly sure when Jeon Jungkook became so sexy. It was definitely a slow burn of growth and puberty overtime, still shocked that your best friend of 8 years looked like this now. Muscles covering his body; leaned out and defined just enough. His hair cut immaculately after a few rough stints of trying to grow it long the last two years of college. Multiple piercings in his ears and you can’t even get started on the eyebrow and lip piercing he’s gotten in the last six months. Tattoos—god his fucking tattoos—covering the entirety of his right arm; shoulder to hand. The only thing that remained the same about him was his goofy personality and lame attempts he called jokes.

When you had first met Jungkook, he was 15 and you were 14, only a few months younger than him. High school orientation is where you met to be exact. Perhaps out of privilege, both of you ended up at the same private high school—nationally ranked for its academics and sports. It’s not hard to guess what you were there for and what he was there. Jungkook was one of the shyest people you had ever met at the time. You’d later find out that he was scouted by the high school’s baseball coaches to join the program. He was skinny like a tree branch, had a black bowl cut, and a nose too big for his face. You don’t know exactly why the two of you ended up becoming best friends but either way, you were grateful that he was in your life.

It’s just now, your friend just happens to be insanely hot and more confident than ever. Like you’ve said, you’re not sure when this transformation happened or how you were able to ignore it for so long, but goddamn—

You quickly shift your gaze away from Jungkook as he begins to make his way back to your chairs from the water. Your focus goes back to the pages of your book—a contemporary beach romance—very fitting for your vacation to the beach this year. Jungkook makes his appearance as you’re adjusting your sunglasses, setting down his surfboard on the sand with a thump—a hobby he’s picked up in the last couple years.

You bring a hand up to further block the sun as you smile up at him, “How’s the water?” You ask.

A playful smirk slowly spreads across his face and you soon regret your words when he leans over you, shaking his head of hair like a dog.

“Jungkook! Quit it!” You yelp at him when the cold water its your skin, holding your book out to protect its precious pages. He laughs, clearly proud of himself—you having to make a conscious effort to ignore how his abdominals contract with each suck in of his breath.

“It’s alright, waves are pretty easy today,” he says running a hand through his wet hair to get his bangs out of his face.

“Just be careful out there, please,” you tell him like it’s a warning.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he pauses as he takes a long drink of water. “How’s the book?” He asks as he sits down in the chair beside you, throwing on his pair of sunglasses.

You gulp, almost not even hearing his question.

“It’s cute,” you say, book marking your page and setting it down on the towel that’s between you two, “Kind of repetitive though.”

He nods once before looking away from you, outstretched beneath the sun, “All the books you read are the same,” he chuckles, shoving his feet into the sand.

You narrow your eyes at him even though he can’t see you behind your shades, “I’d beg to differ,” you tell him, “Just because I like romances with happy endings doesn’t mean they’re all the same,” you defend yourself.

He glances at you, a smile playing on his lips, “Sure.”

“Fuck you Jeon, when’s the last time you’ve even read a book?” You challenge, “The last textbook you ever had to read in college?”

He makes a hum in not-so deep thought, “Probably,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes with a laugh escaping your lips. Though Jungkook doesn’t voice it, he likes hearing you laugh. “This reminds me of the first trip we took,” he adds in.

You hum in agreement, a small smile forming across your face.

Both of you then lay in silence as you pick up your book again, soaking up the sun and sound of waves crashing a few hundred yards away from you. Silence is never awkward between you two. It hasn’t been for years at this point. You enjoy his company enough that there’s no need to talk to each other constantly. You know everything about him and he knows everything about you—minus the minuscule crush you’ve developed for him overtime. It’s innocent really; Jungkook was your best friend, funny, attractive, and you talk to him nearly everyday. It would be abnormal if you didn’t feel a twinge of something beyond friendship with him occasionally.

At least, if you tell yourself that enough; you’d hope it would be true.

As you peak at him again over your sunglasses, he’s closed his eyes in relaxation, and you begin to think about the journey that’s led you to this very moment.

After you and Jungkook made it through high school, both of you happened to receive scholarships to the same university in the city. You on a nearly full-ride academic scholarship and him on baseball scholarship. Though right before both of you shipped yourselves off to university, you two decided to take an unplanned long, beach weekend trip back to his home in Busan. It took quite a bit of convincing for your parents to ultimately let you go on a trip with just Jungkook alone. Though after Mr. and Mrs. Jeon explained that they had two extra bedrooms in their beach house and you two were ensured you had to check in with whatever you decided to do, your parents caved. You’re not even sure you and Jungkook would call it a vacation now, but at the time, it was so fun. So fun in fact that both of you decided after that trip, you two would continue to take summer trips together after the school year ended.

Throughout your semesters at university, both of you worked part-time jobs despite your busy schedules to save up for your trips. Jungkook usually worked more hours in the Fall, given his baseball schedule in the Spring was more demanding. Yet you two somehow always made it work. The year after freshman year, the two of you went to Seoraken National Park for five days, hiking and taking multiple dips in the hot springs. After sophomore year, you both decided to save a little more and fly to Tokyo, though staying in the absolute most-dirt cheap hotel you could possibly find.

It’s after this summer where Jungkook’s life completely fell apart—every time you look at the scar on his knee, a chill is still sent down your spine. You remember the day so vividly—an open scrimmage in the Fall with the rival university in the city. Of course, you went to support Jungkook with your roommate Lisa, excited to see Jungkook officially play as captain—an unheard of accomplishment for a junior on the team. You’ll never forget the scream he yelled out as soon as he slid into the home plate, the opposing catchers cleat getting twisted up under Jungkook’s knee. He rolled onto his side, clutching his leg in agonizing pain as the crowd watched in shock.

Jungkook had torn his ACL and MCL, as well as multiple smaller ligaments and muscles in the surrounding area of his right knee. In a fucking scrimmage, he would say through anger, frustration, and tears. The injury was career ending and that was the only time you’d ever seen Jungkook cry in your years of friendship. Jungkook had gone from someone who was expecting to be drafted in the first or second round, to someone who had lost their baseball scholarship and a fucked up knee for the rest of his life. Jungkook almost didn’t even finish school after that, though through the pressure of his parents and you, he walked across the graduation stage with you less than two months ago. You were proud him, star baseball player or not, though you know it’s something he still struggles with to this day even if he doesn’t voice it.

After Jungkook’s knee had healed through physical therapy and other treatments, he ended up working more hours and working with little league teams in the city for extra money. By the end of the Spring semester, both of you had saved up enough money to where it was feasible to pretty much go wherever you wanted. You settled on flying to Europe, doing a two week excursion that was exhausting—but worth every penny you spent. There had been some squabble on that trip between the two of you and a third party, but the last thing you wanted was to think about that.

Now you’re sat on Jeju Island with him, enjoying every moment you can get with your best friend before your life changes forever. Through countless hours of working, volunteering, and two internships, you had landed a dream job of being an editor in New York City. You weren’t due to move until the Fall, but the prospect of not seeing your friends and family made you extremely sad. It’s also why you’ve realized that whatever feelings you’ve harbored for Jungkook, must be kept secret deep within your body. It wasn’t reasonable to act upon them when you would be leaving—you wouldn’t ruin your friendship and leave Jungkook here in that way.

“Earth to Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice knocks you out of your long reverie. You hadn’t even read a full page of your book as it’s still on the page you folded in the corner earlier.

“W-what? Sorry,” you snap out of it, turning to him as you put your sunglasses on your head.

“I said do you wanna head up soon? Make some dinner? Watch a movie tonight or something?” He asks. Your heart strings pull at the domesticity and you’re nodding before you even speak.

“Yeah,” your expression is soft, “Though you’re in charge of the cooking tonight. I’ve done it the past two nights,” you warn him.

He smirks, digging around his beach bag for his t-shirt to pull on, “Fine. Only if I get to pick the movie we watch.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” You pout. After he pulls his shirt on—which you’re thankful for—he reaches over to pinch your thigh in retaliation. You jerk in reaction, “Asshole.”

He laughs again, both of you beginning to pack up your things. Though you don’t voice it, you love hearing his laugh.

∞

Jungkook prepares a small array of yummy dishes—tteokbokki, a chicken stir fry, cucumber salad, and of course a side of kimchi. Neither one of you had been to the store since you two arrived to the island on Sunday, so there wasn’t much else to work with now on Friday. You make a mental note to create a new list and go again tomorrow, still having another week of your two week trip. The cottage AirBnB was small but had everything you two needed for the vacation. A kitchen, dining room, living room with a pullout couch (that wasn’t being utilized), a bedroom with a king bed which even had a small balcony that overlooked the beach. You definitely lucked out in terms of booking the AirBnB on the quieter side of the island, having most of the beach to yourselves the last few days.

“Excuse me?” You’re laughing as you look at Jungkook dumbfounded from his words.

His mouth turns up in the right corner as he smiles, “You heard me,” he remarks, “We should do drugs.”

He carries on his task of drying the pan he used for the stir fry, looking at you with a kink in his pierced eyebrow. You narrow your eyes at him, leaning against the counter as you watch him, fighting your own smile.

“And where are you going to find drugs on this island?” You say pointedly.

“Sweetheart, you know I have connections,” he retorts back, putting the pan back into his respectful cabinet. If there was another thing that Jungkook did to turn you on; his cleanliness. He was the most organized man you had ever met—unsure if he was actually part of the male species given the track record of your other guy friends. He was cleaner and more organized than you most of the time.

“You’re ridiculous Jeon,” your roll your eyes, “Can I trust said drugs?”

His smirk spreads even wider, knowing that he’s got you now.

“Of course, Yoongi wouldn’t sell me anything sketchy,” he says quickly leaving the kitchen. You have no idea who this Yoongi guy is, but you go along with it. You cross your arms as you lean against the counter, your eyes drifting off to the beautiful sunset over the water. You felt lucky to spend your time like this with Jungkook. He quickly comes back, a plastic bag in hand.

“What is it?” You ask him curiously.

“It’s a chocolate chip cookie edible,” he pauses, holding up the bag as he observes it, “Think of it as a two for one; dessert and a high.”

You let out a laugh through your nose, grabbing the bag from him as you inspect it from the outside. As with any edible, it looks just like a normal cookie. You purse your lips, thinking about it for a moment. You hadn’t got high in awhile—since right before graduation actually. You and your roommates shared a nasty bong, with Lisa ultimately keeping it after you all moved out. You and Jungkook had your fair share of getting high together, whether it be at parties at the baseball house or his apartment on Sundays with his roommate Taehyung.

You open the bag, sniffing it as Jungkook watches you, clearly amused. You break off a small piece of the cookie, plopping it into your mouth knowing it will take at least an hour for you to start to feel the effects of it. It tastes good, although there’s still that tinge of THC that never goes away fully with baked edibles.

You walk up to Jungkook, shoving the bag into his chest, “I’m going to shower,” you announce. He nods, biting his lip as you walk away from him, his throat feeling slightly clogged. He watches your frame as you disappear into the bathroom, calling after you quickly.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” He says from the kitchen, digging in the bag to take out his own piece of the cookie. Maybe this would help him clear his head from you.

∞

You’re giggling uncontrollably as you scroll through your phone, small cackles coming from you lips occasionally.

“Y/N stop! Give me that!” Jungkook reaches over, attempting to take your phone away from you, but his own laughter taking control.

You and Jungkook had decided to forgo the movie, opting to enjoy the balcony attached to the bedroom. It was well past 10 PM now, the sun fully set and a couple small candles and the lamps from the bedroom the only light sources. For whatever reason, both of you had been on a path of looking at old pictures of each other, you hysterically laughing at one of them from high school when both of you decided to go to the school dance together as friends. You were mainly laughing at the way he styled his hair, even then at 16 you thought it was ridiculous.

“I don’t even know why you still have that picture,” he mutters in defeat on his side of the couch.

You furrow your eyebrows at him as you push his leg with your foot. He’s sat up, right leg underneath him, head resting on his hand as he looks at you. You’re laying on your back, legs outstretched over his lap.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You push, “I think I have every known picture of you thanks to your brother.”

It’s the truth—you had more baby pictures of Jungkook on your phone than you did of yourself. He was just too damn cute and awkward. You and Jungkook’s older brother had a good relationship throughout the years, Junghyun, always making sure to send you gems of your best friend when he found them. They looked similar, though Jungkook pulled more features from his dad, including the big eyes and big nose, whereas Junghyun looked more like their mother.

“God I can’t stand him,” he groans running a hand through his freshly dried and showered hair. He’s wearing a pair of sweatshorts and a t-shirt, his tattoos disappearing in the darkness. You’re wearing a tank top and sweatpants, feeling much better since your shower, even better since your high has kicked in.

“This was a good idea,” you completely change the subject, not even really sure of your own words.

He smiles at you, “I’m full of good ideas Y/N.”

His smile make your heart thump, unable to keep your mind from going there. Your intrusive thoughts only took over when you were intoxicated. You stare at his lips a little too long before you look at your phone to change the song playing lowly from Jungkook’s bluetooth speaker.

The thing about being friends with someone of the opposite species for so long—it’s that your friends could barely hold themselves from being shitheads sometimes. It was sophomore year—right before Jungkook’s accident—when you were at one of the many baseball parties you attended throughout college. While you were drunk, you knew that succumbing to truth or dare was your own doing. You should have seen it coming from a mile away when a mutual friend and teammate of Jungkook’s—Park Jimin—dared you to kiss him. If you had been more sober, you probably would have just taken the bitch cup and moved on with your life. Though being drunk and a little too curious after your years of friendship with Jungkook, you turned to him and pressed your lips against his. He—along with the entire group seemed taken aback at your actions—hearing whoops and ooo’s during the kiss.

Neither you nor Jungkook spoke about that after the party. It was almost as if it had never happened. It didn’t bother you too much given you were drunk and being silly. It was a brief kiss, no tongue, but enough to satiate your curiosity. At least at that point in time. Now, your curiosity was getting the best of you in other feats—though you’ve sworn to yourself you wouldn’t ever cross that line.

“Do you ever think about life in like, ten years?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his gaze off to the distance over the balcony. From the cottage, you could faintly hear waves still crashing.

“Hm,” you mumble, “I guess? I don’t know…”

He looks over at you, “I do,” he says simply.

“What does the Jeon Jungkook think about then?” You press, deciding to sit up some on the couch. You grab a pillow to support your back as you settle against the armrest of the couch.

“I think about being married, having kids, that sorta thing,” his voice is low, yet serious. Through your hazy gaze, you bite your lip nervously.

“That’s very adult of you,” you try to lighten the mood with a giggle. He doesn’t laugh, only returning a fainted smile.

“Do you not?” He looks away from you sounding rushed and little nervous, picking at loose skin along his cuticles.

You suddenly feel a lump form in your throat, pulse uneasy, anxiety rises in your veins. Of course you did.

“I mean yeah,” you offer weakly, “I guess I’ve just always been more concerned with the present,” you tell him honestly.

He nods, fully understanding—it’s how he used to think too until his accident. He never truly had to put much thought into his future until that day on the field changed his entire life. His future was set and then suddenly it wasn’t. Now, he worries about his future everyday and where life is going to take him. He thought he was going to play professional ball until his thirties, making enough money that he’d never have to worry about a real job. Turns out, life had other things in store for Jungkook. And with you leaving thousands of miles away; his life really wasn’t panning out how he thought.

“I like the idea of marriage you know?” He says with a hidden adoration in his tone. You find yourself softly smiling at him. “Like just having that one person for you, sharing a life together, does that sound stupid?” he exhales heavily after his question.

You quickly shake your head, “Not at all,” you say pulling your legs to sit criss-cross, “We’ll all get there one day.. I feel like our paths are set for us.”

He shrugs, feeling a little pessimistic, “I don’t know,” he breathes heavily, “I thought everything was going to work out a certain way… but I don’t know anymore,” he sounds defeated and sad. You look at him concerned, though you’re sure he’s just spitting high word vomit. You know a lot about Jungkook, but you’ve never heard him speak of such things—except during his relationship with Park Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung was Jungkook’s first serious relationship in the time span you’d known him. They met at the end of sophomore year, but only officially began dating at the beginning of junior year. While Chaeyoung was beautiful and smart enough to make you feel insecure, you weren’t her biggest fan. She kept her distance from you and you don’t know if you could exactly blame her. You were Jungkook’s best friend who happened to be a female. You want to say if you were in her shoes that you wouldn’t care who was Jungkook’s best friend, but you’re not sure could 100% say that.

You first realized that Chaeyoung wasn’t particularly fond of you when you met Jungkook at the hospital after his accident; waiting to confirm his surgery date and time. Even though Jungkook didn’t want you to go, you were the one that actually ended up leaving to not make Chaeyoung uncomfortable. Throughout the rest of junior year, tension built between you and Chaeyoung, and some distance grew between you and Jungkook. You’re sure that she never knew about the kiss you two had shared the year before; she would have freaked the hell out.

Jungkook was in love with Chaeyoung though. He fell hard and he fell fast—giving all of his love and extra time to her. You can vividly remember him talking about how he thought she could be the one. He was a hopeless romantic at heart but it’s when Chaeyoung told him he couldn’t go on the Europe trip you two had been planning for months that he finally stood up to her. It didn’t go over well, with her jealously taking over to the point where he broke it off with her a couple weeks before you two departed.

You thought that the trip was going to be good for him to get his mind off her but when they were consistently communicating behind your back, that’s when arguments throughout the two week trip conspired between you and Jungkook. Finally, with four days left of your trip, he decided to stop contact with her and everything between you two only went up again from there.

Though right here, right now; you can’t help but think his words are about Chaeyoung. You knew that they were acquaintances this past school year and always cordial when they saw each other. You suddenly feel insecure in the dim light, but you plaster a fake smile on your face to rid your mind of Jungkook and his ex.

“Don’t sound so doom and gloom Jungkookie,” you push yourself up and over to him, trying to make him feel better. You sit on your knees up next to him, pinching his left cheek between your fingers. He giggles but you don’t stop, pinching from his cheek to his chin, to his ear.

“Y/N I swear to god—“ are his last threatening words that you should have taken seriously because it’s not long until you find yourself being tickled to death by him.

“Jungkook! Stop!” You laugh, trying to fight yourself away from him, but his grip is too strong as he keeps you in place against the couch. You’re kicking your legs to try to get away from him as he attacks your side with his own chuckles filling up the space. To any outsider listening in, it probably sounds like a fucked up murderer situation.

You don’t even realize what’s happened until you open your eyes fully, Jungkook pinning your wrists down, his body hovering on top of yours. He’s stood with one leg on the ground, his bad knee resting between your legs on the couch. It feels like the world has stopped as you stare into each other’s eyes, your breath hitching in your throat. Jungkook has to make a conscious effort to not stare at your cleavage rising up and down as you breath in and out heavily.

“I-I might go to bed soon,” you say nervously, breaking eye contact with him to unraveling yourself from his grip. He rises as you do to give you space, wiping his hands on his shorts.

He nods, “Me too,” is all he says.

You leave the balcony to go brush your teeth and change into your pajamas. Jungkook stays behind to blow out the candles and turn off his speaker, feeling a heaviness between you two now. As he turns the bed down, his own hands are clammy, his high waring off faster than he would like. Both of you had no issue sharing the king bed when you booked the AirBnB a couple months ago, but now he’s fully regretting that decision. When Jungkook comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of water for you both, he finds you already climbing into bed in your cute matching, purple PJ set.

“Thank you,” you smile at him as he hands you the glass. You take a sip, feeling cotton mouth arise from the edible.

He climbs into bed soon after, turning off the lamp on his side of the bed encasing both of you in pure darkness.

“Goodnight Y/N,” are his last words that evening.

“Night Jungkook,” you say weakly as you’re facing away from him on your side. While you two have already made invisible boundaries when sharing the bed this past week, you make more of a conscious effort than ever to keep space between you two as you both drift off into sleep.

∞

It’s been a few days since your edible escapades with Jungkook. Both of you have seemingly moved on from the conversations had, the tension that had built up subsiding over the next few days. Now you two are back again at the beach in your normal routine. Jungkook’s just go out in the water from surfing and you’re laying on your tummy, starting the second book of your vacation. You decided to go with something different for you—a thriller about a writer brought in by another author’s husband to finish her books for her as she lies in a coma. Weird.

You know Jungkook’s back from the water when you feel water droplets scatter across your back. You look up from your book to find Jungkook sat down on his towel beside you, rubbing his right knee.

“You okay?” You ask him with concern. His major surgery scar is still less than two years old, therefore it’s still quite white and reflective in the sunlight.

He glances over to you before nodding, “Yeah I’m good, it’s just kind of stiff from surfing on it so much.”

You can’t help but feel an extreme amount of sadness when you watch him massage his skin. Your resting your chin on your hand as you study him carefully. From the moment you met Jungkook, baseball was his complete identity. It’s why people came up to him even if he didn’t want the attention. It’s what taught him discipline and hard work ethic. It’s what made him happy. The fact it was taken away from him so quickly terrifies you. You can’t even imagine the internal battles he’s had ever since that fateful day.

“Swim with me?” He suddenly asks.

Through the top of your sunglasses you glare at him, a groan leaving your mouth, “Jungkook you know how much I hate swimming in the ocean.”

He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, “Y/N there aren’t sharks in this part of the ocean,” he laughs.

You close your book not wanting to lose your place, “You don’t know that!” You retort.

He laughs again, this time ruffling your hair slightly, “I’ll protect you…” he trails off, a small pout crossing his features, “Plus it’ll make this feel better,” he’s referring to his knee.

Ugh, he really knew how to convince you.

You then agree, both getting up at the same time. You adjust your bikini to which Jungkook stares shamelessly. Your skin goes hot and you pretend you don’t see him doing so. You walk side by side to the water, a yelp leaving your lips when you feel how cold it is.

“Fuck Jungkook! It’s cold!” You whine as he continues his descent deeper. You’ve stopped at where the water hits your ankles, he’s at his knees.

“C’mon princess,” he whines back and the nickname gives you butterflies, “I’ll drag your ass in here if you don’t move woman!”

“Ugh,” you spit, “I’m coming,” you slowly walk towards him as he continues to walk deeper until he’s about to his chest, finally letting himself float against the waves after he gets over where they break.

“Y/N,” he says threateningly as you’ve stopped where the water hits your waist.

“Jungkook,” you respond but suddenly your heart sinks when he dips his body below water, disappearing beneath the surface. Your eyes widen as you look around paranoid. You know exactly what he’s up to. Though you’re expecting it, you have no time to brace yourself when Jungkook has suddenly grabbed your leg, pulling you beneath the water. You’re screaming, bubbles escaping your mouth until you reach the surface.

Jungkook has broken the water only a few inches from you as he laughs loudly, tipping his head bad. You push water towards his face, anger filling your body.

“Fuck you Jungkook!” You yell, his continuous laughter pissing you off even more.

You launch at him in the water, hiking yourself up onto his back as punishment. You wrap your legs around his torso and he adjusts you comfortably. If he was going to protect you, he really was going to protect you.

“I really hate you sometimes,” you mutter into his ear, his back rumbling against your chest as he chuckles.

“You love me,” he retorts.

You really do.

“See this isn’t too bad,” he then says looking over his shoulder to meet your gaze.

“We’re sitting ducks Jungkook,” you mumble, eyes looking around the water, still slightly paranoid. There’s a few other people in the water and a couple surfers which makes you feel a little better.

“It’s okay to get out of your comfort zone you know,” he raises a brow when you climb off his back, deciding to swim close in front of him. Both of you float with only a few inches between you two, water at your chests.

“Mhm,” you say sarcastically, “That’s what they all say before they’ve gotten their leg bit off,” you move your arms around to keep you wading. Thankfully it didn’t take long to get used to the chilly water.

He bites his lip as he watches you with an amused expression. You push away the way it makes you feel.

“You know that’s why I wanted to be your friend right?”

You furrow your eyebrows, moving to float on your back. Jungkook being the gentlemen he is, he ends up beside you, his arms giving your back some support in the water as you float.

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

You can’t see his expression as you’ve closed your eyes, the sun too bright to keep them open. His fingertips graze your skin every few seconds and you swear it feels like electricity running through your spine.

“You’ve always been the one to get me out of my comfort zone,” he points out like it’s obvious—though you’ve never had an inkling of this.

You open one eye at him in a squint, his face a lot closer to yours than you expected, “I don’t think so,” you laugh a little awkwardly as you give up on floating, settling back to your normal swimming position with him in front of you.

“I wouldn’t lie Y/N,” he laughs in return, “You’ve known me for a long time, you know how fucking weird I used to be.”

“Hey you weren’t weird,” you defend him, “Just a little awkward and going through puberty.”

He rolls his eyes, “Fucking weird,” he repeats, “I just mean I’ve never had a friend that’s always pushed me to do things I normally wouldn’t do. Hell just the vacations we’ve taken together is just one example,” he pauses, his next words cutting him a little deep, “I feel like you’re the reason I ever had a life outside of baseball.”

You bite your lip under the water as you don’t break his heavy eye contact. You’d never realize Jungkook thought that highly of you. It makes you feel giddy on the inside, but also a little sad that you were never that confident in your abilities as a friend. If anything, you thought Jungkook brought you out of your shell more.

“I’m just a small part of your life Jungkook,” is what you settle on.

They way his face falls doesn’t go unnoticed, “Trust me,” he pauses beginning a swim back to shore for you to follow him, “You’re a pretty big part Y/N.”

∞

It’s now Friday, which means you and Jungkook only have one and a half days left of your trip. The thought makes you sad, though you know that it’s not like you wouldn’t be seeing Jungkook afterwards. He lives in the same neighborhood as you for chrissakes. But given the loom of your impending move in a couple months, you couldn’t help but feel a finality of your life here coming soon.

You and Jungkook had gone out a couple times since being here, though neither of you had fully committed to getting too drunk. You had a feeling though that tonight you were ready to full let loose. Jungkook complimented you as soon as you were ready to leave, sending heat through your body. You were wearing a white two piece set—a small bralette type top with a matching mini-skirt that wrapped around your waist nicely. Your strappy heels gave you some height to Jungkook and you’re sure to any other tourist, you two looked like a couple.

Jungkook looked absolutely ravishing, the familiar lump of the past couple weeks forming when you laid eyes on him. He was dressed in an extravagant short sleeve button that was a yellow and white along with white pants to tie everything in. You almost laughed one, being you’re 99% sure the shirt is Fendi—how the hell did he afford that?—and two, you’re not sure you’d seen him in anything in sweatpants and t-shirts since graduation. Even then, it took you and Taehyung a lot of convincing for Jungkook to wear dress pants under his cap and gown.

You and Jungkook had ate dinner at a local sushi bar, getting a couple drinks there to pregame your evening. You don’t know how Jungkook ate and drank so much and keep the figure he had. It had to be genetics; there’s no other way.

It was now a little past 9 and both of you were feeling drunk—a good drunk—a happy drunk. The bar you two were at was partially outside, with a dance floor and good drinks. You and Jungkook are talking to a couple who also happen to be on vacation.

“Honeymooning is fun for sure,” the woman says, her words a little slurred, “Are you two honeymooning too?”

Both you and Jungkook begin to stutter, shaking your heads awkwardly, mumbling your words together.

“We’re not together,” you manage to get out as you lean against the bar for stability. Jungkook’s stood behind you, his chest touching your shoulder as his arm sits behind your frame protectively.

The new husband’s eyes widen, “Could’ve fooled me,” he says, “Right honey?”

“I agree Joon,” she eyes you up and down, clearly shameless as she does so. “Let’s go dance baby!” She suddenly exclaims. The couple—Namjoon and Camille—bid their farewells to you and Jungkook, leaving you two alone again at the bar.

You suddenly feel a little awkward under the strangers gaze, looking up and over at Jungkook. He’s giving them a straight smile before his eyes watch them walk away, an amused expression filling his eyes as he begins to laugh.

“You want another drink, honey?” He suddenly asks through a joke and you crack a smile, turning around to playfully push him. You catch a whiff of his scent as you stare at him intently, trying to ignore the deep stir of heat in your tummy. His gaze his vibrant as you take his sunglasses tucked from his shirt and place them over your eyes.

“If you’re paying Jeon,” you smile at him wickedly.

Jungkook orders both of you tequila shots, both of your faces scrunching up when you bite the lime for some relief. You have chills running down your spine, trying your best to keep the contents down.

“We’re going to be hurting tomorrow,” you say, sliding the shot glass back towards the bartender.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” he groans, suddenly reaching out to grab his phone. It’s buzzing in his hand, “It’s Junghyun,” he looks at you, “I’ll be right back?”

You nod, telling him you’d be right here. You watch as he walks away from you, a deep exhale escaping you. You’re intoxicated again—intrusive thoughts taking over your brain. You reminiscence over the last two weeks with Jungkook here. He makes you so incredibly happy and you’re sure that if you let yourself, you’d fall deeply in love with him—more than you already are. You’ve been through thick and thin together. You can’t let yourself go there though—it couldn’t happen. The friendship you two had between each other was too important to you. You’re not even sure Jungkook could even feel these feelings towards you. For all you know, he was just talking about his shitty ex the other day.

Your thoughts are interrupted when suddenly a man appears in front of you. A man that’s not Jungkook. He’s leaning his elbows on the bar as he waits for the bartender to take his order. He gives you a glance and you stare shamelessly. He’s quite attractive, that’s for damn sure.

“You want a drink sweetheart?” He suddenly asks, the pet name not sounding as good as it does coming from your best friend.

You find your voice over the music, “I’m good, thank you,” you smile at him knowing if you drink anymore, you’d be crossing the line of fun drunk to a miserable blackout.

He nods respecting what you’ve said, ordering two shots of whiskey for himself. You look around the bar trying to find Jungkook. It’s loud and crowded, but you haven’t been able to spot him in that ridiculous yellow shirt. You wonder what Junghyun needed that’s taking so long.

“What’s your name?” The strangers asks you as he turns his body to face yours completely.

You lean towards him some to save your voice, “Y/N,” you tell him.

A charming smile spreads across his face, “Well miss Y/N, why is a beautiful girl at this bar alone?”

You’ve dealt with many men of this caliber, so his words don’t creep you out much. Internally you applaud him for using the term beautiful, and not the typical hot or pretty.

“I’m not alone,” you tell him. He looks around the area you both are, your point not withstanding, “What’s your name?” You change the subject.

He downs his second shot of whiskey, “Jackson. It’s nice to meet you,” he offers his hand graciously and you shake it in return.

“Well Jackson,” you pause, feeling that tequila shot getting to you, “Why are you here at this bar alone?”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you, “I’m not alone either,” he retorts.

You nod slowly, a small smile spreading across your lips. Again, your eyes do another dance around the bar to spot Jungkook to no avail.

“Do you want to dance with me Miss Y/N?” He suddenly asks taking you completely off guard. You open your mouth then close it, only to open it again to say nothing. You should say no. You know in your heart you should say no. However with no sign of Jungkook and this Jackson guy seeming like a normal guy, you felt no guilt when you take his hand for him to take you to the dance floor.

The bar has great club and house music playing, making dancing an easy feat. Jackson is a great dancer, finding the rhythm to the songs easily as the DJ switches them rapidly. You find yourself comfortable with him, resting your hands lazily on his shoulders as he guides you through the motions. Maybe you’re too drunk, or you’re just relaxed, but you feel good in this moment. It reminds you of being a college freshman with Lisa, when you two would go to sweaty frat and baseball parties, dancing the night away with water bottles filled with cheap vodka.

The tide between you and Jackson folds when you turn around, unknowingly pressing your back to his chest. You both are swaying in the changing lights, his arms resting on your waist protectively, his head resting on your left shoulder. You’ve always been a decent dancer too, Jackson finding it impressive as you keep up with each other. When you find a hand gripping at Jackson’s hair pulling him closer to you, it’s when reality hits, time freezing in that very moment. You’ve opened your eyes after sometime, across the bar Jungkook walks in, his eyes finding yours instantaneously. His lips part, a painful expression crossing his features. He watches you only for a moment, his heels turning himself around to leave you be, heart feeling like someone’s crucifying it.

You suddenly panic, creating immediate space between you and Jackson. You turn around and lean up to his ear.

“I’m sorry, I really have to go—“ you tell him in a rush. He’s clearly confused but before you can listen to whatever he has to say, your feet pick you up to the path Jungkook must have taken to get out of here. It’s difficult to get through the crowd of people, especially in your heels and drunkenly, but you manage.

When you go to the outsider area of the bar, you don’t spot him. Shit, you think, where did he go? You start to panic, reaching for your phone out of your purse. You quickly scroll to his name, hitting the call button. You groan with an eye-roll—of course he isn’t going to fucking answer you.

You’re not completely sure he’s not in the bar anymore, but you chance it, leaving the bar alone. Thankfully the streets are well lit and there are plenty of people around to make you feel safe. You’re typing him a mean text as you walk back towards your cottage, ready to curse him out when you see him. That is, until you actually see him—then your mind goes blank.

Jungkook’s sat on the curb of a small, local convenient store eating what seems to be an ice cream sandwich. You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Jungkook!” You nearly exclaim, “What the hell are you doing?” You approach him, stumbling slightly in your heels.

He quickly notices how unstable you are, standing up to steady you, “You okay Y/N?”

You push him off you, “No the fuck I’m not okay,” you spit at him, “You just left me there?” You’re drunk and frustrated, that’s all you know.

“Here,” he offers the rest of his ice cream sandwich. You can’t resist him and you take it, eating it in two bites. He watches you carefully before saying, “Sorry, I just thought you were preoccupied.”

You throw away the paper wrapper, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Are you for real Jungkook?” You press, not caring if you’re bringing attention to the two of you as people pass by. He shoves his hands into his pockets, exhaling heavily.

“You want to go home?” He asks with straight lips. You cross your arms over your chest angrily, what the hell was his problem?

“Do you want to go home?” You ask him in retaliation.

He only looks a you a brief moment before nodded slowly. This conversation is seriously sobering you up faster than anything has ever before and nothing productive has even be said.

He turns around, “C’mon,” he says.

“What do you mean?” You ask him confused as he’s widened his stance, as if he’s ready for you to plow over him.

“Hop on Y/N,” he says, “And don’t even try to fight me on this. I know your feet are killing you.”

He wants to piggy back you home. You stay put, hands playing with each other awkwardly staring at his back. He glances over his shoulder and says your name again.

“B-but your k-knee Jungkook,” you say hesitantly. You knew Jungkook weight lifted and did enough cardio for him to live until he was 105, but the last thing you wanted was for him to injure himself again, especially because of you.

“It’s fine Y/N, I promise,” he says, “I just want to get you home.”

As you brace yourself on his shoulders, you try to jump as light as possible to lessen the blow to his body. He catches you gracefully, adjusting your knees in his hands. And home is where you two go.

∞

After you two walk into the threshold of the cottage—you insisting on walking the last little bit of the way—a parable tension that could be cut with a knife has settled between you two. You tried your best to talk to him on the way back, but his answers were short and uninterested. You only had remnants of your drunkenness left inside you and if anything, you were tightening back up, even angrier than when you left the bar.

Jungkook’s about to walk into your shared bedroom before you call after him.

“Wait Jungkook!” You say. He stops in his tracks, turning to look at you. His face is unreadable in the dim lights of the cottage. “What the fuck happened back there?” You ask him as you take off your heels, leaving them by the couch.

“It’s nothing Y/N,” he brushes you off, turning around to continue his path to the bedroom. Of course you follow him; he expected it.

“Jungkook, come onnn,” you press, “Are you that pissed that I was dancing with someone else?” You can’t hide your anger and frustration if you tried. This wasn’t fair to you. He had paraded girls throughout college— parading Chaeyoung for a year and a half in front of you—and you never said anything about it no matter how much it bothered you.

“Y/N it’s fine, can we just,” he pauses as he looks over at you, “Just drop it?” He’s taking off his rings and bracelets, your lip tucked between your teeth.

You make an unsatisfied noise, stepping closer to him, “No we fucking can’t. What’s your problem Jungkook?”

He leans on the dresser with both hands, his muscle definition showing through his shirt as he tenses up. His jaw clenches as he closes his eyes in deep reverie. You watch him carefully, knowing you probably should tread lightly given he’s pissed. But you know what? You’re pissed too. He can’t act like that with no explanation—that’s not fair to you.

“Junghyun called me about you, you know,” are his first words as he looks over to you.

“M-me?” You stutter, confusion lacing your tone.

He pushes himself off the dresser, though he keeps distance between you two. He suddenly runs a frustrated grip through his hair, messing it up slightly.

“You know, since you’re moving halfway across the fucking globe,” he sounds bitter, though deep dejection is mainly what you hear. You moving had been a sensitive topic with him ever since the interview stage happened with you months ago. It hurt you to speak about it with Jungkook the most. The thought of leaving him crushed both of you which is why neither of you had brought it up these past two weeks.

“He was asking me if I had done it yet,” he laughs sarcastically, “Of fucking course he was.”

You’re more confused than ever and you say his name in a whisper, but he continues.

“You know the other day when you said that you were only a small part of my life, that’s when it really hit me,” he pauses, “You really don’t know how much you fucking mean to me Y/N. You’ve been my best friend for so long, been there with me through so much of my bullshit—my accident, losing my scholarship, losing my fucking life—“ he inhales deeply and you suddenly feel dizzy, unsure of where this conversation has turned.

“—And now I’m fucking losing you and I can’t even be honest with you because it doesn’t matter,” his voice breaks off as he looks at his feet. You start to panic, a roller coaster of emotions pulsing through you.

You step towards him hesitantly, “Jungkook you can always be honest with me,” you grab his forearm, “I’m your best friend for fucksakes—stop with the hysterics and just tell me what’s wrong,” you plead with him. If your words weren’t enough, your eyes were giving a show.

His bottom lip trembles as he meets your gaze. You have adrenaline running through you as he moves to rest his hands on your waist, gripping the skin tight.

“I love you Y/N,” he says letting out a deep breath before he can second guess himself.

“I know,” you tell him, “Jungkook you know I love you too.. you’re scaring me—“

“No Y/N,” he shakes his head, “I’m in love with you—like fucking crazy about you Y/N.”

His words take your breath away, stumbling slightly as you can’t believe the words he’s saying. He’s what? Jungkook’s in love with you? You part your lips, unable to form sentences, shaking your head stunned

“You don’t have to say anything,” he looks down, his forehead brushing yours, “But I couldn’t let you move without telling you—I don’t know how long it’s been but it just happened one day and I haven’t stopped since.”

“Jungkook,” you finally whisper after some silence, your palms finding solace on his broad chest, “I-I don’t know what to say,” you pause looking up through your lashes. You feel like you could cry from the up and down of your emotions.

You both stare at each other, unsure of who is going to make the next move. You decide that it will be you.

“B-but when we talked the other night about the future and stuff… I thought you were talking about Chaeyoung,” you admit, feeling a little dumb now that this secret has been spilled.

Jungkook lets out a laugh, unsure he heard you correctly, “Y/N—what, no, I haven’t spoken to Chaeyoung in months at this point,” he pauses, his strong hands gripping your forearms gently, “I was talking about you.. it’s always been you.”

There’s a silence that falls; a war raging in your head as you go through as many memories as you can with Jungkook. He’s been there for you at any moment you’ve needed him and vice versa. You couldn’t imagine a life without him and right now—you’ve finally decided in allowing yourself to be honest.

“Y/N I know this is unfair since you’re leaving but—“

“I love you too Jungkook,” you interrupt him to which he responds with a mellow what, “I know that I’m in love with you Jungkook—I have for some time now, I just didn’t want to admit it.. I-I was scared and I didn’t know how to bring it up, fuck I’m sorry—“

You’re suddenly cut off with Jungkook’s lips covering yours. You instantly melt into his lips as your eyes close, your hands finding their way around his neck to pull him down to you. After a few moments, he pulls away from you, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Is this real?” He asks, a small smile playing on his lips; all anxiousness leaving your body at once. You return a small smile, nodding in his delicate hold.

“Real,” you whisper back, chasing after his lips once again.

This time when your lips meet his, it’s more aggressive from each side, pouring out all frustration and built up pining over the years into it. His tongue opens your mouth wider and you sigh into him, tangling your fingers into his soft hair. His hands slither down from your waist to over your ass, pressing your hips into his.

You’d never thought kissing someone could feel this good. Your entire body feels aflame as you both discover each others mouths piece by piece. Jungkook’s walked you backwards against the wall, holding you up against it firmly as you both continue to kiss each other feverishly. You rest your head against the wall as his lips move from yours to your neck, your breathing intensifying as he kisses and nips gently.

“Jungkook,” you breathe heavily, as he places a kiss on your exposed shoulder, moving the flimsily strap to your top down. You get bolder with your own actions, maneuvering your hands underneath his shirt feeling his muscles tense under your touch.

His lips find yours again, “I wanted this for so long Y/N,” he mumbles against your skin as you pull him taut to you. “Remember sophomore year? When you kissed me for that dare?”

“Mhm,” you murmur in response as his hand experimentally trails its way up to cup your left breast, “How could I forget?” You tell him through a slight whine when he squeezes you through the thin material of your top.

He smirks against your lips, tugging on your bottom lip ever so slightly, “I was so happy when you didn’t drink that bitch cup,” he admits. You can’t help but giggle at his words, one of your hands resting on the back of his neck to hold him close to you, “And this is much better than that.”

You nip at his mouth again, “I agree,” you pause, your other hand playing with the buttons on his shirt, “Can I take this off?” You ask through your lashes; your voice soft and patient.

Jungkook emits deep groan from his throat, “Is this okay with you?” He suddenly asks.

You immediately nod, “Yes, yes, of course,” you begin your slow assault at his shirt buttons, undoing them one at a time.

He kisses your forehead, “Okay… I just,” he pauses, “I’m just a little nervous,” he admits as he grapples at your waist again, pulling you flush against him. He’s got a growing bulge in his pants, making your squeeze your thighs together.

“Why are you nervous?” You gaze at him with stars in your eyes, finding everything about him endearing and so lovable.

He rests his forehead against yours, “I don’t know I’ve just thought about this for forever,” he pauses, “I want you to feel safe.”

You smile sweetly at him, “I always feel safe with you Jungkook,” you tell him reassuringly. You lean forward, placing a kiss on his exposed chest when you finally undo the last button. You waste no time pushing the fabric off his golden skin, tattoos and all on fully display.

“When did you get so hot?” You pout in between his kisses along your neck and collarbone. He chuckles into your skin, his hands now exploring both of your breasts through the fabric.

“I’ve been wondering the same with you,” he kisses right between your cleavage, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of your top.

“Please—“ your breath hitches when the cold air makes your nipples taut as he drags your shirt away, “Have you seen yourself?” You’ve barely finish your sentence until Jungkook’s lips are wrapping around your right nipple, sucking and teething at the sensitive.

“Have you seen yourself Y/N?” He mumbles into your skin, paying attention to your left nipple now. “My pretty girl,” he breathes out pulling away from you, sending a fire through your veins. He grabs your hands and pulls you towards the bed not too far from the wall.

You straddle him as you reconnect your lips together, rutting against him as your hips grind down. A shiver of pleasure runs through you, a subtle moan vanishing in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, “Do that again, I like hearing you.”

You chuckle, kissing near his ear, “Make me,” you challenge. Jungkook bites his lip, the grip on your hips tightening.

Being as competitive as he is—it’s a challenge he’s willing to accept.

Jungkook is suddenly flipping you two over, settling between your thighs, tits shaking as you readjust yourself. You spread your legs a little so he can sit comfortably on his knees between you, his bulge more prominent than ever, straining in his white pants. Your mouth literally waters as his hands push up your skirt, exposing your skimpy little lace thong that’s barely covering your cunt at this point.

“Goddamn,” he gulps at the sight, his eyes flicking to yours quickly as your chest rises up and down in anticipation. You’re already so turned on—so wet just for him. If it was any other guy, you’d probably feel embarrassed but you were telling them truth when you said you felt safe with him.

His tattooed hand slides down to your inner thigh, a couple of his fingers running over your clothed heat. Your hips cant outwards as he does this a couple times before he decides to ultimately pull your panties off, leaving them strung across the room somewhere.

You hold his gaze as he spits onto his fingertips, now finding your bare pussy exposed for him in all its glory. He doesn’t waste time in dipping a finger inside you to test the waters. When your mouth falls open, he takes it as a good sign when you start to beg him for more.

“Jungkook please,” you push out your hips, trying to get the most of one finger though it’s no use. “I need more,” you whine.

He leans down, placing a kiss to your lips, “I know baby, I know,” you gasp when he adds in another finger, a steady strong of moans escaping you when he begins a gentle rhythm in and out of you. It’s torture the way it feels so so good, yet it’s still leaving you wanting more.

He gets a hold of your right leg, holding it up slightly so he can penetrate deeper inside with his fingers, his thumb rubbing up against the hood of your clit.

“Hold yourself open for me baby,” he says to which you obey, holding onto the side of your leg just as he was, “Good girl,” he praises you, which creates even more slick arousal.

From here, he takes one of his hands to pull your clitoral hood open, using his other to circle your bud and enter your pussy in alternating motions.

“Ah, shit—“ your hips jerk against him when you begin to feel yourself start to climb that hill to an orgasm. Your continuously moaning was sending him mad and your glistening cunt was a full invitation for him.

He shifts his weight, his lips meeting your center to which your back arches off the mattress, a strained whine from you as he flicks his tongue over your clit. It’s obscene the way he gives you head—it’s hot and messy, little to no friction as he goes from focus on your hole with both his fingers and mouth, to sucking heavily on your clit. You could feel yourself dripping on the sheets underneath you, the wetness making Jungkook involuntarily push his cock into the mattress.

“Jungkook—I’m gonna come,” you manage through your tight breaths.

“Yeah baby?” He muses against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shockwave through your already swollen clit. You nod desperately into the bed, holding his head down with your left hand as your hips chase to meet his movements.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” chants fall from your lips when you feel yourself tip over the edge, falling heavily into an orgasm that overtakes your entire body. You don’t even care if you’re loud as you moan and rile beneath him, your pussy clenching around his fingers before he pulls them out to watch your cunt clench around nothing.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he marvels as you come down from your high, your body clearly relaxed now as you find time to catch your breath. You lean up on your elbows as he meets you halfway to kiss you again. He tastes like you as he tongues the inside of your mouth carefully.

You scoot your body down some, hands finding the front of his pants. You can tell he’s big just by running your hand over his cock through the clothes. He inhales a sharp intake of breath when you squeeze him a little. You break your kiss to focus on getting him out of the fabric, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants quickly. You take notice of his white Calvin Kleins as he helps you push them down past his ankles.

In a rush, you tug down the front of his boxers—breath hitching in the back of your throat. He was big—the biggest you’ve ever seen—thick and long between his muscular set of thighs.

You whine when you take him in, never experiencing a want for someone so badly in your entire life.

“Can I please suck it?” You whisper, your words sounding like sweet saccharine to his ears. As tempting as that sounds for him, he wasn’t sure how long he would last with you, and he needed to be inside of your pussy when he came.

“Not right now baby,” he says firm in his tone, “I want to be inside you so bad,” he sounds just as desperate as you feel.

You nod quickly as you begin to take your skirt off since it’s still the last piece of clothing on you. Jungkook’s hands stop you quickly.

“No, no,” he chuckles, “Gonna fuck you in this pretty skirt,” he places a zealous kiss on your lips one more time before he suddenly gets up hurrying over to one of his duffle bags. He returns quickly and you watch carefully as you notice him tearing open a condom packet, his abs visible each time he breathes.

“You brought condoms?” You ask him curiously.

He smirks as he begins to roll it down over his fully hardened cock, “I’ve been bringing them with us everywhere since we went to Europe,” he explains as he instructs you to scoot back some. The thought makes you feel bubbly on the inside, laughing at him some.

“So you’ve just assumed that we’re gonna fuck one day then?” You ask him as he settles between you, rubbing his tip against your folds.

He closes his eyes briefly, before smirking again, “Never assumed, just hoped,” he lines himself up with your entrance, having to fight not to just slam right into you, “I’ll start slow okay?”

You nod as you grip behind his neck and shoulder with each hand. Once Jungkook begins to push into you, you literally forget how to breathe. Jungkook groans as he bites his lip in full concentration, pushing a little farther.

“It’s okay, breathe baby,” he encourages, “I know you can take it. My baby can take it, right?”

He knows very well you can—he just wants to hear you say it in your voice that’s laced in honey and arousal for him.

You nod faster that you ever had, “God, yes Jungkook I can, yes I can,” you finally find your oxygen as he pushes in slowly to the hilt. Your jaw was slack as his forehead rests against your own, a burning between your legs but pleasurable enough that you begin to involuntarily clench around him.

“Shit baby, don’t do that,” he warns, “This tight little pussy is all mine, right?”

“Of course Jungkook—“ he pulls back, then pushing back in, your hips canting upward to help him fulfill every inch inside you. “Oh my god—“ you whimper as he slowly begins to find his pace.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yes, fuck yes, Jungkook just please don’t stop,” you beg, “Go faster, please.”

One of his hands grip your right hip, the other fisting the sheets by your head as he does as he’s told, picking his pace up slowly but surely as the seconds pass. Its blissful heaven having him fill you up so good. You’d never thought you’d be in this position with Jungkook, but as time passes you wish that you two had got around to it a lot sooner.

With each snap of his hips, your body moves upwards given force. A mantra of noises come from you as you watch his brows furrow from above you, strained groans and breathes escaping his lips. You could feel the simmering of another orgasm approaching you as his perfect stroke hits your g-spot. You grab at his face to steady him; his pace thrown off a bit when you lean up to kiss his lips gently.

“Let me get on top,” you whisper to him. He tugs on your lip, unsure if he wants to give up control but with you, he’d relinquish any day. He pulls out, leaving you hallow with you quickly pushing him off of you and down to the mattress. His back is rested against the pillows and headboard to which you grab with one hand, using your another hand to line yourself back up with him.

After you sink down, your arousal making it easy this time—you begin to find a pace against him that’s calculated to hit your insides in all the right areas. Jungkook grips your hips, pushing your skirt up slightly as he marvels up at you, drunk in a haze of you and you only. With uneven breaths, you can tell you’re on the verge of coming again, so he licks his thumb before he places it on your clit. Each touch of your hips presses firmly against his finger, explicative falling from your lips in a rush.

“God—Jungkook, I-I can’t,” you choke out, squeezing around him tightly as he begins to push his own hips up to meet yours.

One of his hands makes it way to your throat, pulling your forehead down to his as he takes the oxygen away from you. It’s too much—it’s all too much.

“Yes baby, you can,” he encourages, “My pretty girl, come with me,” he adds after he begins to hold you in place some, shoving his hips up in a brutal pace to chase his own climax.

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to hit, hit tipping backwards as you let out a half-scream of his name, jumbled together with high pitched moans. It goes on longer than your last one, convulsing around his cock as you lean forward in a daze.

Jungkook’s close—his lip tucked into his teeth, brows deeply furrowed as he continues his pace up inside you. With a bated breath, he announces he’s going to come and you encourage him just as he did you. He spills into the condom with a whiney groan in submission to you, his movements coming to end an end shortly after he rides his climax out.

He’s got his arms wrapped around your torso and you cradle him to your chest as you both try to catch your breaths. He lifts your hips slightly to let himself fall out of you, though he keeps you close to him after, looking up at you through a lazy smile.

You return one to him, meeting your lips to his. The kiss is gentle and love worthy as your heart swells so much it feels like it could burst for the man beneath you.

You pull away from him, “Can I take this skirt off now?”

He chuckles before nodding, placing a kiss on your shoulder before you move off of him to discard the final article of clothing on your frame. You climb back into bed after you throw on a slinky tank top and use the bathroom—a UTI was not going to plague you. Jungkook pulls on a pair of briefs, opening his arms up to you once he climbs back in. You cuddle up right next to him, an arm slung around his bare chest, leg over his as he pulls you closer with one arm. The two you mindlessly talk about nothing before you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. The last thing you recall is Jungkook placing a kiss on your head, telling you that he loves you again, leaving little to no space between each other this time on the bed.

∞

The bright sun is what wakes you up the next morning, a strained mumble coming from you as you stretch out on the bed. You’re halfway on your back, halfway on your side when you open your eyes. You rub them with your knuckles to clear them of any matter. When the room fully focuses, you freeze in your position, stomach dropping a little bit. Your head hurts from the alcohol but it wasn’t enough alcohol to make you forget what happened.

You and Jungkook had had sex and professed pining love to each other.

You quickly turn over to find yourself alone in the bed, your anxiety and cortisol levels skyrocketing. You also take notice that Jungkook’s not out on the balcony that connects to the room. You sit up a little too quickly for your headache, taking a moment to steady yourself.

You grab your phone off the nightstand, checking the time and any messages you have. There’s only a few that you decide you’ll answer later. Nothing from Jungkook.

You push the sheets and duvet off your frame, hurrying over to your suitcase to pull on a pair of shorts. You quickly make your way out of the bedroom, finding the living and kitchen space empty. Maybe he was in the bathroom?

“Jungkook?” You call out. No answer.

You suddenly feel like you’re going to get sick. Insecurity and all other horrifying thoughts cross your brain. Did he leave you here? Did he get scared and go home? Did he really fuck you only to leave you?

You feel like you could cry as you lean onto the couch for support. You hold back your tears, breathing heavily in and out to keep yourself calm.

Where the fuck—

The door to the cottage is suddenly unlocked, pushing open to reveal your best friend in all his glory. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, carrying a brown bag in one hand, balancing two coffees on his arm.

“Oh, good morning!” He flashes his million dollar smile at you as he sets down all of his belongings on the kitchen island.

You stand there with a pout, not saying anything to him. He looks at you slightly confused, walking over to see what’s wrong.

“Are you okay?” He asks with concern, grabbing gently behind your elbows.

You push at his chest with flat palms, “I thought you left me,” you whine. A smile cracks open as he laughs some.

“Why would I have left you?” He questions you, “I just went and got us some breakfast while you were still sleeping,” he explains.

“Well I can see that now,” you push back, “I just thought.. maybe you got scared and left,” you trail off, looking away from him now that you feel a little dumb for jumping to such horrible conclusions.

Jungkook pulls you in for a hug to which you return it like a kid grabbing onto their teddy bear tightly.

“I would never do that Y/N,” he says placing a kiss to your head, squeezing you playfully as he sways you dramatically, “I’m kind of offended that you think I would,” he then says with a pinch to your ass cheek.

“Ow!” You push yourself off of him with a laugh, “Sorry, it’s just,” you chew on your lip when you meet his gaze, “I don’t really know how to go about this whole friends to lovers thing.”

He pulls you to the kitchen so you two can begin to eat your breakfast. The coffee is great; just what you needed to cure your headache.

“It’s simple,” he says as he sits down beside you after he’s placed your breakfast sandwiches out.

“Is it really?” You push through a mouthful of food—gross you know, but Jungkook was the last person to care.

He quirks that pierced eyebrow at you that just drives you absolutely mad, “Hell yeah. We’re still best friends we’re just gonna have lots of sex now.”

You look at him stunned before you both are laughing hysterically together. Maybe he is right. Simple. As the two of you eat your breakfast, you can’t help but feel so very happy but also so very sad. The two of you have created a bubble of paradise and it’s going to burst as soon as you get back on the plane to head back home.

“Jungkook,” you say, turning the conversation serious after you both have finished your meals. He responds with a hm? “I’m still moving after the summer,” you bring it up hesitantly given how touchy it is; but there was no escaping and hiding from the truth. You were leaving; Jungkook was staying here.

He tenses up in his seat, pursing his lips as he glances over at you, “That’s another reason Junghyun called me last night,” he begins. You look at him confused, asking what he means, “I’ve been thinking about telling you about my feelings for so long Y/N, and I clearly have shit timing,” he laughs ironically, “But Junghyun has known for awhile now—I think before I even knew it but um,” he pauses, “He made me promise to him that by the end of this trip that I would tell you, so he was on my ass about it last night.”

You smile at him sweetly, resting your hand over his, “Well now you can tell him you kept that promise,” you offer.

His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours, “Yeah, but that’s not all,” he pauses as you listen to him, “I’ve been applying to jobs in New York,” he admits.

Your lips part as your eyes widen, “What?” You’re nearly breathless as you ask the question—feeling like Jungkook took a baseball bat to your chest. “Why would you do that?” You press.

He swallows heavily, “I just, I knew whenever you said you were going there that I just couldn’t not try with you,” he pauses, his gaze looking almost apologetic, “I didn’t want to be four thousand miles away from you so I panicked and started applying for jobs there,” he explains, “I don’t want you to be mad, and I’ve already talked to my family about it and they’re all okay with it,” he says in a rush, “I just didn’t want you to be alone there, whether I confessed my feelings to you or not.”

He’s chewing on his lip and you can tell he’s nervous. You turn over his palm so you can intertwine your fingers together, giving him a soft gaze.

“While this has completely caught me off guard,” you say honestly, “I would never be mad at you over this,” you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “Did you really apply to jobs there because of me?”

He nods a few times before he hangs his head low. You take your other hand and push his shorter fringe away from his face. While you’re positive many more details have to be worked out, that fact Jungkook made this decision makes you feel an amount of butterflies and love you’ve never experienced before.

“And you’d for sure want to be in New York?”

He looks up at you with those big doe-eyes that haven’t changed from the day you met him, “I’d go wherever you were Y/N. It could be the worst fucking place in world and I’d go there with you.”

You lean over, pressing your lips to his gently.

“I love you.”

He smiles in return, “I love you more.”

You pout some, “That’s not fair—no one is allowed to ‘love more’.”

He kisses you again gently as he pulls you from the bar stool to stand between his legs. His hands squeeze your ass playfully as you try to pull away.

“Well I can be the exception,” he leans into you, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You roll your eyes, a short laugh escaping your lips.

“You know what this means?” You ask inquisitively.

“What?”

“Lots of sex to be had,” you emphasis, “And even more of blowjobs.”

His eyes widen, his jaw slightly clenching and you swear he whines as he looks up at you, pressing your front to his crotch, “Can we start that sooner than later?”

You give him your answer through another kiss and moving your hands at the waistband of his pants. God, you think as you take in the already domesticated environment you two have made together, you could really get used to this. Jeon Jungkook was your best friend and at the end of the day—all you two needed was each other and somewhere to go.

4K notes · View notes

helpimhyperfixating · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 11: Erotic photos - Jotaro x Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

CW: fem!reader, masturbation

I’m very slowly gonna try to catch up on the days I missed. I apologise so much for the wait but I hope you enjoy the smexy 🛐

Word Count: 1392

Crashing down onto the bed in his cabin, Jotaro groaned, taking off his hat and throwing it on the desk directly beside his bed.

As intriguing and educational as trips out to sea were, they were goddamn exhausting. Not to even mention the lack of cell service, making him unable to even phone you.

Sighing out, the marine biologist rolled over, grabbing the book laying on the desk, right beside where he threw his hat. Positioning himself once more on his back, he groaned softly as he stretched before putting his reading glasses on and opening the book, ready for some leisure time, finally.

Purely by coincidence, he opened the book to read the other titles by the author, curious to see what else the man had written, only for an envelope to fall out.

Confused, he picked it up, only to see his name written on it in your handwriting. Strange.

Sitting up a bit, Jotaro grabbed his reading glasses and positioned them a little firmer onto his nose, shifting the pillow behind him to sit better. Opening up the envelope, there was something written on the inside of the letter.

‘For when you’re lonely.’

“What did you do?” Jotaro softly mumbled to himself, confused as he then looked in the envelope, seeing several – were they notes?

Reaching in, he pulled them all out, revealing themselves to be polaroids. Yet when he turned them over, the confused frown on his face fell as instead, his cock stirred in his pants.

Right there, sitting all pretty and barely dressed, was a picture of you.

You were sitting on your knees, an innocent but teasing look in your eyes while you held the camera out, showcasing your arm on the side of the frame, which made the lingerie holding up your chest pop out all the better.

Swallowing heavily, Jotaro took off his reading glasses, placing them aside before he flipped to the next photo, putting the first one at the back of the pile.

This next one was a photo of you at the foot of the bed, your legs provocatively placed to where he could just see the inside of your thighs, all the while, his hat was shielding half your face. Though what it didn’t shield was the mischievous smile playing on your lips.

Almost entranced, he flipped to the next, a little breathless groan leaving him as he was greeted with a picture of you on the bed, your legs splayed open for the camera, the red lingerie panties you wore hiding your cunt from view, though one of your fingers was teasingly dipping inside. Oh how badly he wished he was at home with you right now, seeing this actually happen in front of him.

Reaching down, the raven palmed himself through his pants, hissing ever so slightly before he focused back on the photos, flipping this one to the back again to reveal a new one. Huffing slightly, he went right back to palming himself, his eyes – half-lidded and dark – glid over every portion of the photo. You were on your stomach, the camera only capturing half your face as the rest was an over-the-shoulder shot of your back, showing your bare ass, the red lace panties dangling from one of your feet as you crossed them in the air.

Breathing heavily, Jotaro put the pictures down before hastily grabbing his phone, going to the settings to try and get a signal – any sort of signal, but nothing worked, making him curse as he threw the device down onto the bed, his cock painfully hard in his pants.

If he could just hear your voice, just talk to you or do anything, but no. He had to be in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.

Reaching down, he began to unbuckle his belts, shoving his pants down just far enough to free his erection, the head already leaking precum.

Pent up and embarrassed that he was doing this while his colleagues were with him on the boat, Jotaro spit into his hand and wrapped it around his stiff cock, smearing the precum across the tip with his thumb, making him bite his lip.

With his left hand, he picked the pile of polaroids back up, glancing at the shot of your ass while he started to pump, before he used his thumb to slide the photo away, letting it fall to the bed so that he could view the next one, a shuddering breath leaving him as he brought it up to his face.

Right in frame you sat, three fingers in your mouth while you looked straight at the camera, the lingerie nowhere to be seen as your tits were out, the photo taken from a lower angle, making Jotaro’s teeth dig deeper into his lower lip.

Making slow strokes, he kept his breathing under control, the steady pleasure making his thighs tense as he slipped the polaroid away, letting it drop onto the bed to see he next one, a deep groan leaving him as he saw it, squeezing the tip of his cock at the same time.

You were on the bed, legs spread wide and showing your pussy right at the camera, glistening with arousal while your fingers spread your folds open, leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that the raven wanted that.

Closing his eyes for a second, Jotaro began breathing heavier, stroking himself faster as he then looked at the photo again, imagining his cockhead pushing at your entrance, hearing your whimpers and pleasured noises right before he’d push in, filling you up so well.

Shifting his hips slightly into his own hand, Jotaro sped up even more, dropping this polaroid to the bed as well to show the new one, his hips bucking into his hand as he saw a shot of your cunt, your three fingers in your mouth in the previous photo now buried deep in your hole, arousal coating your knuckles.

Pumping faster and squeezing, Jotaro looked at the polaroid through hazy eyes, barely able to keep them open as he jolted his hips up into his own strokes, feeling his orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast as he thought of your tight cunt; wrapped around his fingers, tongue or dick, how wet and eager you were for him, how you’d take him in without complaint or question. Oh how he wanted to stuff you full and fuck you dumb right now.

Your moans, high-pitched and whiny, your pleas for him to go faster or deeper, for him to touch your clit. Oh how he’d make you cum on his cock, feeling your tight walls squeeze around him, pulsing and spasming as you cum, milking him for all he’s worth.

Suppressing a groan, Jotaro’s hand holding the polaroids fell down, his hazy eyes glancing over to see the photos scattered on the bed, his hand around his cock pumping fast and desperately, his hips bucking into his own fist as he approached orgasm.

“Fuck-!” Gasping the curse under his breath, he arched his back as he thrust forward one more time, a groan muffled between his lips as he came, releasing all over his hand and stomach.

Ropes of cum spurted out, staining his skin and shirt as he rode out his climax, his hips slumping back down onto the bed while he pumped himself a few more times, working out all his spend before he let out a stuttering breath and let go, his cock softening as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

Panting, he slowly caught his breath, reaching over for tissues to clean his hand and stomach, frowning down at his shirt, knowing that was going into the pile of dirty clothes for the rest of his trip.

Taking in a deep breath, Jotaro then carefully gathered the polaroids, picking them up before raising the last photo he’d looked at, swallowing as he saw more.

Quickly flipping through, there were photos of you pleasuring yourself, with your finger and a toy, and pictures of you sitting on a dildo, your face in pure pleasure on each and every one of them.

Shaking his head, Jotaro quickly gathered them all into one pile and put them back into the envelope. One thing was sure, he wouldn’t run out of new material to use this trip.

#hih kinktober 2023 #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro kujo smut #jotaro kujo #jotaro x reader #jotaro x reader smut #hih’s hôrni works

306 notes · View notes

broshot · 1 year

Note

Can I request gojo satoru and kaito with a depressed reader?

And they have an argument an the boys accidentally says something mean at their s/o

So the reader thinks that they are a burden for them so they write a goodbye letter ,u know what I mean, and the boys finds it when they want to apologise, u can decide if it can end bad or happy with fluff

a/n: hii! thank you for the request! I don't know like anything about kaito so I'm not going to write for them, I hope that's okay♡ I hope you like this! and my rule for hurt fics is to always finish hurt w comfort :D (I can't handle angst)

cw/tw: hurt/comfort (angst to fluff), sensitive topics kind of, crying, gn!reader, making up after an argument,

english isn't my first language so I apologise for bad writing

♡♡♡

arguments with gojo satoru were heated, the constant bickering went on for hours and hours and he could be a real asshole when he wanted to.

the current argument had already been going on for a few hours and you could see no end to it. it all started when gojo got home, he had a hard day and was looking forward to spend the evening with you.

but when he got home, he couldn't see you anywhere. he walked around the house a bit before finding you laying on your couch, sleeping. he was upset, he thought you'd make him dinner.

so when he woke you up, you could smell an argument incoming.

"it's not my fault you're so goddamn lazy, (name)! you never do anything for me, god, it seems like I'm the only one who actually cares." he spits out.

"I care! and I do a lot for you, you just don't-"

"it's all my fault? you know, if you didn't want to be with me you could've just said that. you don't even try! you're so hard to deal with."

"satoru you don't get it! I'm trying, I really am, I'm doing my best!"

"well you're not doing enough!" he yells before storming off. you can hear him taking his keys and jacket, then the door opening and closing.

you process it for a while before you feel tears threatening to get out of your eyes. and you let them.

this was not your loving boyfriend. the man who you just argued with was so different from your gojo satoru. your gojo satoru understood you, he helped you. your gojo satoru would never yell at you nor blame you for not being able to do the same things other people do.

were you really that hard to deal with? so hard to deal with that he forgot all about your struggles? you didn't like the fact that you struggled, even less when it was with daily situations. your boyfriend had been understanding of you so what changed now?

you walk to your room, taking a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing a letter. if he thought you were hard to deal with, you would make it easier for him and leave.

you set your letter on the kitchen and go back to your room. you take a bag out of the closet, messily putting some of your stuff in it.

gojo comes back home exactly 7 minutes after you left. he calls out your name, hoping you'd answer and maybe come greet him even though you two had argued.

but you don't answer him. he's frustrated but he wants to find you and talk it out.

he walks into your shared bedroom and he feels his chest tighten as he sees the messy state of the room, seeing most of your things gone. he shakes the uneasy feeling off. maybe you were just renovating the room.

but as he searches more of the house, he sees more of your stuff gone. he walks to your bathroom and he sees your towel gone. he rushes to the living room and notices your books being nowhere to be seen. panic is taking over him now. you could have not, you wouldn't leave him, he thinks.

he runs to the kitchen. it looks awfully clean and untouched compared to the other parts of the house. the bouquet of roses he got you a few days ago had a piece of paper next to it.

he quickly takes the paper in his hands, scanning through the writing. he recognizes your handwriting. the ink is mixed on some parts of the paper and he's not stupid, he knows you cried while writing it. he starts reading it.

"dear satoru, I'm sorry for our argument. I should've noticed how much of a burden I was for you. I'm sorry to have forced you to stay with me."

he panics more. he didn't mean what he said but he knows you're not like him. and god, you never forced him to stay with you. he stayed because he loves you.

the letter continues:

"I never wanted to make you feel like this and I'm sorry to have done it. I've decided to end your suffering of dealing with me. thank you for everything, with love: (name)"

he doesn't believe himself. how could he have made you feel like this? he doesn't see you as a burden, hell, he thinks he is the burden. you've never actually made him feel that way.

he feels guilt sting his chest. he needs to find you and apologize to you. so he runs back to the door and puts his shoes on.

he's been looking for you for hours. anyone else would've stopped already, it's getting late and dark and it's raining a bit.

but he doesn't care about any of that, he needs to find you.

he gets close to a familiar park and decides to run through. it was the park where he confessed his feelings towards you. he doesn't know how, but suddenly he is in front of you. you are sitting on the park bench; the bench where he confessed to you on.

it's raining but he could see your tear stained face. and you aren't wearing the warmest clothes there is either; just a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

he takes his jacket off and wraps it around you before he kneels down and looks into your teary eyes. he doesn't know where to start.

"(name) I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean any of the things I said. I don't know why I said them but I shouldn't have because I don't actually think the way I said.

I know you try. you're doing so well, I'm really proud of you and I really didn't mean when I said that you're not doing enough. you are doing so much more than enough. you're not hard to deal with, you're the best that's ever happened to me." he rambles.

you look at him and sigh. "I don't know, satoru. you really hurt me. I thought you wanted me to leave-"

"absolutely not, (name), I love you. I don't want you to leave, never."

you're quiet and he extends his arms, asking you to hug him. he's looking at you with a sad smile, trying to show that he really is serious right now.

you're still mad at him but you need comfort too, so you rush into his arms. he wraps his arms tightly around you and rubs comforting circles on your back.

"there." he whispers into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too, satoru, even though you're an idiot sometimes." you say with a soft smile.

he laughs. "you want some ice cream? my treat, of course. I'll buy you the whole store if you want, I'd do anything for you.

♡♡♡

I don't really like this but I hope you enjoy it anyway skjfhdsjfh

MASTERLIST

#gojo x reader angst #gojo x reader fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojou satoru x y/n #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

587 notes · View notes

moremaybank · 1 year

Text

I'LL GO ANYWHERE YOU GO — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary your best friend jj gives you a token to show you how much he treasures you.

warnings none, just soft!jj with hella fluff because i said so

jj masterlist

you stood in front of your mirror, desperately trying to fasten the clasp of your necklace but failing miserably.

“you almost ready? the kegger’s about to— oh. need a hand?” jj asks, walking into your room and tossing his backpack on your bed carelessly.

“actually, yeah. this clasp is tricky as hell.”

he chuckles wordlessly, striding over to you so he can help. or so you thought. jj takes the necklace out of your hands and discards it on your dresser, and your brows furrow in response.

“hey,” you frown, “what are you doing? i need help putting it on, not taking it off.”

“i have a surprise for you,” he replies, as if he isn’t up to no good. he reaches into the back pocket of his distressed shorts and pulls out a small black velvet box. he extends his hand to you, but you give him a puzzled look.

“oh god, what did you do?”

he chuckles, “why are you just assuming that i’ve done something?”

“because you’re you. i know you way too well, and at this point, if you’re giving me something in a velvet-wrapped box, it means you’ve done something bad. possibly illegal.”

“not true. i’m doing this out of the goodness of my own heart.”

you stare at him warily, not sure what to make of whatever the blonde boy is handing you. he looks a little too eager for your liking, and you’re not sure if you should be nervous or aiding and abetting an escape from the law. but then he flashes you a grin, his signature dimple on full display, and you know you can’t resist him.

“come on. i worked my ass off to get you this. even had the store put it on hold,” he tells you.

“jj, how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want you spending your hard-earned money on me? it should be spent on you.”

“princess, i only need three things in life to be happy; weed, beer, and you.”

“so you’ve given up on food and water?” you question, cocking your head at him with a smart-ass look.

“alcohol and the devil’s lettuce will sustain me for as long as god intends, pretty girl. now will you open the box?” he asks, placing the small box into your hands.

“you’re not proposing to me, are you? ‘cause if you are, you should buy me dinner first.”

“for the love of all things holy, will you just open it?”

you huff a sigh, “fine.”

you open the lid, and your eyes instantly land on a breathtaking necklace. the pendant was of the letter ‘j,’ and it reflected off the sunlight beaming into your bedroom.

“jj…” you breathe, not being able to help the tears from welling up in your eyes. “i— it’s beautiful. you sure you didn’t steal it? be honest,” you deflect. you try your hardest not to read too much into it, but you can’t help it. the thought of jj, your jj, giving you a necklace with the initial of his first name to take the place of your current everyday necklace makes your heart swell. it’s like carrying him with you, right next to it, everywhere you go.

“i swear, princess. i didn’t steal it. i saw it a couple of months ago when i was with john b and sarah in some kook store over on figure eight, and i decided to save up for it so i could give it to you. consider it an early birthday present for my favourite girl.”

“j, my birthday isn’t for six months. and it’s not that i don’t appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have had to pinch pennies to give me this. you work so hard, and you deserve every cent you earn.”

he sets the small jewelry box aside on your dresser and takes your hands into his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he gazes deeply into your eyes. the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

“listen. you’ve given me everything. a place to rest my head when i need it, the most beautiful heart i’ve ever known, and my favourite person in the world. you deserve this and so much more. plus, you’re my best friend, and i can spoil you any time i goddamn please.”

you blush, avoiding his gaze as you stare down at your intertwined fingers. “you are so sweet, y’know that? too much for your own good.”

“i try,” he beams at you but shrugs his shoulders casually as if to say it isn’t a big deal.

“you succeed,” you say. “will you put it on for me?”

he smiles so wide that you can tell how much you and the personal piece of jewelry mean to him. “of course, pretty girl. turn around.”

you do as he says, facing your back to him and gathering your hair so you can move it out of the way. jj carefully removes the necklace from the miniature jewelry box and places the chain over your collarbone as he fastens it behind your neck. his fingers linger for a moment as he moves to retreat, and you feel a warmth, his warmth surge through you as he touches you. goosebumps erupt all over your skin as you feel the electricity from his hands course throughout your body.

you both look at your shared reflection in the mirror, and your gaze locks on his ocean-blue eyes. jj offers you a smile that’s impossible not to return as you both stand together so close. you can practically feel the quick thump-thumping of his heart against the skin of your back as he begins to blush.

his hands move to your shoulders. “now you’ll always have a piece of me with you. it’s cheesy as hell, but you’re destined for greatness. i believe that. so, no matter where you go, what you conquer, or how far you are from me, i’ll always be there for you. i’ll always protect you.”

“i love you, j,” you breathe. you turn back to face him. “you know that if i ever get out of here, i’m bringing you with me, right? i’m not me without you,” you mumble into his shoulder after throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.

of course, you mean it more than platonically, but the words are true to your heart either way. your love for him constantly overtook your being, but it was to the most significant degree at this moment. you’re desperate to ensure that he knows how much you appreciate him. jj has gone through so much of his life thinking he wasn’t enough for anyone that crossed his path, but that was never the case for you. he always came through, no matter when you needed him. especially then.

“i’ll go anywhere you go,” he whispers. his hand cradled the back of your head as he held you to him, instantly sighing in contentment at how close the two of you were. “and i love you too, my pretty girl. so much more than you’ll ever know. and i hope that someday i can prove it to you.”

little did he know that he proved the strength of his adoration for you every day.

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar @obxjjpouge @conniesanchor @baby-maybank @angel037 @wotfasked @rafelover

869 notes · View notes

charliehoennam · 8 months

Text

home again.

A/N: request made here by @juniebugg and a nonny made here so i decided to mash these two together

Pairing: John Kinley x F!reader

Warnings: Language and smut. No minors, please!

Word count: 2,675

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

The dusty gravel of your driveway crunched under the tires of Declan’s truck. You didn’t need to look out the window to know who it was, but you wanted to see him. Make sure he’s alright.

You’d refused to pick John up at the military base. You didn’t want to be anywhere near it. It’d been months since he’d been away and you hated every single second he was gone.

You missed him more than anything in the world. Deep inside, you were thrilled he was finally home and, most importantly, safe. Part of you wanted to race out the door and throw yourself in his arms. The other part, however, wanted to slap him across the face.

Months of his absence – provided only via letters and shitty connections through phone calls or video chats that could never replace his presence – drove you insane.

The only thing that was worse was zero contact. Not knowing if he was dead or alive; that every car that drove by the house would deliver that dreaded folded flag. Sometimes, you questioned why he would want to be in the army in the first place, fighting a war that he has no fault in. How could he just leave you?

You’d thought it would get easier to live with after you got married. Turned out, it wasn’t.

John called out for you and spotted you by the window where he’d caught you staring out of just before you moved away to hide. He read your resistance right off the bat.

“Hey, honey” he smiled as he set his army green bag on the floor in the hallway. “Don’t I get a kiss huh?”He tried to joke to loosen you up.

There was definitely tension in the air that he’d detected even before walking in, but he wanted to avoid conflict on his first day home. He’d missed you just as much as you’d missed him; there was no doubt the distance was hard on both sides. Yet you felt he was to blame since it was his choice to reenlist. You were there. You’d always be there.

You pulled away as he tried to pull you into his arms and marched back into the kitchen where you’d been making his favorite: Fettucine alfredo with crispy bits of Italian sausage.

“Something smells real good.” His attempts were getting nowhere. “Come on, baby. Is this how it’s gonna be every time I come home?”

“You could just stay home.” You shrugged as you continued stirring the pot of white sauce before dipping a spoon to taste-test the flavor.

“We’re really gonna do this? Again?” He scoffed running a hand over his tired face.

“Do you really expect me to be all bright smiles when you were literally gone for 9 months in the middle of God knows where? After 11 days of sheer silence, I just found 6 days ago that you weren’t dead, John.”

“I thought that would be something to be happy about.” His brows furrowed.

“I am happy you’re alive, John. But I did also spend 11 days thinking you might have been dead!”

“That wasn’t my fault! We got ambushed by an IED in the middle of nowhere. We lost the RV and had to trek through the goddamn desert. You think I wanted that happen?!”

“Then you shouldn’t have relisted! I just don’t get it! Why would you want to go back to that?!”

“You don’t have to get anything! You’re acting like this is all new to you! You knew I was in the Army before, that it wouldn’t change when we got married!”

“Maybe I’d hope it would! So crucify me for thinking that maybe my husband would want to actually be home with me after getting married!”

Your argument only escalated after that. John was angry and you were furious. A blur of loud voices, searing tears and fists pounding on walls and countertops. At some point, he had decided to blow off some steam and slammed the front door shut as he left to have a drink at the bar. He didn’t want to get drunk or talk to anybody. He just wanted to get out of there before you’d both said things that couldn’t be taken back.

Sat on a tall stool with a beer bottle cradled in his hands, he stared into nothingness wanting to forget everything. However, his mind found itself returning to you. To your scent that lingered on his clothes after his hug. To your warmth against his chest and arms. Fuck, he missed you badly and he hated that he couldn’t fucking forget it.

After pushing himself off the stool, he drove home in silence and cautiously stepped over the threshold. His eyes scanned the house as he made his way in, searching for any indication that could explain your current state. But he found only silence. A daunting calmness in the shadows of the home as the streets casted their lights in attempt to chase the gloom. But when his eyes landed on a pillow stacked upon of a folded-up blanket, he shook his head and ignored your punishment.

That was his limit. The final drop to overflow the flood he’d spent hours trying to contain.

You tossed and turned in bed, wondering if you had gone too far. You reflected on his words. He wasn’t wrong. You knew the Army was important to him going into the relationship. You knew that when you said yes when he asked you to marry him. You knew that when you said “I do” at the altar.

He felt his blood boil again as he marched up the stairs with his pillow under his arm. The door flew up open and he strode into the room, avoiding your bewildered gaze as you propped yourself up on your elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You questioned angrily. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“The hell I am. I spent nine months away. I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

You could hear the tinge of impatience in his voice. He sat at the edge of his side on the bed to untie his boots and set them aside with a thud muffled by the carpet.

“You’re not sleeping here, John.”

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, but I’m sleeping right here.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“Oh, I am huh? How about you? You’re the one that’s acting like a fucking child.”

You sat up in disbelief, ready for round two of your argument.

“Just don’t. I’m tired and I wanna sleep.” He stated as he laid back against his pillow, back turned to you.

“You think it’s fucking easy? You think it’s easy having you miles away, with no notice if you’re even alive? I thought you were dead, John!”

He was ready to snap back with his defense, but the tears building in your eyes warned him not to. Instead, his jaw clenched as he held his gaze on you.

“I spent night crying my fucking eyes out thinking you weren’t coming home this time! Just to get up the next day and pretend like everything was alright! Do you know how emotionally exhausting this has been for me?!”

He hadn’t thought about that. Guilt settled in his chest and started to build in his throat as he listened to your rant, which soon brought you to sob.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m home…” he whispered pulling you into his strong arms, wrapping them around you.

Any resistance you had melted away against his warmth. You gave in and buried your face into his neck.

“I’m home. I’m with you and everything’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” he repeated as he soothed you with gentle kisses on the crown of your head. His palm rubbed circles against your back.

Your body was yearning for him. He could tell from the way your nails clung onto his shirt. His fingers lifted your chin to catch your gaze.

“Look at me. I’m right here. I’m with you and I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he whispered with a thumb wiping your tears away.

“I got you, hm?”

Sealing his promise with a kiss, your body softened and accepted his kiss. Then his tongue. You could feel it building in your core. That familiar lust that had haunted you during his absence. That craving that couldn’t be quenched.

Like magnets, your bodies had lost against the invisible pull. His hands slipped down to your thighs, guiding them as you straddled his lap. The heated kiss was unbroken until your hands tugged at his olive-green shirt to release it from the tuck of his camouflaged pants. You helped him pull it off over his head as he helped you remove the Pink Floyd t-shirt that once belonged to him before becoming your favorite nightgown.

As your lips collided once again – more feverish than before –, your hands roamed down to unbuckle his belt. The metal clinked as it hit the floor. John wasted no time to lay you down against the mattress. You needed him and there he finally was to take care of you. God, how he’d missed your taste.

He whispered continuous praises as his bushy beard brushed against your delicate skin, peppering kisses down to your breasts. His mouth closed around your hardening nipples, suckling them with eyes closed to relish their fullness and warmth.

“My beautiful wife. Missed you so fucking much.”

His hand kneaded each of them as he squeezed your flesh to his face. He could’ve stayed there forever, but he was eager to please you.

He forced himself up as he stood back on his knees, sat against his heels. His gaze on you was loving as if admiring a sculpture he’d carved from his own dreams. “I love you” fell from his lips over and over again, like a prayer in between the tender kisses he pressed against your legs, lifting them to rest against his broad shoulders. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them up your legs and tosses them to the floor. His eyes locked on yours was more than enough to cause your core to puddle. You could feel the slick building with every kiss.

He wasted no time settling between your thighs, trailing his kisses over your outer labia. This was about making you feel good. Making it sink into your brain that he was finally fucking home.

With your legs bent up over his shoulders, he moaned as he buried his mouth against your plush slick flush. One hand slid up to your breast as the other locked its fingers with your own. You moaned and wiggled against him.

He devoured you and smiled to himself as he watched the way your body arched in pleasure. The salty sweet taste of you liquefied his insides. He could feel him twitching as his cock hardened on the bed. After months of bottling in all his desires and having to satisfy himself with his hand and a photo of you in lingerie, his thirst for you was erupting beyond control. He had to remind himself that this was going to be about you.

His hips began rocking against the bed at the sounds your body was making. He was so eager to fuck you, but he had to contain himself to make it last. Yet his hunger for you had his hips grinding against the mattress, aching for any type of friction he could get as he battled with his self-control. His cock spasmed in his pants with every gentle tug on his hair or scrape of your nails on his scalp.

With his tongue building up your orgasm, it lapped over your folds and concentrated on the overly sensitive nub. He swiped and swiveled over it; the pressure in your depths grew into hot white pleasure. You weren’t going to last much longer.

The hand on your breast slid down your scorching skin to hold your hips firmly in place as you wriggled, wrestling against the implosion and failing terrible to resist until you finally caved in. Your body trembled as your legs shut on either side of his head. He smiled as he proudly admired your reaction, enjoying how quickly your chest rose and fell. The leaking precum from his dick was beginning to sink through his boxers and pants; he was almost certain he’d left a wet spot on the bedsheet.

He lifted himself off and was unable to wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock. Kicking his pants off provided you a moment to regain yourself and admired the way his muscles contracted under his skin. This big burly man was yours, all yours.

As he crawled back between your legs and aligned himself to penetrate, you both watched his head slowly push in through your soaking pussy in burning anticipation lathered with only the spit on his fingertips.

His eyes closed tightly shut as he bottomed out and held himself there for a moment, controlling his own increasing implosion.

You could tell he was struggling a bit between satisfying you both and giving into his own carnal needs. You cradled the sides of his face and gently guided him down to kiss him in an attempt to distract him from the wonderful hug of your cunt on his cock.

With an arm propped on the side of your head, he kissed you hungrily as his hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh and pushed your hips against his. His groin brushing on your swollen nub sent fireworks bursting through your nerves, forcing a shy moan from your throat. He smiled and pulled his head back to look down at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As his lips latched onto your neck, his hips pulled back and slowly thrusted forward to begin his pace. Slow and gentle, but so deliciously full and stretched. You held your breath with every push and pull of his cock, clenching around it to hold him inside. You’d never let him go if you could. His cock in you made you feel so completed like this is where you both were meant to be.

His pace started to quicken. A sheen coat of sweat glazed your bodies in the cool blue light of the moon that rained in from the tall windows of your bedroom. The searing heat had begun to bubble from the inside out, oozing from your desperate desire to feel each other deeper.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed out the open door and into the hallway. His balls slammed against your perineum as your wetness began coating the bedsheet underneath, staining it with remnants of love and lust.

With labored breaths, he hugged you tightly against him with his other arm. It was building up in you for the second time and you could tell it was building in him as well. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your toes curled against his hips. The tight embrace of your pussy as you came again had him frantically hammering into you as praises flooded out from his lips.

“Feel so fucking good for me. I-I fucking love you, baby. L-love you so much.”

Releasing you to lock your fingers together, he shuddered with a deep moan and slowed to a stop. You milked every drop. The hot load filled you with an incomparable warmth in your depths. Your walls were coated in his pearly white seed.

He panted as he held himself in your cunt for a moment longer until he finally pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him. His hands reached out for you and pulled you into his arms. Perfectly nestled against his hairy chest, you smiled to yourself. His heart beating against your ear was the final reminder that he was home. He was here and he was all yours.

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #john kinley x you #john kinley x reader #john kinley x y/n #john kinley the covenant

313 notes · View notes

saccharineomens · 1 year

Text

A small Chainsaw Man Analysis

They're referencing this post:

(Sorry i can't respond to your ask directly, tumblr kept crashing)

LMAO ok Anon you win but I can’t promise this will be very articulate or coherent

Ok so when I first heard about Chainsaw Man I heard it was The Manga Of All Time and the anime has been Majorly Hyped and Everyone Loves It so I was curious. Then I went and watched the anime and I was like ‘huh ok I mean. It’s good but it’s not like mindblowing.’

Then I read the manga all the way to the end of part 1 and I understood.

So the world of Chainsaw Man is set in a Fucking Bleak reality. Like, overwhelmingly so. The fact that devils exist and can murder humans on a whim and it’s basically treated as an unavoidable inconvenience because how the hell can you stop them, really, when they’re functionally immortal? The best you can do is kill them, send them to Hell, and hope they don’t die there and revive back on Earth. The protagonist is a 16 year old orphan who sold parts of his body to pay off a “noodle incident” debt inherited from his father, and then the kid was murdered by the yakuza he owed money to because they decided they liked devils, actually, and didn’t want him around killing them. In CHAPTER ONE. Why would anyone enjoy reading about a story set in a world like this?

Because of Aki, and Power, and the family Denji created with them. It takes a while for the ball to get rolling in the story, because they’re strangers at the beginning, but any manga reader is gonna know what I mean when I talk about how they love each other. Denji comes across as a sex-obsessed, horny teen, but that’s just because he craves emotional intimacy and sex is the only way he thinks he could get it. The truth is that his shower/bath with Power was the exact kind of vulnerability and intimacy he was craving, and it WASN’T sexy. The narrative didn’t treat it as sexy. Denji even notes that it wasn’t sexy, to his surprise, but it was nice to be able to be vulnerable with another person. Then there’s Aki, who imprinted on Denji and Power so hard he straight-up was considering quitting being a devil hunter so he could just live a normal life with his new family. He was willing to abandon his obsession with the gun devil, something that he’d been driving his will to live for years, for them. It was Himeno’s death and the letter he read that made him realize that the life of a country mouse might not be so bad, if it’s with the people he loves. (I know that’s a loaded sentence out of context but manga readers know what I mean when I bring up the country mouse, right)

I bring all of this up to show how even in a grim, dark, depressing world like Chainsaw Man, there is hope; and that hope comes in the form of love. Love in a general, not romantic, sense. Love of having toast and jam for breakfast, love of a movie, love of a family.

Now, to Makima.

Makima is Really Fucking Goddamn Powerful. She is literally reality breaking, almost as much as Chainsawman. (For the purposes of this essay, I’m referring to Pochita/Chainsawman and Denji as separate entities.) Makima is able to control anyone so long as she feels she has power over them, and she has a contract with the fucking Prime Minister. That’s a terrifying power. She’s literally the manifestation of the fear of being controlled.

And that’s a lonely existence.

Pochita/Chainsawman says it himself. When you’re so powerful, you struggle to make connections with people. Either they worship you and put you on a pedestal, or they fear you. You can’t get close to anyone, no matter how hard you try. The only way Pochita was able to do so was because Denji had no idea who Chainsawman was.

Makima doesn’t show this emotional weakness of hers, because it directly opposes her powers. If people saw her as needing connections with other people, they wouldn’t respect/fear her, and she would literally become weaker as a result. (The same way that as Chainsawman becomes more beloved by the general populace as a Hero, he becomes weaker.) But there’s a point where we, the audience, get to see this side of her. In her date with Denji.

Quick recap (of one of the best chapters in the whole manga, thematically): Denji and Makima go on a date at a movie theater. They sit and watch like six movies in a row over the course of the day. The first five are packed with people and are funny/entertaining, but not very deep. Neither Denji nor Makima are very impressed with these. Then…I’ll just post the comic here.

The final movie they see is more of an indie arthouse film. Most importantly, it shares an intimate, vulnerable moment between two people who hug. Denji cries because he sees this thing he craves, as I’ve elaborated on. Then he looks over and sees that Makima is also crying. We already know why, as Pochita said: she is unable to get close to anyone, due to the nature of her powers and the nature of her being a devil. Because of this, Makima craves connections with other people.

Makima straight up tells the audience why she’s doing the things she’s doing. If she has control over Chainsawman, she can have him eat other devils and create a world where those fears never existed. She truly, honestly believes this would make a happier life for humans. But the problem with that mentality is that in a world without bad things, in a world without fear…there’s no good things, either. How do you tell how “good” a good thing is, if you have nothing to compare it against? How can you tell that one in five movies is “good”, if you don’t experience the other four?

Why would anyone enjoy reading about a story set in a world like this? Because despite all of the horrible things that happens, love exists. It shows up over and over and over again. Love exists. It was there. It mattered. It was worth fighting for.

That brings me to the conversation between Makima and Denji I love so much, and why the end of Part 1 works so well.

Makima thinks that a world without bad movies fear would be better. She thinks that in this world, she could be loved. She thinks that in this world, humans could be happy forever because they never suffer hardship.

And Denji knows for a fact that that's wrong, because without bad movies, the good movies don't stand out. You can't say that jam and toast is a great breakfast if all you've ever eaten is jam and toast for breakfast.

And that's why Makima is tragic (because she's never experienced the love that Denji has, and never experienced the hardships he has), and that's why Makima is wrong.

And all of this, the whole conflict of the story, is summed up in three lines between Denji and Makima in a graveyard. It's perfect.

#it's also why i love makima. she's such a great character #chainsaw man #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man analysis #csm #csm spoilers #makima #denji #denji hayakawa #op #axbox #anon

358 notes · View notes

dot-https · 6 months

Text

saiteru except teruhashi is a princess, and her brother is set to take over the throne with not-so-secret plans to marry her as soon as he does so. she hates him. she hates him so much.

alternatively, saiki is just A Guy in the palace. his parents work there, and his plan is to essentially work up enough money and buy his own retirement somewhere in the goddamn edge of the world if he can. its unheard of for anyone to ever want to stop working for the royal family, but its also unheard of for anyone to be a psychic. so.

anyways, one day hes acting as a sort of messenger (against his will) and is just trying to give teruhashi a letter so he can fuck off but he just . he hears this argument and it completely blindsides him. makoto, the prince, the future king, is proposing to his sister.

and saiki, who hasnt spoken to someone who isnt his parents in a long, long time, just absentmindedly says "good grief. if this is going to be the king, then i really do need to leave."

oh fuck. oh god???? he said that out loud, and makoto is actually about to behead him on the spot, isnt he, but then teruhashi chimes in, laughing desperately.

"oh--" (oh shit uhhh fuck what did him mom call him again??? a perfect pretty princess should know this!!! ku...ku? Kuku!) "--kuku!, so-um, so silly!! Hahahahaha, isnt he silly, brother?"

and so the story goes like this: teruhashi and saiki are such close amazingly chummy bffs, and that whole thing was just an inside joke, really, and now they have to hang out a ton to sell the story (and not because teru is crushing. Hard. of course not. thad be preposturous.)

#saiki no psi nan #saiki k #terusai #teruhashi kokomi #teruhashi makoto #saiki x teruhashi

86 notes · View notes

triple-asstro · 1 year

Text

car troubles | joel miller x reader

word count: 1.7k

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x gn reader

summary: you and joel find bill's letter and talk about it in the car. ellie interrupts with a special surprise.

ao3 link

song: Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald

Cars; it seems like with every passing day, you began to practically live in a car. Of course, you tried to feel lucky that you even had a car, to begin with but after the sixth time sleeping inside one, the sight gets quite boring which meant the brief visit to Bill’s house seemed like unknown territory. The domestic wallpaper and feel of the home felt almost unnatural, considering the horrors and previous buildings you stayed in, it was hard to remember that there was a time when you lived in a fully furnished home where water and electricity came as a guarantee. As Joel was getting a warm shower and dressed upstairs, you were left with Ellie; to make sure that she didn’t ‘burn the goddamn place down’ in Joel’s words.

“Why’s that clock so tall?” Ellie asked.

“Huh?” you responded, looking towards where she pointed to see a rickety old grandfather clock standing against the wall. “It’s a grandfather clock.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never seen a grandfather clock before?” you inquired, slightly forgetting that Ellie’s never seen much of the outside world. You approached the clock, swiping some dust off the glass window as Ellie got up from her chair to observe as well.

“Woah, you can see the little spiky circles move!” Ellie exclaimed, trying to point at the inner mechanisms of the clock.

“Cogs,” you stated, swatting her hand away. “Those are cogs, Ellie. Try not to touch them.”

“Fine, I swear I won’t touch the little spiky circles…” she sighed, raising her hands up and landing back into her chair with a huff. You smiled, giving her some form of endearment combated with Joel’s harsh but understandable defences. You’d known the man yourself for as long as you can remember; the first encounter you could remember was when you handed him your extra set of rations cards. That one act of kindness, that one act of selflessness was enough to pique Joel towards you and the rest is history.

As you reminisced on those memories, you heard a thumping noise echo from the stairs. That noise sent you rushing in front of Ellie, pocket knife in hand.

“Joel?!” you called out, uncertainty wobbled your voice. Silence filled the air for about three minutes before Joel appeared through the doorframe wearing a dark green flannel t-shirt and dark blue jeans. His eyes widened at the new sight of you pointing a knife at him with Ellie behind you. “I just dropped something in the shower, no need for the knife.”

“You look… nice,” you mumbled, tucking the knife back in your pocket.

“Yeah, you too,” Joel responded, hanging his head low.

“Hey lovebirds, I’d think you might wanna hear this,” Ellie said, holding an envelope in her hand.

You scoffed at the snide remark and approached behind her, silently skimming the contents. You kept reading until you felt your heart sink at the sight of your name in Bill’s scratchy handwriting.

"I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong. Because there was one person worth saving. That's what I did: I saved him. And I protected him. That's why men like you and me are here: We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave all of my weapons to you and equipment. Use them to keep—"

At this point, Ellie stopped her sentence. She kept curling her lips, biting back whatever snarky remark she had in her mind before you motioned to her to give you the letter. She let her grip go and gave the letter to you, leaving you to read the next part out loud.

“Use them to keep Tess and that person you keep talking about safe. You and I both know that you will since you won’t shut the fuck about them. Just promise me that Joel. Bill.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as your arm lowered down, letting the letter slump down. You’d honestly thought that throughout the entire time, you had known Joel, he was indifferent about you; that to him, you were merely an afterthought. But now, another perspective was flooding your mind, a thought that you meant something to him.

“Joel look, I’m sorry about-“

“Let’s get this straight, we don’t talk about Tess. In fact, we keep our histories to ourselves. Got it?”

“Got it…” Ellie whispered, hanging her head down and twiddling with her fingers. The rest of the journey leaving the house and getting into Bill’s car felt like a mindless haze to you after reading that letter. Did Bill’s writing really tell the truth? Joel talked about you? The thought circled your mind like sheep circling a herder as the car started to roll out of the garage and through the metal gates as the roaring music of Linda Ronstadt started to slowly fade away.

It’d been a few hours since you left Bill’s house and the uncomfortable unease started to seep in. You were now back to gruelling hours in the car instead of the comforting home. You rested your head on the top of the car seat, hearing the thumping noises of the tires hitting the pavement along with the snoring of a sleeping Ellie. When you first met the little child, you were quite surprised to see a kid who still had a sense of childlike glee and swearing like a sailor in this world.

“She asleep?”

“Huh? Oh, yup, laying like a puppy,” you responded, looking back from your seat to see an asleep Ellie laid out on the backseat.

“Heh, good. We’re gonna be driving for another four hours.” Joel said, an annoyed sigh escaped your lips.

“Now I’m starting to wish I was asleep. Kid’s lucky.”

“Then, take a nap. Don’t want you feeling tired.” Joel advised, a soft concern washed in his eyes as you side-eyed him.

“I’m not tired, honest.”

“Well somethin' gotta be on your mind, you’ve been quiet the whole ride.”

You sighed, rolling your head to your right to face Joel. It was hard to articulate every single thought swirling through your brain, but you couldn’t let the awkwardness stay any longer.

“Back at Bill’s, and when Ellie read that letter,” you muttered, the words feeling like heavy stones, “Was that true?”

Joel paused, his eyes fixated on the road as he let out a heavy sigh. You always knew Joel wasn’t exactly a words person; that was evident since day one. You couldn’t blame him since the fungal apocalypse isn’t exactly kind to emotions. It doesn’t care whether that clicker looks like a beloved family member and it sure as hell doesn’t care about simple things like vulnerability. You could find a certain person, someone who lights you up and fills your very being and then, next thing you know they’re being chomped on by a runner and you’re alone again. Some people find that it’s worth it; the vulnerability, if it means getting to be accompanied again if it means feeling that excitement and that spark. Joel knew this well, and originally, he’d been against the idea. But something within his heart told him that this time, it would stay.

“Yeah… it’s true, alright.”

Little did Joel know, those simple words of confirmation made your heart

“Thank you,” you said, making Joel’s head perk up as you flashed him a sweet smile. “That means a whole lot to me.”

“No problem…” he muttered. As you turned back towards Ellie, you noticed a tiny roll of paper barely sticking out of her backpack’s zipper. Curiosity struck you, driving you to sneakily yank the backpack away from the sleeping child and dropped it onto your lap.

As you slowly pulled the roll out of its opening, you could barely stifle your childish giggles. “Oh my fucking god…”

“What?”

“Ellie stole a fucking porn mag from Bill’s.” you snickered, showing the cover towards Joel as he made a shocked expression.

“Jesus fucking christ, that kid’s gonna drive me insane…” he said, a tiny chuckle coming from his mouth only added to your roaring laughter.

“Hey, where’s my backpack?” Ellie groggily asked, eyes widening at the magazine in your hand.

“Look who’s awake, wanna explain this, Ellie?” you teased, tossing the magazine back at her.

Ellie caught the magazine and, catching Joel’s concerned look, began to flip through the pages.

“Don’t read that, Ellie, it’s not for kids.”

“Woah!” Ellie exclaimed as the magazine unravelled vertically, which almost sent you to tears. “How the hell would he even walk around with that thing?”

“Get rid of that, Ellie-”

“Hold your horses, I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

“Oh my god,” you said, wiping tears away from your eyes as Joel shot you a stern look. “This is hilarious.”

“Huh, why are all these pages stuck together?”

Both you and Joel paused, silently trying to formulate how you were going to explain this to Ellie before she let out a chuckle.

“I’m just fucking with you both,” she said, rolling down the rain-covered window and chucking the magazine out. “Bye-bye, dude!”

You watched the magazine tumble and disappear into the misty road before a realization struck your mind and made you search through your pack.

“Y/N, I swear to god-”

“It’s not another one, jeez!” you exclaimed, pulling out an old cassette tape. “It’s this.”

“Ooh hey, Joel, that make you all nostalgic?” Ellie playfully questioned as you handed Joel the cassette.

“You know, this is actually before my time,” Joel answered, putting the cassette in the music player. “Still, this is a classic.”

The words: “Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald” flashed across the tiny screen in fluorescent green as the jazzy melody flooded through the dusty speakers.

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you" Birds singin' in the sycamore trees Dream a little dream of me

The sharp tune of trumpets and the beautiful scatting vocals lulled you into a sense of comfort once again. It’s moments like these that you yearned for; the comforting moments of peace and calm that to the original world would be normal. Moments that bring a sense of home and togetherness, that’s what people want, especially now. Even in the apocalypse, it’s important to keep your loved ones close and cherish every single moment you have with them, you never know when that moment could be your last.

Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me While I'm alone and blue as can be Dream a little dream of me

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

#joel miller x reader #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us spoilers

347 notes · View notes

helpimstuckposting · 2 months

Text

Advice

Song: Advice by Cavetown

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Playlist

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z

—

Eddie wasn’t unfamiliar with bad days. In fact, he’d say he was intimately familiar with them. Biblically, even, since they’d fucked him so often. And usually he was able to adjust, to improvise, to calm down and save any serious outbursts for the privacy of his own bedroom. Or van, depending on how truly awful the day was.

Today, he didn’t make it to his room, or to the van. Instead, he walked right out of his last class of the day and trudged straight to the picnic table in the woods behind the school. He figured he had around twenty minutes to get his anger out before someone tramped along looking to buy weed. He was too wired to sit, so he set his little black lunchbox on the table, and started pacing back and forth to try and relieve some pent up energy.

He was off to a rough start from the second his alarm went off. Or didn’t go off, in the case of that morning. Somehow, the stupid electricity in the trailer had gone out at some point in the middle of the night and reset the clocks, making Eddie an hour late to the start of his day. He’d skipped breakfast, and forgot his smokes in the process which meant that all of his teachers were more unbearable than usual.

Then, he skipped lunch to run across the street and buy a pack from the convenience store to take the edge off, but apparently his dad was in town because the man behind the counter had called him Junior with that face people made when they treated him like shit splattered across their shoes. If Al was in town that meant either he hadn’t bothered to check in on his son, or Wayne was keeping it from him and both options pissed Eddie off.

On top of that, Mrs. Click had lost his essay and then claimed he’d never turned it in which was bullshit because Eddie knew for a fact he’d turned it in on time, he’d stayed up all night writing it. In between classes, someone had graffitied “Satanist Freak” on his locker, which normally wouldn’t bother Eddie at all but then he’d gotten yelled at to clean it up, like anyone would think he wrote it himself. The authority figures in this batshit town were driving him insane.

As if that weren’t fucking enough Tommy goddamn Hagan (who Eddie was pretty sure had written the little love letter on his locker) had deliberately poured his entire water bottle on Eddie’s lap in the middle of class, and then played it off as an accident to the teacher. He’ll probably get detention for ditching after that, but Eddie was fucking exhausted. Why him? Why did everything have to hit the fan all at once? Couldn’t he just have one bad thing happen per day? He’d take one bad thing a day for the rest of his life over all the shit piled on top of him in the last seven hours.

And! Eddie was sure the fact that his father was in town would bite him even harder in the ass until the son a bitch left again. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to see his smarmy fucking face after the last time he was in town and conned Eddie out of his savings and the contents of his lunchbox. It was fucking ludicrous that the town hated him for his father when Eddie got the worst end of the stick his whole life. At least the other people could avoid him, could walk away or, hell, even call the cops on the bastard if they wanted. Eddie couldn’t ever get away from him. Every time Eddie even looked at a mirror, Al Munson looked back.

He could feel the buzzing adrenaline bubbling up behind his eyes, stabbing its claws into his sinuses. His hands shook as he tugged them through his hair and he could not let this shitty day make him cry. He wasn’t going to let the town win, let his teacher and Tommy win, let Al Munson win. He clenched his stupid shaking hands into fists and dug his nails in as hard as he could, trying to steady his breathing, but it didn’t work. He could feel the build up behind his eyes and all the shitty events of the day clogging his throat like it was strangling him from the inside.

He let out a frustrated yell, grabbing his lunchbox from the table and using all of his energy to chuck it across the little clearing, across the lunch table, and straight into a tree. It smashed against the bark with a rattle, hitting the ground without even breaking the latch. Eddie knew the thing wouldn’t break, though it might have been sporting a few new scratches and a dent. It made him feel a little better, though. Maybe he could understand why someone would do sports. Maybe. Sometimes.

“Damn, you ever try shot put?” a voice called out through the clearing.

Eddie whipped his head around to find the king himself, Steve Harrington sauntering towards the picnic table. Schools out then, he thought, grumbling in his mind like a child. Of course The King would need to stock up, it was a Friday after all.

“With an arm like that, you’d do pretty well,” he added when Eddie didn’t respond.

“I don’t know what the fuck shop put is, but I’m not in the mood, Harrington,” Eddie called back, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping a boot onto the wooden bench next to him. The second he did, he felt like an idiot, like some kind of alpha-male posturing to seem tougher. He put his foot back on the ground.

“It’s shot put, it’s… never mind,” Steve cut himself off. “Anyway… uh.” He looked nervous, rubbing his hands awkwardly before shoving them into the pockets of his pristine blue jeans. It eased some of the tension in Eddie’s shoulders. He wanted to laugh. He made the king nervous, made him look a bit scared, even. It was comical. Wayne would think it was downright hilarious.

“What do you want, Harrington?” Eddie called. The King was still standing by the treeline, a good few yards of space between them.

“Do you have any joints left? Maybe a baggie of flower or something?” he responded. Eddie rolled his eyes. The royal court was predictable, as always.

“Like I said, I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay extra,” Steve added, shrugging his shoulders. Eddie paused, contemplating the offer. He did need the money, he always needed the money, and he knew Harrington was good for it. Eddie could probably double the price and The King wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He sighed, glancing at his toppled lunch box on the ground. Eddie rolled his eyes, deciding the money was worth more than his peace and quiet. He cracked his neck before trudging over to the black metal box, noticing Steve’s flinch as he did. The boy tried to cover it, Eddie could tell, but he wasn’t quick enough and Eddie couldn’t quite hide his smirk as he snatched the lunchbox up and walked back to the table.

He sat down, placed the container on the rough wooden surface, and gestured to the bench opposite him. The King paused briefly before joining him, sitting down quietly and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“How many joints?” Eddie asked.

“How many you got?”

He glanced into the lunchbox, stomach aching as he shoved the actual lunch aside to open the little metal Altoids tin. He had four joints left, a few less than Harrington’s usual haul, but enough. He gathered them all up, pulling out an empty baggie and wrapping the joins up tight. Eddie held up the baggie for Harrington to take before grabbing another, prepacked with an eighth of flower.

“Eighth or a quarter?” Eddie asked, grabbing a second baggie.

“You got a half?” Harrington asked, squinting a little like he was sheepish to ask the question. Eddie would have found it cute if he wasn’t so annoyed at that moment. He rolled his eyes instead.

“If I had a half, I would have asked, Princess,” he snapped. If Harrington had looked sheepish before, he looked downright contrite now. It made Eddie feel a little bad, but he held his glare without backing down. The world had been shit to him today, he didn’t have to care about hurting The Kings feelings.

“An eighth or a quarter ounce, Harrington?” he asked again.

“Quarter,” he mumbled. Eddie pulled both baggies out, holding them toward Harrington to take. He didn’t. Instead he looked from the baggies to Eddie’s face, eyes contemplating something and Eddie hoped like hell that Steve wouldn’t ask, but like everything else today, the world didn’t listen.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Eddie’s anger reared its ugly head again.

“I don’t want to talk, Harrington.”

“Are you sure? Because you kind of look like you need it. Are you okay?” he asked again.

“You want a hint?” Eddie snarked, snatching the baggies back. If His Highness wasn’t taking his gold then Eddie could keep it for himself for all he cared. “Are you hungry?” Eddie asked him.

Steve looked confused, his brows scrunching together like he was trying to connect the pieces of conversation that was running away from him.

“I… why?” he asked.

“Because you can eat my fucking shorts, Harrington. I said I don’t want to talk, so take the weed, leave the cash, and leave me the fuck alone,” Eddie spat, tossing the baggies between them on the table.

“I just mean, maybe I can help! Give you some advice or-“

“I know you’re trying to help, it’s very nice of you to pay your loyal subjects some attention but you don’t know anything about me, okay? I don’t need your advice, and I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Eddie gave up, decided this was a failed transaction and he should pack his shit and leave. He made a move to stand, reaching for the baggies on the picnic table, but he was beaten to the punch. Harrington grabbed the baggies out from under his hand, quickly tossing way too many bills on the wooden table. Forget double, Eddie’s pretty sure it was enough for a whole ounce. He stared, dumbfounded, at the cash in front of him and looked back up at Harrington. He was standing now, just a step away from the bench he’d been sitting on a second ago.

Eddie snatched the cash and tried to reign in his expression. He wasn’t really sure what his face was doing, couldn’t tell if he’d schooled it or not, but Harrington wasn’t giving anything away.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I swear.” He held a hand up, like Eddie was some kind of rabid animal Steve was trying to placate. “I just… I know what it feels like to not have anyone to talk to. So, like… if you need an ear-“

“I don’t ’need an ear’, Harrington, I need you to get out of my face, I need your court jester Tommy to leave me the fuck alone, and clean my locker while he’s at it! I need Mrs. Click to find my fucking essay because I’m already failing her class, and I need people in this godawful town to stop treating me like I’m just a clone of my father!” Eddie yelled. He huffed out a large breath, startled at his own outburst. By the glint in Steve’s eye, it was exactly what he’d been trying to pry out of Eddie. He looked pleased that he’d just been screamed at, and it just pushed all of Eddie’s buttons.

How the fuck did he even do that? They didn’t talk. Steve bought weed from him before his parties, and ignored him in the hallway. That was it. That’s all they ever were. So how the hell did he just get Eddie to tell him what was bothering him? Maybe the town was wrong, and they got the wrong witch when they put Eddie up on a pyre. He felt the sudden urge to yell ‘I saw Goody Harrington with the Devil!’. Somehow, he didn’t think that would make this conversation any better.

Eddie crossed his arms like a petulant child, and he couldn’t help but notice Steve slot his hands onto his hips like some kind of scolding housewife. Everything Harrington was doing made Eddie feel smaller and smaller.

“Just… leave me alone,” Eddie sighed, feeling deflated. “I don’t owe you anything, okay? You’re not my friend, you’re not my mom,” Eddie rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at Steve’s soccer mom stance. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, and Eddie watched as he took the hands off his hips and shoved them back into his pockets. Eddie couldn’t decide if Steve’s jeans were more dad jean or mom jean but he shook the thought from his head before he figured it out.

“Right… well,” Steve sighed, pulling a hand out of his pocket and patting it lightly on his thigh. Eddie had a sudden flash of Steve wearing horn rimmed glasses, saying ‘Welp, I better hit the road’, and Eddie couldn’t figure out when Steve had gone from King to Single Father during the span of their conversation. “Thanks for the… stuff,” Steve said awkwardly. Jesus Christ, Eddie needed to get a hold of himself and quickly. It was ridiculous how endearing he was finding this, and being weirdly attracted to a father figure act was not something he needed to be unpacking right now.

“Thanks for the cash,” Eddie said back, just as awkwardly tossing a salute in and immediately wanting to jump off a cliff. He needed to get out of here. Quickly, he packed up his lunchbox, tossing the cash inside before latching it shut. He turned back toward the direction of the school parking lot and prayed that Steve would let him go without another word. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it felt a lot like tucking his tail between his legs.

“See you next Friday!” Steve called out behind him.

Eddie was halfway back to the trailer before he realized the weight in his chest was significantly lighter than it had been all day. He tallied it up to Steve being in league with the devil. They’d go back to not speaking in the hallways, and he’d forget all about their conversation today, and that was it. Eddie just hoped he’d forget it too, and tried not to think about exactly how many witch��s marks Steve might have that Eddie couldn’t see.

—

This was inspired by me being unhinged and thinking of Steddie literally every single time a song came on from my playlist so I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could write 26 of them. If anyone wants to try this challenge, go for it! I just thought it would be fun. I linked the playlist above, and I might add or subtract songs to it depending on how I'm feeling

Tagging some people who might be interested or helped me out with picking songs! Thank you for the suggestions (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @devondespresso @captncalamity @sluttysteddie @blahblah-hilariousname-blah @cringevalue @thereallifecath

#stranger things fic #songfic #a-z songfic challenge #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #advice by cavetown #hurt/comfort #pre steddie #no upside down au #pre upside down #really this fits wherever you want it to #pre season 4 stranger things #steddie fic #fanfiction #helpimstuckwriting

27 notes · View notes

mybrokenveins3000 · 8 months

Text

Everyday Rockstar - College!Ross Macdonald

A/N: Hi babies, me again. College!Ross was only supposed to be a oneshot but my delusional ass going-to-uni-in-two-weeks self wants more. Like I always say, delusion is manifestation. Anyways, enjoy!

word count: 1.1k

♫ The City - The 1975

The annoying one on your course invited you to one of his band's gigs. You weren't expecting much, I mean, this was Matty we're talking about. You could see it now, him parading across the stage with a beer bottle in hand and his shirt unbuttoned. However, what you weren't expecting was who he'd been sharing the stage with.

You and your coursemates are running a bit late. Despite it being two months since you moved out here to the city, you're all still figuring it out - the right bus routes to take, how much alcohol is too much, what shoes not to wear on any given occasion.

The wet, November pavement reflects the air back colder than it is. As you open the doors, you accept the warmth in the pub like an old friend. Your entrance is punctuated by loud drums and droning vocals, not to mention THE 1975 printed in blocked letters on what seems to be a pinned up old bedsheet. Yup, definitely Matty's band.

Your preconceptions were correct. There Matty was scantily-clad with a bottle in hand. But not of beer - wine. How pretentious. So French New Wave of you, you thought.

But next to him was someone familiar.

"Ross?" you whisper to yourself. You stand in shock, squinting hard as if to take a picture. You are mesmerised by the simultaneous nonchalant power and peace he brings on stage.

It caught you off guard how incongruous the History student was to the setting and yet how perfectly he fit in a dark, sultry place like this. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a far cry from that hoodie you stole from him just a month prior.

You and your mates walk into a gap in the crowd, not so dissimilar to a clearing in the woods. The song ends to which you all clap and holler as if your life depended on it. As you scream with adoration, he spots you.

His eyes widen like a child opening presents on Christmas. He smiles a smile so genuine it puts all of Matty's theatrics to shame. He's doing that thing where he looks down at the floor smiling, plays with the chain around his neck for a second. He's something out of a movie scene.

"Isn't that the guy you're hooking up with?" a disembodied head notices and exclaims behind you. You open your mouth but a response doesn't form. It's a yes or no question and yet neither response fits.

Ever since you met at that goddamn party, poured your heart out to each other, and ended up doing your laundry together, you both knew it would never be just hooking up. Heck, you haven't even done anything of that nature (yet), you've just been kissing, hanging out. Yes or no doesn't fit these weird romantically and sexually charged interactions you both have been having over the past month. So you turn to her and just shrug, mouth an "I don't know" much to both your confusion.

"This is a song called The City," Matty slurs down the mic. The percussion kicks in, heavy and confident.

There's a second before the other instruments follow suit where you wave at Ross and he waves back. It's this secret moment that's just yours. Blink and you'll miss it.

"You wanna find love, well, you know where the city is," your coursemate exclaims, like a drunken beat poet.

The bass rings right through you, your whole body reverberating under his hands, with every string he plucks. He catches glances at you as you bob your head and sway, eyes closed to really feel it. When your eyes aren't closed, you think he's made to be looked at like a Greek God on high platforms and by crowds bigger than these. It's like this for the entire show.

---

After the show, the pub is electric.

Matty's weak fist hits the side of your arm as he cries, "Ross is waiting for you outside!"

"Fuck you! You're actually not half bad, you know!" you hit him back with all the force he lacks and rush out through to the back smoking area.

The wet, cold air greets you as you walk through the door. "Ooh, it's cold out here," you shiver. Ross is right by the door, having just taken a cigarette out of the box. He's surprised by your arrival but smiles that same warm smile. "Matty said you asked for me?" you questioned.

The slightest eyebrow raise and air of confusion about him and you're prompted to go back the way you came. Trust Matty to embarrass you like that.

"No, no. Stay." Ross' hand grabs onto your wrist. His warm touch lingers a moment longer, it could melt your ice skin. It's a moment soundtracked by the muffled pop coming from inside and the hum of cars far away. You oblige to his request. He lets go of your wrist. You lean on the wall of the pub.

"Matty didn't mention you were a part of the band," you say, watching the buildings and stars twinkle in the distance, "as a matter of fact, YOU never told me you were a rockstar."

"I'm no rockstar," he laughs, raising the cigarette to his lips. Just as he lifts up his lighter, he decides to hand it to you. You step closer, looking at the lighter and then back at him. Since your first meeting, it always got so tense between the two of you. You light the cigarette, shielding the flame, hands grazing his lips ever so slightly. The smoke dances into the night as he blows out.

You break the silence. "Bass as well, best instrument out of them all... you were really good."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks.

"You were amazing... why didn't you mention it before?"

He touches his lips in contemplation, his gaze fixed on you taking in your smokey eyes and dark lips. You were made to foreground cityscapes, he wants to say. But all he manages is an "I don't know."

"God, if only I'd known I was brushing shoulders with a rockstar this whole time."

"Rockstar", he whispers. You catch him blushing almost as bright as the tip of the cigarette. You take note of his affinity to that particular word. An unconventional name to use on him later.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I love the city," you breathe out.

"The place or the song?"

"Both."

You wanna find love, well, you know where the city is. The lyrics, shared like a memory, waver in another moment of silence.

"Can I kiss you?" he finally says as he takes his cigarette from his mouth. His dark eyes are transfixed on your lips whilst he plays with his chain.

"Yes please."

And he kisses you. You fling your arms around his neck like you did that very first night. He wraps his jacket around you, as if to take all of you in.

He is the warmth when it's cold. He is the rare quiet to your fluorescent metropolis. The cigarette ash falls onto the pavement as it dwindles away in the background. The pop song inside fades to another. The cars keep passing through. It's another secret moment that is all yours.

A/N: FIRST AND FOREMOST, thank you to @hypersonic04 for help when I was brainstorming. You know I love you.

Right so I don't know Tumblr terminology, dunno what a blurb, oneshot etc. actually are. College!Ross was only supposed to be a oneshot (?), but because I'm continuing the story, it's technically not now, is it? Is it a series? I don't even know. I don't know what this is unravelling to be, in my head it's just a series of episodic vignettes in the same universe about the same person, not necessarily a series. If you have any input on the subject, by all means, tell me because I'm confusing myself.

Also, what do we think about college!Ross as a tag? I'm British so college means something different here, so when I write it I just have the image of a 16-year-old doing a vocational course in my head. The tag feels very American, but university!Ross or uni!Ross makes him sound like a unicorn or smth silly, student!Ross also sounds lame asf. ANYWAYS, I digress, I hope you liked this. And send me requests of what you wanna hear from me/just to chat <3 <3

90 notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶Upon reflection, it was obvious. The tragedy lurking under the surface of your intentions when you came over that night. He could sense something was off, but he ignored it, just wanting to see you smile on your birthday. Years later, standing across from you in a parking lot, he sure as fuck wasn't smiling.✶

NSFW — angst, eventual smut, slow burn, drug/alcohol mention/use, disordered eating by proxy of parent

chapter: 2/15 [wc: 3.3k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 2: Eddie's Worst Memory

––1982––

Eddie pedaled his bike as hard as could, cutting a stark line in the grass where he wove between trailers, keeping a sharp eye on the one across from his. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn. He hopped off his bike, and instead of putting it away properly, he gathered the groceries from the wire basket into his arms, and kicked it under the makeshift porch, out of sight. He wouldn’t necessarily mind if the bike was stolen, but he’d be about as upset as the original person he borrowed it from.

Slamming his shoulder into the door, he hurried his hoard to the kitchen counter and spilled it there, catching the jar of frosting from rolling off the edge. “Okay.” He inhaled deep through his nose and nodded at his task. The box of cake mix was dented. The carton of eggs was.. leaking onto the candles. However, in the early afternoon sun, the bottle of waxy pastel sprinkles shined delightfully. “Time to get to work.”

Using his finger to follow the line of directions, a crease matured between his eyebrows. “The hell is an egg white?”

~~~

It was worth it. It was worth it. It was goddamn going to be worth it.

“Stupid.. fucking,” he said through gritted teeth, scraping the bottom of the round pan, adding the shredded pieces of crispy cake to the top of his lumpy attempt at baking.

Around him, his kitchen was in an impressive state of disarray. More than usual. Two eggs were splattered on the floor. Powdery cake mix dusted every surface. His face was flushed red from having to make an emergency run to the grocery store a second time for spray oil (which he forgot to use) and his uncle’s instant coffee–it was the least he could do after waking him up by knocking over a skillet left on the stovetop. All in all, it was worth it. Kinda.

He stuck his tongue out in concentration. Spreaded the best layer of white frosting he could and mixed two drops of red coloring into the rest and dumped it in a ziploc bag, snipping the corner. With it, he wrote a message in thin pink letters on top.

It was rare he experienced this pang of joy in his chest. This exciting surge of antsy giddiness. His cheeks hurt from grinning, and he didn’t care if his uncle gave him an odd look for it.

Tossing the bag in the trash and sucking on his sticky fingers, Eddie Munson stepped back to admire his work, and as swiftly as the pride puffed out his chest, it popped his ego.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and reasoned with the cake, “How the fuck did I miss the ‘h’ in birthday?”

Uncle Wayne paused on his way out the door. “She comin’ over later?”

Contemplating starting the entire process over again, Eddie dragged a hand down his face and peered out the kitchen window at the infuriating closed curtains opposite his. “Yeah. Eventually.”

Wiggling his mustache back and forth, Wayne set his gaze on something in the distance. “You two are close, aren’t ya?”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“I left you somethin’ on your nightstand just in case, yanno, be safe, or what-have-ya.” He brought the mug of coffee to his lips and sipped loudly.

“We’re just friends,” Eddie enunciated, giving him a pointed stare from beneath his dark curly hair.

His uncle’s shoulders shook in an all-too-aware laugh. “That’s what I always told my parents.. until your dad caught us and ratted me out.” Zipping his work coveralls the rest of the way, he waved and made his exit. “Well, see ya.”

Eddie gesticulated at the trailer around him, bewildered. “Sure, bye, I guess after dropping that one on me.”

Silence fell where he stood. There was really nothing else for him to do to prepare for you coming over, besides checking the window once more to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind and that your mom’s car was indeed parked out front. Deciding to waste some time, he picked up his guitar in his room and worked on riffs to bring to the table for his band the next day.

But not before putting away the condoms on his nightstand first.

~~~

When Eddie next woke, darkness greeted him. Swallowed him whole. Disoriented him in the bathroom where he quickly brushed his teeth. Robbed his sight when he stumbled into his living room, where his beacon called to him. Your kitchen curtains were pulled back and you were at the sink washing dishes.

Flicking on a few lights, he opened the door and leaned into the frame, waiting for you to notice him.

You must’ve been lost in the trenches of your thoughts. Quite the while passed until you snapped your head up; he didn’t mind though, having the spare moments to observe you do something ordinary like a chore; entranced by the domestic act, and equally humbled as if it were an uneven bar routine he could watch you perform for hours on end. At this distance, he could see your face liven upon meeting his eye, and you slowed your motions, staring at him through the glass, the night sky, and everything else keeping you apart. You spoke to someone he couldn’t see. Your body language was calculated. Drying the plate in your hand during the brief exchange and setting it down gently, agreeing to what they were saying. Then, you picked up something and left.

In a flash, he was lifting his arm for you to duck under, and narrowed his eyes at the bundle you had hugged to your chest. “What’s that?”

You released a drawn out, “Uh,” at his question, biding your time to keep from answering. Searching for an empty space on his couch to put the neatly folded stack of clothes and opting for the cleaner coffee table. You set them down with care, tucking a tag into the collar. “It’s everything you let me have over the years. Band tees, jackets, a hoodie. I wanted to give them back to you.”

Confused, he shrugged you off. “They don’t mean that much to me. You can have them. I don’t care.”

You stared at them. A long tick of the second hand on the clock in his kitchen. An erratic desperation in your moves. Rocking in sync with your breaths. Bloodshot eyes and large pupils obsessing over each rip, each stain, each graphic tee he got at a concert you missed when you had an out of town meet. Biting at your chapped lips. Hiding your torn cuticles by stuffing your hands in the pockets of the jacket you wore.. His black jacket with a patch of Anthrax's anarchy symbol on the bicep, and beneath his jacket was his old baby blue 1977 Black Sabbath tour shirt.

He smiled. “What about the ones you’re wearing?”

“You really want this one from when you were a kid? It’s tight even on me, bu–t,” you elongated the vowel, “I did hear crop tops were coming back into fashion if you need it that badly.”

“I think I’ll pass for now, but thank you for the consideration.” You smiled, and it put him further on edge. Nothing about it was genuine; simply a hollow favor to keep him from prying. And it may be the first time in Eddie’s life he couldn’t discern what was bothering you. “Are you okay?”

“I just want us to have a normal night tonight. The usual.”

“Sure.. We can do that. To the Lonely Mountain?”

“To the Lonely Mountain.”

He followed you into his room and began rummaging through his shelves for the worn paperback. Behind him, you sunk into the mattress, serving as a reminder of your patience as the springs squeaked and he dug further into the recesses of his bookcase. It should’ve been easy to locate, having read from it last week, but he’d had a few advancements in his business, one could say, and now it was buried under bags of bud and other paraphernalia.

“Have you considered cleaning up in here every once in a while?”

“And have you miss out on this great show?” He smacked his ass, jangling the chains on his jeans. “Not a chance.”

“I hate being here.”

“You love being here.”

Digging to the very back, he found his used copy of The Hobbit at the exact time he heard another squeak of his mattress and a little ‘aw,’ sounding like you were cooing over something adorable.

“Hm?” He turned around and zeroed in on what you were fawning over.

You flipped through the spiral bound notebook of lyrics he forgot to put away. “You wrote this poem? These lines are really sweet, Ed–”

It was ripped from your hands and hurled over his shoulder. The notebook smacked the opposite wall, falling to the floor in a spectacular fanning of the pages. “Nope.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay..” Blinking, you clasped your hands politely to occupy the notebook-shaped space they created when he so rudely interrupted your innocent curiosity. “Uh.. Should we get to reading, then?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

With the intensity of his unwavering eye contact, he approached the bed, hardly waiting for you to make room for him before he was kneeling on the edge, climbing to lay in the middle. You shared his one pillow. Heads together. Bodies a mere suggestion of separation. Your hair mixed with his. He’d grown it past his ears and though you were laying on the ends, the weight of your body next to him was worth the pain. He’d endure it for the next eternity if it meant making you happy.

Reaching for his nightstand with his limited mobility, he jerked the lamp closer by its cord and found the metal tin he kept on the edge.

He offered you a joint poised between his fingers. You said, “Not tonight,” and he put it away, accepting your request to remain sober.

“Whatever the lady wants on her day.” Eddie found the dog-eared page you left off on and bent the cover in his palm until it curled backwards, and thus began reading chapter fifteen out loud to you. Including the voices.

~~~

Neither of you could imagine what hour it was.

Neither of you cared.

“They had forgotten Thorin! Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outward with a crash into the pool. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him,” Eddie treated the oncoming paragraphs with a softer tone, slowing his cadence to ease into the scene, “The Wargs were scattered and Thorin drove right against the bodyguard of Bolg. But he could not pierce their ranks. Already behind him among the goblin dead lay many men and many dwarves, and many a fair elf that should have lived yet long ages merrily in the wood. And as the valley widened his onset grew ever slower. His numbers were too few. His flanks were unguarded. Their friends could not help them.”

You’d been eerily calm. He’d think you had fallen asleep if it weren’t for your muscles coiled like a snake in wait. If it weren’t for his sleeve caught in your sweaty fist.

He turned the page. “On all this Bilbo looked with misery.”

Your body began to tremble; a gentle shiver along his, and then you sniffled.

“I always knew you were a Thorin fangirl,” he remarked. “When we read this a few years ago, you cried then, too.” Shaking harder, you buried your face against his arm and used your hands to shield him from witnessing the speed at which you went from silent tears wetting his shirt to out-right sobs.

Wide-eyed, he lowered the book to his chest. “..This isn’t about Thorin, is it?” The density of his question hung in the air. Guilt steeped in his thoughts the longer you didn’t answer. You’d been acting weird since you got here and the desperation of not knowing what to do ate at his nerves. Seeing you upset and not knowing why, or how to make it better.

Meek, he asked of you, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t,” came a muffled high-pitched whimper from his best friend in the entire world.

He dug his nails into the book cover. For years, fear kept him vigilant in the sanctity of your relationship. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less. One of the few pure things in his life he couldn’t stand to ruin, despite the building pressure like embers to a roaring fire to do something drastic. To be something more and being terrified of the chance of less.

Suppressing his urges, he pressed his cheek to the crown of your head; the most he would allow himself to do, even in the midst of water stinging his eyes. He pleaded, mouth sticky with thick saliva, “Then tell me how to fix it.”

“Keep reading to me.. Please, Eddie.”

“Okay.” The little word was sighed into your hair.

Picking up The Hobbit again, he propped it further down his stomach to where you could read along, if you desired. And with blurry vision, he continued with the story, reciting Bilbo’s speech where he sees help in the distance, and the subsequent exchange on Thorin’s deathbed when it was too late. Reading to you until his voice tired and his eyelids fell. Supporting your head on the dip between his bicep and his chest, welcoming you to his spoken vibrations as he came to a close one chapter before the end.

“We’ll save it for next time,” he said. “I’m about to fall asleep.”

“Yeah, same.” You sat up and twisted both ways to pop your spine.

In the background, almost indistinguishable from the hum of the refrigerator, was The Doors’ Riders on a Storm Eddie put on earlier during a bathroom break. Nothing was quite as poignant as the repeating lyrics of ‘Girl, you gotta love your man,’ the moment your gazes met on his bed.

“I forgot I made you something,” he lied. How could he ever forget the disaster he created.

“Made me something?”

He told you to close your eyes and helped you off the bed, earning your giggle and allaying the remaining dread of the evening. Walking backwards, he held your wrists and led you to the kitchen. Able to memorize your face for as long as he wanted without having to look away when you inevitably noticed. Hearing your change in mood and knowing he was the one who caused it.

Labels be damned. Few things could make him more content in life than he was now, and he had to be okay with the thrill of letting go of you by dragging his fingertips over your calloused palms, and pausing for a beat, almost holding your hands.

“Okay, cover your eyes,” he said, setting everything up.

“But they’re already closed?”

“I don’t trust you not to peek.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I can just peek through my fingers.”

“Do it.” He patted down his pockets, finding a lighter. “Or else.”

“Whatever.” You complied.

Quickly, he counted sixteen candles from the box and lit them, finding vacant spaces on the cake to stake them, wrestling with the idea of covering his mistake. “You can look now!”

Dropping your hands, you immediately cupped them to your cheeks in surprise. “You actually made me a cake? Like, by yourself? That’s so sweet.” You pouted his name, “Eddie, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

His grin broadened. He bent over to fold his arms on the counter and swayed his hips to rid himself of excess energy, regarding you over the blazing candles. “Who said I made it? I could’ve bought it.”

You slid your gaze from the cake, to him. “It says Happy Birt’day.”

“Alright, alright,” he yielded. “Make a wish before the wax melts.”

Finding the ordeal corny, you blew them out without doing the whole stereotypical shutting-eyes-and-wishing thing. “Thank you. Really.”

He took out the candles. “Do you want a piece?” Regret tinted the room the second he asked. It put the onus on you to answer, to reject his efforts. And just like when you stared at the stack of clothes in the strange way which raised the hair on his arms, you looked at the cake as if nothing else in the room existed except for the hard work he put into making you smile.

“You don’t have to–” he started.

“I’ll take a piece.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, shifting your focus to him. “A big piece. You made it for me.”

Taking out a paper plate and butter knife, he changed the subject, “Wanna come to practice tomorrow? Jeff said he convinced the new kid, Gareth, to join us, so we’ll have a drummer again.” He handed you a triangle of “HAP.”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“Sweet, uh.” Eddie’s lopsided grin grew tantamount to the bundle of nerves in his stomach. Pushing himself off the counter, he punched his fist into his palm a few times, swinging side to side. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Appealing to him in the most adorable way possible, you smiled with true mirth reflected in your eyes and held the slice of cake up.

“Tomorrow.”

~~~

Crouched outside in the shadow of his trailer, you stuffed cake and frosting in your mouth until it burned your throat, coating your lips in fat. Devouring it with vengeance and crumpling the paper plate. Across from you, your mother’s silhouette moved in the curtained bedroom window. An insurmountable sense of pride overwhelmed you. Unstoppable rebellion. Eating a food she banned, citing cheap sugars would slow you down on the vault. How stupid. You had never felt more alive scrubbing your mouth clean on your sleeve and entering your trailer stacked full of moving boxes.

––1985––

Admitting defeat, you pulled into the parking lot of Starcourt Mall. After wasting an appalling amount of gas driving all over town in a frustrating attempt to locate a single person, you were starving for the food court, hoping they added new restaurants since you left.

“Really, how hard can finding one person be?” you grumbled.

You drove to the back of the lot where people seldom parked for the few free spots on the busy Saturday night, and grabbed your purse from the passenger seat. And when you glanced for the source of the rowdy voices near you, you spotted four guys claiming the corner of the pavement as theirs. Three were standing, passing around a bag of gummy worms, laughing at the one flat on his back, shouting for his skateboard before it rolled into the empty street.

Seemed like a fun time.

You opened your door, locked it, and started to walk away.

But then one of them spoke. Blood rushed in your ears, rendering what he said unintelligible. Didn’t matter. You knew it better than your own.

Slowly, you turned around to confirm your fear.

There he was. Having fun with his friends. The one you wished to speak to, and yet as your lips parted, your throat closed.

Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette and adjusted how he leaned on the car, angled to Jeff who was explaining something he was passionate about, nearly spilling his soda on the other guy you couldn't recall the name of.

“I’m telling you, man, a bard is the way to go!”

“No way,” he said, blowing smoke from his nostrils as he continued, “If you start bringing a lute to our games, I’m gonna–”

“Eddie?”

They all stopped their conversation. Three faces of indifference, one of escalating animosity upon seeing you. Evoking a memory so intense it glinted a warning in his eyes boring into yours.

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

713 notes · View notes