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wedielike · 2 days

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Prompted by @eclecticexperthottub-blog: Oyei introduces Cher to Yoryak/the gym team

Read on AO3 or:

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do this alone?”

Oyei looked up from the photograph in his hand, one that had lived in the office for as long as he could remember. It was a simple picture—him and Yoryak and their mom on the a beach somewhere. He couldn’t have been more than five years old there, but he remembered the trip. Yak had been barely old enough to speak but he’d babbled happily and tried to eat sand despite their mother’s attempts to stop him.

The picture had gone up in the office not long after and Oyei had left it on the desk even when he’d taken everything over. He wished she was around to make life easier, the way she’d always been able to.

He glanced over at Cher as Cher propped himself on his shoulder and gazed at the picture too.

“Why would I do it alone?” he asked finally, setting the photo back down on the desk and turning to gather Cher in his arms. He fit perfectly, snug and safe in a way the girls he’d tried to date never had. He could even drop a satisfying kiss to the top of his head and it didn’t feel like a lie when Cher raised his chin to look at him.

“Coming out can be hard,” Cher said slowly, arms circling around Oyei’s waist. “Not for me, I mean. My mother knew the second I popped out because I was so fabulous.”

“It’s true, you are,” Oyei agreed with a smile. He’d known the minute he’d seen Cher in that jewelry shop, propped on a stool, textbooks spread across the counter as if school was more important than selling necklaces. He still remembered the way Cher had looked at him, slightly skeptical, only momentarily lingering on the muscles in his arms. “And I’m not coming out. I’m just introducing you to Yak.”

“As your boyfriend,” Cher added, an eyebrow rising, and Oyei paused.

He supposed that was coming out of sorts. He wouldn’t be able to take it back. Maybe that was why he’d felt nervous all day, waiting for Yak to get home from school. Even Cher hanging around the gym hadn’t helped settle him, usually a fairly good distraction from his problems.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” Oyei said finally, pulling Cher’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss along his knuckles. Cher rolled his eyes at the corny gesture, but he smiled, that little pursed smile he did when he was trying not to be amused by how dumb or horny and sweet Oyei was. “I don’t want to do anything without you.”

“We’re not attached at the hip,” Cher said, though their bodies would disagree with that as Oyei tugged him closer, holding him tight.

“Not yet.” If Oyei had his way, Cher would never leave his side. He just had to get through the hard part of telling Yak so they wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. The sneaking had been fun, for a minute, but Cher deserved better than that. He deserved to be loved and taken care of and Oyei wanted everyone to know that he was the one doing it.

Leaning in, he tilted his head to the side, hopeful when Cher lifted his chin, accepting the kiss to come. But the rattle at the office door forced them apart, a quick jerk backwards, a knee-jerk reaction from Oyei that he didn’t like when Cher’s eyes cast aside.

“Hey!” Yoryak stepped into the office a second later, already in his workout clothes. “What are you doing in here?”

Oyei glanced at Cher, who seemed to have composed himself. The nerves were back in full-force as Yoryak glanced between them.

“Are you a new client?” Yak asked when no one said anything. Cher was just watching Oyei, and he knew he it was responsibility to say something. He could feel his heart beating in his chest even though he knew, he knew everything would probably be fine. Yak had never given any indication that he was homophobic, but there was always a chance. And the last thing he wanted was to lose the last bit of family he had.

“This is Cher,” Oyei said finally, reaching over to guide Cher closer. “I wanted you to meet him because—” He actually swallowed, a gulp that betrayed any coolness he had left. He was worried about how Yak might react, if he would no longer be the protective older brother. Yak just looked confused when he paused, glancing between them. Taking a breath, Oyei slipped his hand around Cher’s waist, and Cher’s gaze shot to him. “Because he’s my boyfriend.”

It felt good to say it out loud, even if his heart jumped into his throat as the words left his mouth, as he saw them penetrate Yak’s brain. He was glad to have Cher beside him, even if he said nothing and let Oyei take the lead. He had to. It was his brother after all. His little brother who he’d helped raise, defended him from bullies, and trained him to be a boxer.

“Oh,” Yak said after a minute, eyebrows up, not quite surprised, not quite confused. “Cool.”

“Cool?” Oyei repeated. That was all he got? Yak wasn’t exactly the type to be enthusiastic about his feelings, but surely there was something more than ‘cool.’

“Great?” Yak tried again, and beside him, Cher raised a hand to hide his smile, but Oyei wanted more than just cool. “Good for you? He’s very pretty.”

Oyei scoffed, more annoyed now than nervous. “Is that what you would say if I introduced you to a girl?”

“No. I’d say ‘good luck,’ but he looks like he can handle you.” Yak glanced at Cher, up and down, a satisfied jerk to his shoulders.

“You little asshole,” Oyei said, but he couldn’t be completely serious, too relieved at how well Yak was taking this. He didn’t seem to care at all.

“P’Yei,” Cher interrupted, a hand clasping in his, and that made Oyei pause, a flood of happiness washing over him as he glanced at Cher. Cher turned to Yak, though, giving him a quick wai. “It’s nice to actually meet you. And don’t worry, he’s not the one that needs to be handled.”

Oyei didn’t bother hiding his grin even as Yak’s eyebrows went up, almost impressed, a bit like he didn’t want to know.

“Cool,” Yak said again, as if he had no other words, smiling slightly. “So are we gonna train today or what?”

Oyei shouldn’t have been surprised that Yak took it so well, but he was still glad and relieved and happy as he nodded. “Yeah. Go get started on warm-ups. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Yak nodded, turning to Cher before he left. “If you could distract him for, like, ten minutes, I could get some bubble tea.”

“Hey,” Oyei called after him as he left, but Yak was already gone, and Oyei frowned as he turned back to Cher. “You’re not going to gang up on me.”

Cher smiled, rising on his toes, and Oyei took the opportunity to press a kiss to his cheek. “Of course not. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Oyei asked, hands reaching for Cher’s hips as they hit the desk. Reaching down, he lifted Cher up, and Cher didn’t complain as he landed on the desktop, arms circling his neck, that alluring slant to his gaze as he beckoned Oyei in closer.

He was and now Yak knew too. He’d tell the rest of the guys eventually, or maybe he’d just invite Cher to show up whenever he wanted and let them figure it out on their own.

For now, he took advantage of the empty office, Cher nestled in between his legs, his soft pouty lips calling to him as he leaned in. All that mattered was that Yak was cool with it (maybe too cool) and that he’d finally said it out loud. He’d been afraid, worried, nod sure what would happen, but as he pulled Cher’s chin up, he couldn’t help smiling. He couldn’t have asked for much more when it came to Yak, but when it came to Cher, there were so many more things he wanted to ask.

“What?” Cher asked, eyes half-closed, anticipating what was next, as Oyei paused, smiled.

“Nothing,” he answered, happiness swelling in his chest, and he closed the distance between them finally, and kissed him.

#wandee goodday #wandee goodday the series #oyeicher #cheroyei #my fics #drabbles #idk

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caracello · 11 months

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just found out about an official [spinoff? side series? idk what to call it] where, in one part, 🌃 goes on a date w the girl i kin from his source. Why don't i just blow myself up.

#REGGR GRHRH GRHG.#it was played mostly for jokes Which makes sense considering the source.#but like For me for deimos. that one was for me specificaly.#they were like oh yeah a kinner 7 years from now is gonna go crazy for this one.#gush:{🌃}#i will not lie with you though it tugged something in my little heart.#going to become the first ever normal shipper of these two. just for me. for <3...

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revasserium · 4 months

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lads #1 - the first kiss

xavier.

it is a soft brushing of lips on lips, eyes closed — a moonless night, dark enough to cast your dreams like a handful of dice against the velvet sky — he prays as you shift against him, and like this, he can count the individual stars caught in your symphony of lashes; he wants to sink into your milkyway laughter as you fist your fingers in the front of his shirt and tug him closer, and then it is no longer a dream but a reality too good to be true because there, those are your lips — your lips against his and his against yours and there is too much breath and not enough skin; there is heat, and heat, and heat as it crests up his back and into his chest, his fingertips tingling as he reaches up to cup the bend of your jaw; it is you sighing into him, the taste of your smile on his tongue when he presses in and feels you gasp — when he pulls back, you are blushing, the darkness in your cheeks probably mirrored in his own, and he can’t help the way his gazes flickers from your eyes down to your lips, now pink and sweet and so — “did you… did you mean to do that?” you ask, a little breathless, and for the life of him, xavier wants to take you and shake you by your shoulders because how could you think he hadn’t meant it? when every single atom in his entire body is vibrating with the need to pull you in one more time; instead, he lilts his head to the side and sighs, “well, if you couldn’t tell that time — shall we give it another try?”

zayne.

you are in his bed. you are in his bed and the world is pressing in around him as he counts your breaths, watching the flicker of your eyes beneath your squeezed-tight eyelids but he humors you enough to reach out and trace a finger along your cheek just to watch your lashes flutter, your lips twitch and he can’t help the way his own lips stretch into a knowing grin, “you shouldn’t lie to your doctor, you know.” to which you make a vague, mumbling sound, but you don’t shift away and zayne feels the pulse gathering between you like it’s done so many times before, each time the feeling echoing against the last, stronger and stronger until it becomes something like a compulsion — “what would it take for you to go to sleep properly?” he asks, his voice hoarse as you press your lips, sinking deeper into his sheets, finally peering up at him with those inescapable eyes. “maybe… a kiss goodnight?” he feels his breath catch in his throat at your words, not because he thought he’d never hear them, but because he never thought it would happen like this — how times had he imagined it throughout the years? how many mundane and dramatic moments playing out in the depths of his most secret imagination? but then again, he thinks that this is perfect too, because it’s you — so how could it not be. he bends down, tugging your chin towards him as he presses his lips firmly to yours, reveling in the small, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat; he tries not to think about the thin sheets separating your body and his, or the way your fingers are already tangling in his hair and pulling him close; he forces himself to pull away, swallowing hard. “there.” you blink dolefully up at him and pout, “y-you can’t expect me to go to sleep after a kiss like that!” he cocks an eyebrow, “can’t i? i kept my end of the deal, and now you have to keep yours.” but he allows himself a small smile as you huff and twist away from him, mumbling to yourself even as he shifts closer, pulling you into his chest as he closes his eyes and sleeps.

rafayel.

all he can think is that it’s different from the first time, because the first time, it hadn’t been a real kiss — even though it’d been real enough for him to lose his heart, real enough for it to have been lost for years and years and years — because the first time, it had been so, so innocent — and it’d been done over linked pinkies and a promise, him leaning down to kiss the base of his thumb and you, leaning down to mirror the movement — a promise, sealed with a kiss. because promises sealed with kisses can never be broken. but… you’d broken it, hadn’t you? or maybe he had — but something had broken, and it took him a long, long time to realize that it just might’ve been his heart. but this time, you’re both older, and you hadn’t waited, you’d stood up on your tip toes and pressed your lips right against his, and it was all he could do to close his eyes and kiss you back — distantly, he feels something breaking inside him, and he wonders — again — if it’s his heart, and he wonders, then, if a heart could be broken twice, and if the second time might be a mending instead. he leans down and crushes you to him, all propriety forgotten as he groans, desperate for more of that friction, more of that heat — he sinks his fingers into your waterfall hair and cradles your head against his, and he loses himself in the kiss. in a promise made, and unmade, and made again. when you finally pull away, he licks his lips and smirks, “took you long enough.” and he’s more pleased than he’ll ever admit to see the color flushing into your cheeks, and serves you right he thinks — but as you lace your fingers between his and tug him behind you towards the main street, asking if he wants to come over for dinner and the next episode of that one show you guys had started together, he thinks that even a heart broken twice could find its way to forgiveness — if only after another kiss or two.

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murdrdocs · 5 months

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Idk if this is anything but Luke x unclaimed reader... you're in the same cabin and there's a small chance that you could have the same godly parent (you don't but no one knows that for sure) so it has the potential to be so wrong, but how can it be when he's making you feel so good??? It feels stepcest adjacent

MDNI 18+ ; DARK CONTENT pseudocest w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

It's quiet in the Hermes cabin. Luke tells you it's a rare sight, being the only two people in the cabin, and from your experience in the last couple of weeks, you know he's telling the truth.

Sometimes, it was so loud you couldn't hear yourself think. But your attempt at thinking would always go to a certain camp counselor with kind dark eyes and curly hair who happened to be a few beds beside you, so maybe it was best you couldn't hear yourself think.

But now, with no one else occupying the four walls other than yourself and Luke, all you can hear is your thoughts. Loud and all encompassing desires to get Luke closer to you than he should be, his hands on your body and his lips pressing into your skin.

That and the slick sounds of you and Luke's lips sliding together. The heavy breaths taking up the in between moments.

The sheer hunger of it all.

His large hands grip your shirt. Your hands tangle in his dark hair as if you're trying to pull it directly out of his scalp. You're not using your full strength, though, something you recently had to consider with your new discovery.

You have the urge to give Luke your all. Tug at his hair and his clothes until he's bare beneath you, push and pull him in malleable ways that you know he can take. Because he's like you.

He’s a demigod, just like you. Yet he’s been claimed. He knows who his father is, while you’re left in the dark.

The reminder pulls you away from Luke’s lips. He’s quick to accept the change, busying himself with kissing your neck, his large hands pressing in the center of your back to keep you against him.

Suddenly, everything is too warm. It’s too much yet not enough. You want to get away from Luke and also meld your bodies into one so that you can never separate.

“Luke, wait.”

He stops. His head lifts so his dark eyes can look at you. There’s a crease in between his eyebrows. He’s worried about you, it’s a look you know all too well.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Am I going too fast?”

Your head shakes. Your teeth connect with the plush of your bottom lip.

Luke sighs. You can tell he instantly knows what is wrong with you. “Don’t worry about it.” He brushes his thumb along the corner of your mouth just before he brushes a kiss into the same spot.

“We’re not related.”

“But how can you be sure?”

He can’t. You know it.

Luke isn’t one to lie. Not to you. So he shrugs.

“I can’t.”

You step away from him but his hand wraps around your wrist. “But I know.” His eyes flick between yours, back and forth and back and forth, before they find your lips again.

He leans in tentatively this time, like he’s unsure if you’re going to pull away or not. You don’t. Instead, you stay completely still, only reciprocating in the softest purse of your lips against his. Sensing how uneasy you still are, he attempts to reassure you once more.

“I know in my heart that we aren’t related. Okay? Does that make you feel any better?” He's trying to be patient, you can tell, but his words are slightly too snappy. A little aggressive.

His attempts at reassurance barely calm your worries, but the thud between your thighs is becoming more prominent by the moment and you need some form of satisfaction.

“Okay,” you whisper against Luke lips before you let him take all of you once more.

He leads you back to your bed, settling himself above you where he slots a leg between your thighs. Your shirt is lifted over your head and thrown to the side, your bra straps are pulled down to give Luke more skin to work with, he starts to undo the button of your pants and at this point you’re not worried about any parental connection.

Unfortunately, Lukes words bring you back. They make you feel dirtier.

“Besides, even if we were, this is too good to stop. Isn’t it?”

Because it is.

The pleasure Luke brings you is one you fear you’ll never get from anyone else, human or demigod. Maybe it’s because he knows you so well, both of you being the offspring of Gods. Or maybe it’s because he is you. Maybe your genetic makeup is so similar that he can't help but know your body as if it is his.

The thoughts are too much for your brain to handle right now and instead of focusing on them any longer, you focus on the feeling of Luke introducing one of his lithe digits into your walls.

#cw stepcest #sort of?#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #lukesworld!#celeste writes misc #luke castellan smut

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luveline · 7 months

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Ok this isn’t Halloween but I would love to see a fic of the first time r spends the night at Aaron’s and she changes into her pj which r these super cute delicate tank and shorts set and Aaron goes crazy!! Like he’s a gentleman obvi (or trying hard to be) but he starts opening my flirting with her and she’s so confused bc usually he’s much more subtle

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

cw adult theme mdni

You don't bother changing in the bathroom. It's not an attempt to come onto him, though you're wondering if he might want that, but a realistic practice. If Aaron wants to be intimate with you tonight he's going to see much more of you than your bra.

He returns from the bathroom as you're pulling down your camisole. It's a simple pair of pyjamas but made of a more expensive fabric, the shorts bordering immodest and the camisole cupping your breasts with enough support that a quick glance in the mirror tells you what you'd wanted to know; you look cute.

Aaron smiles at you, something unreadable in his expression. His brows lift ever so slightly. "Nice socks."

"I get cold feet sometimes," you say, pressing your fuzzy heels together.

"Yeah?" he asks, pushing his hair out of his face. "Me too."

"What side do you sleep on?" you ask.

"What side do you sleep on?" he asks back. "Go where you want."

You pick a random side, too nervous to think about it in depth. The sheets are crisps to the touch and smell freshly laundered, soft against your naked legs. You feel a little like you're playing make believe all cleaned and washed yourself, your heart in your wrist as you squeeze it, watching him flick off the big light and cross the carpeted floor slowly. His room, his entire apartment, is smart but cosy, ambient lamp light and open space.

"Do you wanna watch TV?" he asks, putting the remote in your lap as he shakes out the sheet and slips in next to you. His body heat is immediately felt. His knee brushes yours as he leans in. "Hold that button down."

Despite what you'd said about cold feet, you're nervous and he runs warm; by the time you've found something to watch on TV he's sewn his arm through yours and you're practically running a temperature. You have to take your legs back out and lie atop the sheets.

You pull a knee up. The shorts ease down.

Aaron sinks into the bed with you, his head just a touch higher than your own. "I'm really happy you're here," he says.

"I'm happy too," you say, turning your face to his. Nervous, sure, but this is a milestone for your new relationship you're ecstatic to achieve.

Even if he doesn't have any seductive intention tonight, you're eager to spend the night in his arms. He's older (impossible to ignore), more gentlemanly as a consequence, and during the course of your relationship there have been more important things than sex, like establishing trust with one another, and making sure that your relationship could withstand his constant working.

"I'm really happy," you say, lifting your chin and fireworks erupt in your chest as he leans down to meet you, kissing you gently.

"Is this…" His hand trails to the soft of your stomach, pink brushing your thigh where it's hiked. "Your usual nighttime attire?"

"This is the wanting my boyfriend to like it attire," you confess, because he already knows. Aaron knows everything. He could tell you where you bought them if you gave him long enough.

"Consider them true to form," he says, hand sliding like a heavy, hot weight across your stomach and leaving a worse heat behind. "You look amazing."

"Yeah?" you ask.

His lips skin your cheek. He nudges you with his nose to encourage your head back and kisses softly under the line of your jaw, "They're a little small," he says, kissing between whispers, "the shorts."

"They're not tight," you whisper in turn.

His hand falls to your thigh, spreading your legs a terrible inch as he tugs at the hem of your shorts. His fingertips dip under them a millimetre as he agrees, "No, they're not. Your top, though…"

"It was a matching set. I couldn't choose–"

"Do you have many like it?" he asks, pulling away, meeting your eyes with a charge you've only seen a handful of times. You know exactly what it means, your chest aching with want as his hand comes to rest at the top of your thigh.

"Sure. Two or three."

"That won't do."

You're nervous, but he's your boyfriend. You know more about him than he might think even if you don't know him intimately yet, and his arduousness makes you laugh. He's always been such a gentleman —not many men would ask you to be their girlfriend with a pearl necklace, or invite you to stay the night via text rather than at the end of a date. You'd expected your first time together to be a come up for coffee situation, but he's never propositioned you that way. The text was a sweet surprise, an addition.

Would you like to stay over after dinner on Friday? Let me know. Can't wait to see you either way.

No matter what you want, Aaron wants that too.

You turn into his lap and catch his lips with yours, his hand encroaching on the soft fat of your inner thigh.

His lips part under yours and you take his face into your hands, a giving in if there ever were one, hoping it says everything you're too shy to admit aloud. No matter how much he clearly likes the shorts, he abandons your thigh and hugs your back to him instead, your chests pressed together until yours is heaving for air.

"You're usually more subtle than this," you tease, breathless, good-natured.

"You aren't usually wearing this," he says, his usually smooth voice roughened, "I'm losing my mind."

"Well, we can't have that."

He leans back in, laughing against your lips. When his hand works its way under your camisole, you think about where you can get more pyjamas like these ones considering he likes them so badly, but then his hand crawls higher and the thought leaves your mind for the time being.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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suashii · 7 months

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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒴𝒪𝒰, 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝑀𝐸

info ⭑ gojo x reader. 1.7 wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au ﾉ navigating relationships

“did you miss me while you were at work?”

you jokingly roll your eyes, having expected the question. gojo asks you the same thing over the phone each time you’re making the walk home. he expects a certain answer, one you usually give to him but you’re feeling a little playful tonight. even though he can’t see it, you smile with your next words. “mm, i was a little too busy to think about you.”

there’s a slight pause on the line before gojo replies. “not even a little bit?”

you can hear the pout in his voice and picture the expression in your head—his fluffy white eyebrows pulled together in a frown, bottom lip petulantly poked out. the mental image makes your smile grow wider.

“i’m kidding,” you assure him, adjusting the phone in your hand. he may ask the same question after all of your shifts, but your actual answer never changes. “of course i did.”

his crackly laugh sounds through the speaker and in the chill of the night, it sparks a warmth within you. it’s a sound you’re sure you’ll never get tired of hearing.

“good. i missed you, too.”

you bite your cheek to keep the smile from overtaking your face. it’s been a few months since the two of you started dating but you’re still not used to the unabashed affection gojo continuously shows you.

you can’t seem to find the right words to respond to his sentiment but the end of your commute gives you the opportunity to change the subject.

“hey, i’m almost home,” you tell gojo as you approach the stairs leading up to your apartment. “i’ll text you when i get inside.”

“sure,” he hums, “talk to you later.”

“bye,” you draw out the vowel before pulling the phone away from your ear and ending the call. you stuff the device in your bag and your hands in your pockets as you make your way up the stairs that’ll take you to your apartment. the cold air nips at the exposed skin of your face, making you pick up the pace in hopes of quickly getting somewhere warmer. as you reach the final step, something catches your attention.

there’s a figure on the wooden platform a few feet from your door.

it should startle you, but you’re beginning to grow used to the sight. just like his calls, gojo has made a habit of showing up outside your place on nights when you work late. you can’t lie—there’s a certain level of comfort you’re met with each time you’re greeted by the back of his head.

you clear your throat as you walk up to him. “my neighbors are going to start thinking you’re a stalker if you keep showing up like this.”

your voice alerts gojo of your arrival and his head swivels so that he can meet your gaze. there’s a smile tugging at your lips that makes his own curl up at the corners. “can you blame me for wanting to make sure you get home safe?”

bright blue eyes follow you as you come to stand in front of the man. despite the iciness of the air, his coat is left unbuttoned. you’re able to see that he’s wearing a suit underneath his outerwear—he must have come straight here after finishing his internship for the day.

“i just got off the phone with you,” you tell him through a short laugh, pulling your hands out of your pockets to pull his coat closed, though it doesn’t stay. you wonder how long he’s been waiting but you know he won’t tell if you ask.

he leans forward into your touch with his next words. “maybe i want to see you walk through the door with my own eyes.”

“gojo—” before you can get the rest of your sentence out, the man holds a hand out to stop you.

“i told you, it’s satoru.” he’s been persistent about reminding you to call him by his first name ever since the two of you started dating. now is no different and he even goes as far as placing his hands on your waist, sounding out each syllable for you. “sa-to-ru. got it?”

the way he stares up at you with those sparkling eyes and that charming grin makes your heart jump in your chest. expectation lingers behind his gaze and you can sense his anticipation by the way his lithe fingers tap at your waist.

“fine… satoru.” the name still feels foreign on your tongue but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the taste of it. you clear your throat before sliding your hands up onto his shoulders. “you don’t have to keep doing this. it’s starting to get cold outside and you’ll get sick sitting out here.”

he shrugs. “i don’t mind.”

you sigh, readying to drill into him how important his health is when you notice, feel, that his shoulders are trembling with shivers. under a more attentive eye, the redness of his ears and cheeks also make themselves known. despite his carelessness, you can’t find it in yourself to scold him when his actions were so well-intended.

with the click of your tongue, you grab gojo’s tie and give it a gentle tug. “come inside and warm up.”

you weren’t sure it was possible, but gojo’s smile spreads even wider upon hearing your invitation. as if saying “don’t mind if i do,” the man stands to his full height. he towers above you now, but his presence is far from imposing. “after you.”

you lead the way, digging around your bag for your keys. they jingle as you pull them out and the click of your door unlocking sounds throughout the night air. your apartment is dark and as you reach to flip on the light switch, you wonder if you cleaned up this morning. gojo has been here before but you worry about embarrassing yourself with a mess.

though, you can’t stand around in the darkness forever. hoping that the unit is presentable, you turn on the main light. brightness floods the area and, to your credit, nothing more than a misplaced jacket dirties the room. you give yourself a mental pat on the back while you hang up your keys. when you turn to look at gojo, he’s in the process of shedding his coat. you mirror his actions but remind him, “you can’t stay long. i have an early shift tomorrow.”

he doesn’t stop taking his coat off but his smile is traded in for a frown. you’ve all but kicked him out before he’s even gotten settled, and because of work, at that. he’s beginning to think your coworkers see you more often than he does. he drapes his coat on the back of one of the chairs in your kitchen. “you know, if you moved in with me, you could quit your job.”

you almost laugh before you realize he isn’t joking. gojo has always been direct—since before you were dating and when the two of you got together—so his suggestion shouldn’t be surprising. still, every offer he makes to pamper and spoil you tends to catch you off guard. it’s not the proposals themselves, no, but the way he brings them up so casually as if they should be a given—expected.

everything about dating gojo is different from past relationships you’ve had. he expresses his love in ways unfamiliar to you, ways that are sometimes difficult for you to accept—not because you don’t want to but because you aren’t sure how. it doesn’t seem to bother gojo but you wonder when the time will come when you’re comfortable enough to consider taking him up on his offer.

“tempting, but no. ask me again in a couple of months,” you tell him over your shoulder from your place at the kitchen counter. you know he will. “want some tea?”

outwardly unaffected by your rejection, gojo hums in confirmation as he takes a seat at your table. it doesn’t take you long to prepare the warm beverage and place a cup of it in front of the man. you plop down across from him with a mug of your own.

“how was your day?” you ask him before taking a cautious sip of your tea.

“same old, same old,” he replies, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his cupped palms. it squishes his cheeks and gives him a youthful appearance.

under the fluorescent lights of your kitchen, it’s impossible not to pick up on the dark crescents below his eyes. now that the cold isn’t keeping him alert, you can tell just how exhausted he is.

“really? you look kind of tired.”

he brushes off your concern. “i’m fine.”

the phrase is one that gojo utters often but you’re having a hard time believing him tonight. it wouldn’t be safe for him to drive home in his current condition. even though you had been pretty adamant about him taking his leave earlier, you reconsider.

“why don’t you stay here tonight?” you suggest, holding the mug in your hands up to your mouth.

that much seems to capture gojo’s attention as his eyes widen in curiosity. you hide the smile threatening your lips behind your mug.

“are you sure?”

it’s at this moment that you realize—maybe the way you love is unfamiliar to gojo, too. maybe your invitations come as a surprise in the same way his do to you. and maybe, just like you, he’s wary of accepting your affections, nervous to get too comfortable.

the thought makes you want him to stay even more.

so, without hesitation, you nod. “you look like you’re two seconds away from collapsing. just sleep here.”

“well, if you insist, how could i say no?” gojo grins. it’s a sleepy one that doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s obvious that he’s grateful—for the gesture, of course, but even more so that he’s finally able to spend more time with you, even if that time will be spent sleeping.

you giggle at his response, gathering the cups and putting them in the sink before jerking your head in the direction of your bathroom. “come on, sleepy-head. let’s get ready for bed.”

hey there! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo drabbles #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 month

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance.

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy.

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless.

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one.

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death.

But it was closure.

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted.

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room.

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video.

It felt fresh. New. Clean.

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months.

At first, he dreamt of death.

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance.

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red.

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes.

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before.

It didn’t even really look like a gate.

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods.

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean.

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms.

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth.

Pomegranates.

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home.

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them.

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of.

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there.

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up.

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too.

He knew her. He knew her.

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before.

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you.

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it.

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap.

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came.

You were always alone.

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work.

Not yet, anyway.

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back.

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm.

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet.

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night.

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really.

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes.

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security.

Safety - an unknown feeling.

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place.

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too.

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it.

Then one night, he saw himself.

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked.

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up.

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm.

Safe.

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be.

Certainly not 1988.

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before.

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting.

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello.

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy.

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper.

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia.

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get.

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before.

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you.

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one.

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep.

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee.

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate.

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit.

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

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kaiser1ns · 2 months

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𝘀𝗮𝗲/𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲)

╹synopsis :: your boyfriend gets jealous because of your photoshoot with another footballer player

╹contents :: fluff, a little bit ooc, sae gets jealous of kaiser, kaiser gets jealous of sae, dramatic and sassy boys, 0.5k words for Sae , 0.5k words for Kaiser

╹notes :: just randomly thought of this, hope you liked!

ITOSHI SAE

He doesn't like social media for the sole reason that he can see something that he didn't needed to know about. And now he wants to delete every app he has on his phone and sue the company who thought that you being next to Michael Kaiser was a very good idea. Marketing strategy to put two very famous people who are liked all over the world so they can attract more attention and sales. He knew you had a upcoming photoshoot, but you didn't mention anything else about it and now as Sae scrolls through the Instagram page of the sport sponsor's photos, looking how you put your head on the German's shoulder, the other photo of him that has his wrapped around your waist, then you holding soccer ball all smiles and giggles. It makes him want to vomit and gouge his eyes out.

"I can't believe they paired you with Michael Kaiser," he mutters, his voice tinged with jealousy, narrowing his eyes as his grip around the mobile tightened. You know him better than anyone else including himself and for all of the years you have been together — he gets extremely sassy when jealous. His famous stoic and nonchalant demeanor, rarely revealing his emotions can't fool his girlfriend. You reach out to take the phone from his hands, you persisted, your fingers playfully poking his cheek. "Sae, it's just part of the job" you reassure him, trying to calm his racing thoughts, "Are you perhaps, jealous?" but he only rolled his eyes at this comment of yours, crossing his arms and not looking at you but straight to the TV in front of him.

In response, Sae grumbled, his tone dripping with sass as he attempted to deny his emotions. "I am not," he insisted, though the dramatic flair in his voice betrayed him.

"Yes, you are~" you teased him, knowing that he can't lie to you, and he too does know that.

"No," he protested, though his resolve was weakening under your gaze.

"Oh, you definitely are," you persisted, refusing to let him off the hook so easily.

"Absolutely not," he insisted, though the tension in his voice betrayed his facade.

But you knew him too well to be fooled. "No, you are not" you countered, your tone gentle yet firm.

"Yes, I am," he said without thinking, Touché Y/N. Your boyfriend always uses reverse psychology against you, so safe to say you learned from the best.

"I mean, what's next? You gonna be posing with Leonardo Luna for a perfume ad?" He turned his head and gave you a pointed look, he was so cute you wish you could take a photo of his face right now.

You laughed at his behaviour, for a man who was deemed very serious, sometimes he acted like a child being all pouty and sassy. Running your thumb over his cheekbone soothingly. "Oh, please, as if anyone could replace you," you tease, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "You're the only one who has my heart, Sae. Kaiser's just a prop in this grand show called advertising."

Sae rolls his eyes once again, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he concedes, finally relaxing against your touch. "But I will sue the company."

"Sae, no!"

MICHAEL KAISER

The German prodigy was always interested in the newest fashion trends, believe it or not, as he always spoiled you with the best quality designer clothes, jewellery, shoes, perfumes — you name it, you most definitely have it. He just adores you and wants the best for you, but right now he's wondering what he did wrong to deserve this?

Was he not enough for you, was he not the best boyfriend you ever had, was he just something temporary that you could so easily forget about?

As you walk through the door, you're met with a sight straight out of a soap opera. Your boyfriend, draped dramatically across the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

You raise an eyebrow, "My love, are you okay?"He turns to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and hurt. "Oh, nothing much. Just questioning my existence, like why did my girlfriend decides to do a photoshoot for the cover of a magazine with another guy?"

You blink, trying to process. "Wait, what? You mean the Versace shoot?"

He sits up suddenly, his eyes widened of you casually talking about it "Oh, of course, thanks for admitting your mistake. Because everyone casually poses for Versace with Itoshi Sae, right? It's just your average Tuesday activity."

You can't help but laugh at his overreacting theatrics. "It's not like I'm going to run away with him. Or do you want me to?" He crosses his arms, still pouting. "Hmm, maybe. Since you clearly don't love me anymore."

You playfully roll your eyes, moving to sit beside him, "When they called you to be the model, you were busy with the Euro finals." Kaiser was about to open his mouth to defend himself but he sure was busy when the photoshoot took place. "Besides it's just Sae, nothing to worry about. He couldn't care less about others." He sighs dramatically, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You smirked and wanted to tease him more, knowing how much he disliked a certain someone. "Exactly! Imagine if it were Yoichi instead of Sae. You'd probably start a protest outside the magazine headquarters."

He feigns offense, as he stood up from the coach. "My girlfriend and that sucker on the cover together? I'd have to kill him for real this time."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit on the couch again, hugging him and kissing his temple as you played with the blue hair of the mullet. "Don't be silly now. You know I will never leave you, no matter what." He melted into your embrace, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I know. Just don't go giving me a heart attack with those Isagi jumpscares, okay?" You pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek. "You have my word," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. "I promise no more Isagi jumpscares." He chuckled softly, leaning into your touch. "Good, because I don't think my heart can take it." With a playful glint in your eye, you added, "Unless you want me to revive you with a kiss every time."

"I would like to kiss you on different occasions, thank you."

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 3 months

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Can you write hcs for Luke and a daughter of Hypnos (😴)

PLEASE

🥰

(If possible?)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ luke castellan x daughter of hypno! reader hcs

content: luke castellan x daughter of hypno! reader hcs warning: so soft you'll puke tho tbh minor mentions of luke's angst author's note: why do i love this more than life itself???? i dunno, you tell me. i kinda wish it was longer but yo girl outta ideas. also, i think im so fucking funny for that last line like hello guys where is my oscar for funniest teen girl to exist????

lukey pookie and his sleepy girl frrrrr

you guys were, like, aware of each other but not like friends, ya know???

until his quest - well, failed quest

he kept having nightmares, horrors of the shame on his father's face, visions of his mother hearing the news had he actually died, terrible dreams of demented dragons and enough golden apples to drown in

chris noticed and suggest luke go see you, hypno's best daughter

chris knew you following a head injury that had him scared he was going to fall into a coma, but the apollo cabin had called you over to sooth his nerves.

you were also often called in when new, younger campers were struggling to sleep, which made the a common but distant face in the hermes cabin

and chris just knew you could do wonders for luke's recent sleep problems

after a little bit of resistance, luke finally went to you

he'd had the worst nightmare yet, leaving him with huge bags under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that he couldn't seem to loose

he figured it quite literally couldn't get any worse, so he knocked on the door of cabin fifteen, already feeling slightly more at peace from just standing outside it

then a pretty girl opened the door, a cute yawn hidden behind her hand

"h-hey! luke, right? what can i do for ya?" you muttered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before beaming a soft smile at the boy

luke choked on nothing, attempting to get words out but his tongue kept getting in the way and all that came out was chortled noises

you giggled softly, unable to keep them in despite the boys growing blush

"i-i- chris, he said- er, something about you being able to help me sleep with you- sorry! no, sleep, just, you know, in general," luke finally managed to spit out, his brain working overtime and the words coming out all wrong

you giggled at the boy once more before leaning forwards and grasping his wrist, tugging him into your cabin

you gestured towards one of the free, fluffy beds, disappearing off to somewhere, though you kept talking to the boy

"chris is really worried about you, ya know. i almost had to visit you, which we don't do very often. here, you want some tea?? lavender or chamomile? i prefer the chamomile but i think you'd like the lavender," you rambled, sitting beside him in the bed criss cross and presenting him with a mug and holding up two separate tea bags

"chamomile's fine," luke replied, taking the teabag from you, not wanting to mention that it reminded him of his mom but it reminded him of his mom

"chamomile's great!" you joked, bumping your shoulder with his

a few minutes passed of just luke drinking the tea and yawning before you mentioned that he should lie down, removing the mug from his hands

he was resistant, admittedly, not wanting to risk seeing more horrible things in his head

but you took his hand into yours, gently running your fingers along the veins and bones that you could just feel through his skin

"you think i'm just here for shits and giggles?? nah, i'm here to fistfight the boogie man. and lemme tell ya, these fists are lethal," you joke, winking at the boy, who laughed, settling into the soft pillows and blanket

but most importantly, he was settling into your presence, the hold you had on his hand, the soothing that your voice did to his brain and heart

and luke fell asleep, peacefully drifting off to the sounds of your hums and the feeling of your soft fingers ghosting over his skin

for the first time in a long while, luke castellan slept like a baby, warm and coddled and trusting that nothing bad could happen to him

not with the defender of REM cycle there

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan

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shuagirl · 15 days

Text

TAKE IT SLOW, BABY. | L.SM

pairings. virgin!lee seokmin x soft dom fem!reader genres. smut [s] fluff [f] angst [a]

summary. it's your boyfriend's birthday and you wanted to give him a special treatment.

warnings. established relationship, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, oral sex, blowjob, very slight angst (i think?), slow pace

( marvy ) this random idea just popped up in my head after scrolling through some dk pics on pintrest (IM NOT A CREEP!!!) yeah anyways, i can't lie ran out of full plot ideas and this was so rushed but enjoy i guesssss <3

You've spent all day prepping, making sure everything's perfect. It's Seokmin's birthday, and you want to give him a night he'll never forget. The room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of candles you've placed everywhere. Their warm glow dances on the walls, creating an intimate, romantic and magical atmosphere. The air is thick with the heady scent of vanilla and jasmine from the candles, blending with the faint smell of roses from the petals scattered across the bed.

When Seokmin walks in, he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes widen, taking in the scene. You can see the surprise and the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—desire, maybe even a bit of awe. You stand there, heart pounding, wearing that white dress that flows around you like a soft, delicate cloud.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, stepping toward him. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, and you rest them on his shoulders. You rise on your tiptoes and plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

Seokmin's heart is racing—you can feel it under your palms. He's nervous and excited. "Y/N, this is... amazing," he stammers. His fingers, trembling just a little, cup your face. He leans in, and his lips find yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss deepens and grows more passionate. You feel his hands sliding into your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond eagerly, pressing your body against his.

The world outside fades away. It's just the two of you now, wrapped in this moment. Your fingers trace patterns on his back, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of his body against yours, the taste of his lips, and the intoxicating scent of his skin combine into a heady rush that makes your pulse quicken.

You pull away just enough to tug at his shirt, lifting it over his head. He helps by raising his arms, and then your hands are on his bare chest, exploring his muscles' smooth, firm planes. You kiss his neck, feel the shiver running through him, and smile against his skin.

His breath hitches when your lips move lower, trailing kisses down his collarbone. He wants you—God, you can feel how much he wants you. But you recognise hesitation, too, a tension in his muscles. Whenever things get heated, he always finds a way to stop, to pull back. You know it's not because he doesn't want you. It's something else, something he's never reasonably said.

Tonight, though, you're determined. You guide him towards the bed, gently pushing him down. You climb onto his lap, feeling the hardness of his desire pressing against you. He freezes, his eyes wide, a mixture of lust and fear in them.

"Seokmin, what's wrong?" you ask softly, searching his face.

He hesitates, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I... I have to tell you something," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a virgin."

You pause, taken aback for a moment. But then you see the vulnerability in his eyes, and your heart melts. You cup his face in your hands, looking into his eyes with all your love for him. "Oh, baby, you don't have to be embarrassed. I'm sorry if I made you feel pressured," you say, your voice filled with concern and affection.

He shakes his head, a small, shy smile on his lips. "No, it's not that. I just... I didn't want to disappoint you," he admits, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

You lean in and kiss him, slow and lingering. "You could never disappoint me, Seokmin. We can go as slow as you want," you murmur against his lips.

He looks at you, and something in his eyes changes. There's a newfound courage there, a determination. "But tonight, I want you. I need you," he whispers back, his voice filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, relieved and excited. "Me too," you breathe, diving back into the kiss, your hands roaming over his body with deliberate slowness that drives you both wild.

The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more fervent. You guide him to lie back on the bed, your lips never leaving his as you start to undress him. The feel of his skin under your fingers sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help the low moan that escapes your lips when you kiss down his neck, your tongue tracing a hot, wet path to his collarbone.

When he's finally naked beneath you, you take a moment to drink in the sight of him—flushed and trembling with anticipation. You kiss your way down his chest, your lips and tongue teasing every inch of his skin until you reach his hips.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with adoration and desire. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. You want to make this moment as special and comfortable for him as possible.

With a reassuring smile, you kiss the inside of his thigh, your breath warm against his skin. Seokmin's breath hitches, and he lets out a soft moan as you continue to plant gentle, lingering kisses along his thigh. You can feel his body relax slightly, his fingers gripping the sheets as he surrenders to the sensation.

You take your time, your kisses slow and deliberate, your tongue tracing delicate patterns on his skin. You move closer to his centre, your mouth hovering above him, your breath warm and teasing. Seokmin's eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to maintain control.

"Y/N," he breathes, his voice filled with longing and uncertainty.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with tenderness. "It's okay, baby," you whisper. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

With that, you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him in a soft, warm embrace. Seokmin lets out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation is overwhelming, and he can't hold back the sounds of pleasure that escape his lips.

You work him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, your tongue swirling around him, exploring every inch. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his body responding to your touch in ways that make your heart race. You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you create a gentle suction, your hand wrapped around the base to provide additional stimulation.

Seokmin's fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight but not forceful. He's lost in the pleasure, his mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. Every touch, every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy coursing through his body.

You continue your ministrations, your pace steady and unhurried. You want to draw out the pleasure, to make this experience as intense and enjoyable for him as possible. You can feel him getting closer, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, his moans growing louder and more desperate.

"Y/N, I'm—" he begins, his voice strained.

You don't stop, and your movements become more fervent and insistent. You want to take him all the way, to show him just how much you love him, how much you want to please him. With one final, deep suck, you feel him tense beneath you, his body shuddering as he reaches his climax.

Seokmin cries out your name, his hips bucking as he releases into your mouth. You take it all, your tongue and lips milking every drop, your hands soothingly caressing his thighs as he rides out the waves of pleasure. When he finally relaxes, you pull back, a satisfied smile on your lips as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. His eyes are half-lidded, a dazed, blissful expression on his face. You crawl up his body, your hands and lips trailing soft touches and kisses as you make your way back to his lips.

You kiss him deeply, allowing him to taste himself on your lips. Seokmin responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. The moment's intensity, the raw physical and emotional connection, leaves you both trembling with desire.

"Y/N," he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with awe and gratitude. "That was... incredible."

You smile, your heart swelling with love for him. "There's more, Seokmin," you murmur, your eyes dark with desire. "If you want."

He nods, his hands sliding down your back to grip your hips. "I want you, Y/N. I need you," he says, his voice filled with conviction.

You move to straddle him, positioning yourself just above his now-hard-again member. You take a moment to look into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. All you see is love and desire, making your heart race.

"We'll go slow," you promise, your voice soft and soothing. "We'll take it slow, baby."

Seokmin nods, his hands resting on your hips, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. You guide him to your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, until he's entirely inside you. You both gasp at the sensation, your bodies perfectly aligned, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Guide him to your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, until he's entirely inside you. You both gasp at the sensation, your bodies perfectly aligned, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

The feeling is intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and slight discomfort. You take a moment to breathe, to adjust to the incredible sensation of having him fill you so completely. His eyes are wide, his lips parted as he gazes up at you with a blend of awe and desire. You can feel his heartbeat racing against your skin, matching the wild thrum of your own.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, your voice calm and tender.

He nods, swallowing hard. "Yeah," he breathes, his hands tightening on your hips. "You feel... so good."

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love. "So do you, Seokmin. So do you."

You start to move slowly at first, rocking your hips in a gentle rhythm. The friction is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body with every movement. Seokmin's hands slide up your sides, exploring the curves of your body with reverence. His touch is warm, grounding you in the moment.

"God, Y/N," he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. "This feels... amazing."

You can't help but smile at his reaction, the pure, unfiltered joy in his voice. You increase your pace slightly, finding a rhythm that makes your breath catch and your heart race. The room is filled with the soft sounds of your bodies moving together, the mingling of your breaths, the occasional gasp or moan of pleasure.

Seokmin's hands find your breasts, his fingers brushing over your nipples, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You arch into his touch, encouraging him. He takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling it gently, and you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"Yes, Seokmin," you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. "Just like that."

He watches you with wide, dark eyes, his lips parted, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The sight of him, so overwhelmed with desire, so open and vulnerable, sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You lean down to kiss him, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, tasting the sweetness of his mouth.

His hands slide down to your hips, guiding your movements, his grip firm but gentle. You move together, finding a rhythm that feels right, that brings you both closer to the edge. The sensation of him inside you, the way he fills you completely, the way his body responds to yours, is almost too much to bear.

"Seokmin," you gasp, your voice catching as a particularly intense wave of pleasure washes over you. "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

"Me neither," he groans, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. "Y/N, I—"

You both lose yourselves in the moment, the world narrowing to just the two of you, the heat of your bodies, the mingling of your breaths, the heady scent of desire that fills the air. Every touch and movement is filled with love, passion, and a deep, undeniable connection.

You can feel the tension building inside you, a tight coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as you chase that elusive climax, your body trembling with the effort.

"Seokmin," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your need. "I'm so close."

"Me too," he gasps, his fingers digging into your hips, his eyes wide and dark with desire.

With a final, urgent thrust, you feel the coil of pleasure inside you snap, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense, overwhelming sensation. You cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release, your mind going blank with the sheer intensity of it.

Seokmin follows you over the edge, his own climax tearing through him with a force that leaves him breathless. He moans your name, his hands gripping you tightly as he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his pleasure.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together, your bodies trembling, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The world slowly comes back into focus, and you realise that you're still holding each other, your bodies still connected, the aftershocks of your orgasms still pulsing through you.

You smile, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this incredible, beautiful man. "Thank you, Seokmin," you whisper, kissing his lips softly. "That was... amazing."

He smiles back at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "No, thank you, Y/N," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "You made this the best birthday I've ever had."

You laugh softly, your heart full. "Happy birthday, Seokmin," you say, your voice tender. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replies, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything."

You stay like that for a while, just holding each other, savouring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. The candles flicker softly, casting a golden glow over the room, and the scent of vanilla and jasmine lingers in the air, creating a cocoon of love and tenderness around you.

Eventually, you roll off of him, lying by his side, your bodies still touching, still connected. You trace lazy patterns on his chest with your fingers, your touch light and soothing.

"Do you feel okay?" you ask quietly, looking up at him with concern.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I feel amazing," he says. "I was nervous, but you made it... perfect. Thank you for being so patient with me."

"Always," you reply, kissing him softly. "I love you, Seokmin. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world."

He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I love you too, Y/N," he murmurs. "Thank you for tonight. Thank you for everything."

You fall asleep in each other's arms, your bodies warm and tangled, your hearts full. The night had been a beautiful blend of passion and tenderness, a perfect beginning to a new chapter in your relationship.

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nincompoopydoo · 4 months

Note

Hey! Can you please write something for Aaron Hotchner with the prompt ‘I never saw such a woman, she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.’ ?

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader WORD COUNT: 800+ SUMMARY: Hotch is in love and you’re trying to figure out who. Little did you know… A/N: can u tell i love writing confessions ;-; and peek the ts reference! anyway hotch has my whole heart. thanks for the request! note: paragraphs in italics is a flashback. WARNINGS: swearing. reader being kinda clueless. mentions of a gun. no beta we die like men. PROMPT: “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“I know that look, Hotch,” you hint with a natural inquisitive tone, “You are in love.”

This was normal for the two of you – an unlikely friendship with a shared need for coffee to survive late-night paperwork, rudimentary for a budding friendship of otherwise Quantico strangers. You crossed paths from your work with the CNU on the floor below and first backed the BAU a year ago with a hostage negotiation. You were new to the job but rose quickly up the ranks. Ever since, you kept seeing each other everywhere.

11 pm. Coffee. You’d always meet.

He isn’t sure how the topic of being in love came about, but he suspects you had a hunch for quite some time. For a moment, Hotch’s heart drops at your words but quickly catches the curiosity in your tone, and the general ignorance to the fact that your prying means a lot more to him than you realised.

You really haven’t got a clue.

Hotch feels a beckoning of warmth flaring in his cheeks, spurring a sheepish smile and a passing light chuckle. His gaze trails the rising steam billowing from his black coffee and disappearing into the expanse of his office.

He shifts his eyes to you, casually hunched in your seat, legs stretched out, and your coat hung at the back of the chair. You’re watching him with a curious look.

“In love is a bit of a stretch.”

That’s a lie. He’s very much in love with you.

Your smile curves into a sly smirk. You know he’s lying.

“So, you don’t deny it?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

You scoff, shifting in your seat to cross your arms. “Look, be thankful I’m not using hostage negotiation tactics on you right now. Answer the question, Hotch.”

Hotch laughs, and it leaves him with a small smile. He shakes his head, gaze falling to his mug once more. “I don’t deny it.”

You simply hum. “I won’t pry, but I believe it’s customary to tell me how you met and what she’s like.”

Hotch raises a brow, and you reflect his expression – it’s a challenge. He’ll never make it out of Quantico if he doesn’t tell you.

With a heavy sigh, he ultimately gives in.

“We first met on the field. She assisted us on a case…”

“Agent Hotchner!”

He spins around to see you trudging across the road while strapping on your tactical vest. You introduced yourself with a polite smile through squinted eyes under the glaring sun and shook his hand. Firmly.

You’re CNU – hostage negotiator. A fresh face.

“We appreciate you coming on short notice,” Hotch says curtly, though the smile that tugs his mouth betrays his usually serious demeanour.

“Well, anything for our upstairs neighbours.” You beam up at him, and Hotch prays that his suddenly flushed cheeks are hidden under the shade of the nearby trees.

You make a final adjustment to your vest with a light huff and unclasp the holster that secured your gun, withdraw it and extend your firearm to Hotch in a heartbeat. It’s a silent request and an act of trust.

Hotch hesitantly took the gun from your grasp. “You sure about this?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. You were terrified. “Yeah... Unsub isn’t gonna talk with a gun in his face.”

Another smile his way. “Just cover me while I’m in there.”

Your words resonate with a heaviness that strikes directly at his heart. There’s a clear passion for your job despite your horrified disposition. It isn’t noticeable, but he sees it. He respects that about you.

Hotch just nods assuringly, “Always.”

“– Alright, pause. She’s highly intelligent, an excellent communicator, fears nothing, and I’m assuming incredibly hot...” You stop yourself and laugh to yourself, expression gleaming with amusement. “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

You don’t mean to, but he can see you trying to ‘crack the case’: the identity mysterious woman. He knows you’ll uncover the truth eventually. Despite harbouring a confession for months, Hotch understands there may never be a right time. It needs to be now.

So, he allows you to piece it together.

“She certainly is.”

You’re not listening anymore, brows shooting up like you just had a revelation. “Wait, you mentioned she’s a negotiator?”

“Yeah, she’s from the floor below.”

Your brows furrow with confusion.

“The floor below?! But there’s only Annie, who’s very much happily married, and–”

A beat. Realisation settles upon your face, and Hotch’s heart leaps.

Oh.

OH.

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

It’s you.

“...You’re in love with me?”

Your words are barely audible and careful, bearing their fragile weight and gravity. There’s a crease between your brows, eyes gleaming with expectancy.

He has never been so sure.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

A beat. He says it so plainly that it assures any doubts you had before. Your breath hitches.

Hotch is in love with you.

Instantly, your face splits into a bashful smile as you reach for his hand, a gentle touch to your palm, fingers intertwined with your own.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #valentines day #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch

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whateveriwant · 2 months

Text

Choice

Summary: Simon forces you to choose. Him, your husband… or the other man he found in your bed.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Forgive me.

“Simon!” you gasp, bolting upright in bed.

There, darkening the doorway to your bedroom, stands your beloved husband. You thought you'd spotted something lurking in the shadows of your periphery, but rather than it being a mere figment of your imagination like you'd hoped, you've come to find out that's not at all the case.

Simon’s brows are knitted tightly together, the lines framing the sides of mouth deepening as he begins to scowl. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he grits out. “Knew you were a fuckin’ liar.” His eyes flit back and forth between you and the figure lying beside you in bed, and if looks could kill, you'd both be six feet under.

“Simon, no, wait–!” You're quick to shoo the other male from your bed even as your husband storms away. Jumping to your feet, you chase after him, tugging your shirt into place from where it had ridden up. Simon’s just reached the living room when you manage to catch up with him. “Simon, please just–”

“When will enough be enough?” he cuts you short as he whirls around to confront you. You've never seen such anger rippling from him before, and it makes you recoil, stopping dead in your tracks. “When's it gonna end, huh? You promised me you were gonna fuckin’ stop this.”

“I-I-I know I did, Simon,” your voice trembles under the weight of your shame.

He's right. After the last time, you’d told him that was it, that it would never happen again.

So much for keeping your promise.

“I'm– I'm so sorry,” you try to offer him, for whatever it may be worth.

Apparently, it's worth very little as he proceeds to scoff right in your face.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” His expression pinches to show how he takes offense to that apology. “That’s three times this month I've caught you. Three. Let alone how many other times I'm sure have been behind my back.”

Again, he’s right on the target. You’ve been dishonest with your husband, been deceiving him more times than you can even remember at this point. Though you're in no place to feel as if you're the one that's been hurt in this situation, you can't help how his biting words feel like daggers plunging right into your stomach.

Simon sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead, the self-soothing gesture doing nothing to soften the lines creasing his skin. After a while, he asks, “Why?” his voice much calmer than it was a moment ago. “Why d’you keep doin’ this? Lyin’? Sneakin’ around?”

When he drops his hand to look at you again, you can see how quickly his emotions have shifted from fury to sorrow. The sight of his grief almost wrenches your heart in two, and you swallow the lump in your throat, your own emotions threatening to spill forth and choke you.

“I… I don't know,” you tell him, yet another lie.

You know the truth behind your actions, the real reason you can't break this bad habit. It's because you're selfish; because you're spineless; because you're fucking weak.

Your answer, the unconvincing slop that is, isn't good enough for Simon, and his shoulders rise in a show of perplexity. “Am I not treatin’ you right? I've been withholdin’ from you? Is that it?”

You're shaking your head before he even finishes the inquiry. “No, Simon. It's nothing like that,” you say.

“Well then, explain it to me.” He tosses a hand into the air, the frustration in his tone palpable. “Because I'm tryin’ to understand what makes him so bloody special. What is it about him that makes you treat me like a fuckin’ afterthought?”

“I don't–!” you begin, the accusation immediately putting you on the defense. But then you pause and intake a deep breath, trying to rein yourself back in. The last thing you want is to strike a match against this highly combustible conversation. If ignited, this powder keg runs the risk of taking you both out with it.

You take another moment to collect yourself before releasing an audible exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me–”

“Oh, well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you.”

You ignore the derisive comment as you continue, “–but you're my husband, Simon. At the end of the day, I always want you,” you emphasize. You can feel a stitch forming between your brows as they slowly pull together. “I know you're upset with me – and I understand, truly – but I… I-I just…” your voice trails off as you consider your next words.

You know what you want to say, what niggling thought you want to express. But you're not sure if voicing it aloud is the right move to take. You're trying to cool down the tension here, not potentially add fuel to the fire.

But as Simon prompts, “What?” you realize there's no backing out of it now.

You sigh. “I just think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

The way your husband's eyes immediately widen tell you it was probably better to have kept your mouth shut.

“Blowin’ thi–?!” Simon blinks wildly in disbelief, his anger from earlier surging back tenfold. His voice is venomous as he spits, “I catch you lyin’ to me, catch you continuously goin’ behind my back.” He points an accusatory finger in the direction of your bedroom. “I catch you with that filthy shite in our bed–”

“Hey, don't call–”

“–see him lyin’ there, sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow, and you think I'm ‘blowin’ this out of proportion’?!” he's fully shouting now, his volume having risen alongside his fury. Simon lets out a dry chuckle that's entirely devoid of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? Do my feelings mean nothin’ to you anymore? Do you– Do you even really love me?” his voice peaks as a wave of despair washes over him.

“Wha–?” Now it's your turn to blink wildly as you're caught off guard by that last sentence. “Of– Of course I do, Simon! Of course.” How can he even ask you such a thing?

“You just love him more, then, right?” The question stings like a punch to the gut.

You shake your head vehemently, asserting, “No. No, of course not!” even as you feel a twinge of guilt pricking the base of your skull.

Just as you're slightly skeptical of your own words, so too is Simon, and he brushes you off with a, “Pssh, right.”

The heightened emotions of the last several minutes persist even as you and your husband lapse into a tense silence.

As you stand there, you watch as Simon begins to harshly run both hands through his hair, not sure what you should say – if there's anything to say in this moment. Though you and he have had this same argument more times than you'd like to admit, something about this time felt different to you, felt like there were higher stakes in the mix. And as you reflect on the quarrel, you can't help how one line in particular sticks out in your mind. ‘You just love him more, then, right?’ he'd accused, bluntly, bitterly.

The idea is ridiculous to you, loving someone else more than your own husband. It sounds like something only a fool could believe.

But if that's the case, why did Simon say it so assuredly?

And why does the thought of it make your stomach clench like there could be some truth behind the claim?

After another few moments of him tugging at his roots, Simon releases a billowy breath. He briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head to himself, before dropping his hands back down by his sides.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,” his voice sounds as exhausted as his body looks. As he peels his lids open to once more lock with your gaze, you feel your own eyes narrowing in your confusion.

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, timid.

“I mean you need to choose,” he tells you. “Me or him.”

That statement has you balking, the cords that hinge your jaw shut practically snapping. “Si, you– you're not serious.” This has to be some kind of sick joke, right?

“I am.” He nods resolutely. “I can't keep doin’ this – goin’ back and forth with you, wonderin’ if you're really all here with me or not,” he says, frowning. “So you need to choose. Right now. Me… or him.”

It's like you've just witnessed your worst fears materialize before you. Simon, your loving husband, has just asked you to do something that was once completely inconceivable to you. He's asked you to make a world-altering choice: pick between him and someone else.

The decision should be easy – should be obvious – and yet, you find yourself frozen, unable to speak the words you know you should say.

Simon is your husband, the first and greatest love of your life. But this other man he's making you choose between is… well, he's something else to you entirely.

When you're having a rough day and feel like the world is collapsing in around you, he's the first one you want to run to when you need a shoulder to cry on. And conversely, when you're feeling on top of the world, feeling so high up you could reach out and touch the clouds, he's the one you want to call so you can share your joy.

From the moment you met him, you knew he was one of a kind. He's got a smile that could rival a thousand suns, a kiss that could warm the coldest of nights, and the way he looks at you – like you hold the entirety of his universe in the palm of your hand – you think it could keep your heart beating long after it's chosen to stop.

He's your best friend, your other half of a whole, your personal ray of sunshine that cuts through all the gloomy rain. Simon is your husband, yes, that’s true. But this other man is your soulmate, and you know that however long you both shall live, you will love each other until you take your final breaths.

Tears start to bead in your eyes as the answer to your predicament reveals itself to you. And as Simon eventually pushes, “Well? Who's it gonna be?” you know there's only one thing you can tell him.

“Him,” you mutter, feeling the first tear spill over. “H-Him, Simon. Him. I choose… him.”

It's like the planet ceases to spin for a moment as your choice floats in the air like a ghost. At first, you think Simon must assume you're bluffing, what with the way he has no immediate reaction to your response. But as the silence stretches between you and you've yet to renounce your decision, you watch as the realization hits him like a slug to the chest.

Simon's face falls, the color zapping from his skin, and as his eyes start to shine with tears, you find your cheeks flooding with your own.

Simon blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. His brow furrows like he wants to say something – to argue something – but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words escape. He closes his mouth for a second but then opens it again soon after, once more nothing leaving him but the sound of his breath.

Open then shut, open then shut, he repeats the cycle over and over again, never once managing to get a word out. Finally, after several minutes of waging an internal battle with himself, Simon eventually lets out a low sigh of defeat.

“Then go,” he mutters, gaze falling to the floor. “Just… Just go.”

Your own heart shatters at seeing the pain you've caused your husband. But you can't take back what you've said now, and even if you could, you both know it'd be a lie.

Thus, all you can offer him is a whispered, “I'm sorry.” Any louder and your voice would break from the strain of your cries.

The room falls quiet again as you both let everything sink in. Simon, your husband, the man you'd promised forever to, just put his heart on the line, practically flayed himself open for you… and you didn't choose him.

“I'm sorry,” you say again because you don't know what else there is to do.

Simon waves your apology off with a dismissive hand, still refusing to meet your eye.

Over the next few moments, you continue to sob softly, the sounds of your sniffles puncturing the otherwise quiet house. After a while, you feel the faucet behind your eyes gradually slow to a trickle, and you wipe your face with the back of your shaky hands, swallowing down the last of your tears.

You take another minute or so to compose yourself, still standing before your forlorn husband. Once you feel somewhat well again, you clear your throat, then tip your head back to let out a short, high whistle.

Almost immediately, you hear the telltale noise of feet moving against the hardwood floor. Then, not a beat later, you see the man you'd just chosen rounding the corner to the living room.

“Come here, pup-pup. Come here,” you encourage Riley, your fourteen month old shepherd-mix, forward.

Like the good boy he is, Riley trots closer at your beckoning. But before he reaches you, he makes a pitstop by Simon, shoving his cold, wet nose into the man's empty palm.

Riley gives him a couple boops to the hand, politely asking him for pets. And Simon, for his part, despite still being obviously disgruntled, obliges and gives him a brief, dispassionate rub to the snout.

Having received his desired scritches, Riley then continues over to you, and you crouch down so you can meet him at his level.

“You wanna go cuddle with me some more? Yeah? Do you?” you pitch your voice up in that babyish way Simon pretends to hate.

Riley, however, absolutely loves it, and his tail wags back and forth in a way that says he's all too eager to agree.

“Okay, let's go!” You wave him after you as you take off down the hall.

As you both walk back to the bedroom you'd been occupying earlier, you hear Simon speaking behind you, muttering angrily to himself.

“Mangy fuckin’ mutt. Knew he was gonna be trouble,” he murmurs as he makes up a spot for himself on the couch. “First he steals my bed, then he steals my cuddles, next he'll be stealin’ my fuckin’ car…” his voice peters out the further away you walk.

“Don't mind your daddy. He's just being grumpy as usual,” you stage whisper to Riley as you approach the door to your bedroom.

Letting yourself inside, Riley quickly follows after. You shut the door and then waltz over to the bed, patting the empty space beside you as you settle in.

Swiftly, Riley jumps up to join you, taking the side normally reserved for your husband. He moseys all the way up the mattress until he reaches Simon's pillow, where he proceeds to lay down.

You roll onto your side and start to pet him, scratching that spot behind his ears you know he loves. As you do, you see that infectious smile of his slowly take shape, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drift closed.

The sight of him so content makes your own lips upturn into a smile. He is so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that it makes your heart want to burst inside your chest.

And as you continue to cuddle Riley, making little kissy noises in his ear, you know you made the right choice as you grin and ask him, “Who's my favorite boy?”

__________

A/N: April Fools! Hope I didn't break your heart too much lmao!

As always, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley angst #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2

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hanichani · 8 months

Text

You look so perfect standing there...

Pairing: chan x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: a drabble inspired by she looks so perfect by 5sos

Warnings: chan has a tattoo and is very much in love, lmk if i missed aynthing

Word count: 920

a/n: ever since I saw that clip of chan singing that song at one of the maniac tour concerts, i thought it was a very channie coded song. btw i know getting someone's name tattooed is very... but imagine someone being so obsessed with you that they do that hjkdjkh

when you walk out of the bathroom chan is already in bed, wearing his pyjamas (a pair of boxers), facing the ceiling. you lean on the door frame and cross your arms over your chest, looking at the man with only love and admiration in your eyes (maybe a bit of lust as well and no one can blame you for that). his sight moves from the ceiling to his wrist as he raises his arm up. he starts playing with the chain bracelet he’s worn forever now and when he does so, you can see the little tattoo that is hidden on the inside of his bicep. it’s a small black arrowed heart that has your name in it and you vividly remember the night he got it.

it was two years into your relationship when chan was in his yolo era and so so in love with you. so, one night, he picked you up at your house and told you he had a surprise. you did not expect him to take you to a tattoo salon and you expected what followed even less.

“you’re crazy.” you told him while shaking your head at him. but he only fired back with a very predictable “yea, for you.” and a loud laugh.

and even though chan is still equally as in love with you, he is also more responsible now and thinking about things that actually matter. so, when your body movement interrupts him from his thoughts, he looks over to you with a questioning expression. when he sees your form leaning on the doorframe, he smiles. you look so perfect standing there and he feels the need to tell you. he always does.

“you look beautiful.” he says, rolling over to his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows, one of his hands supporting his chin.

you snort in response and move closer to the bed, staring down at him. his hair is fluffy since he washed it tonight, the curls coming back to life. you reach down and ruffle it which he takes as an invitation to pull you down to the bed with him.

you’re wrapped up in his arms. one of his hands resting on your waist and the other sneaking down to your ass. the movement pauses when he reaches the hem of your underwear. or more specifically, his underwear. when he feels the thick band of fabric sitting on your skin, he pulls your shirt up and looks down.

“you’re wearing my underwear.” he states the obvious while his hand finally moves over the fabric that belongs to him (and also the skin that belongs to him). “yea, it’s more comfy to sleep in.” you respond, looking down as well. you’re not going to lie, the sight is nice. the black calvin klein boxers sitting on your hips nicely and chan’s pretty hand resting on your butt is something you’d want to take polaroids of and keep them hidden away in your room forever.

he groans and tugs your body closer to his, hiding his face in your neck and squeezing the soft flesh covered in his clothing. “you look so good in it.” he mumbles, and you can’t help but laugh at his frustration caused by a simple action.

it was quite a frequent occurrence, really. him getting so loved up and frustrated over stuff you do or over you as a person in general.

you remember the first time it happened. it was towards the very beginning of your relationship. he bought you a lot of new makeup products for no particular reason other than just to make you happy (and maybe he thought it was a very boyfriend thing to do). but there was one specific product that caught your attention. so, when chan came over to your house the day after giving you the products, you were wearing it. a dark red lipstick that smelled like roses. he noticed immediately.

“is that the lipstick i gave you?” he smiled, his hands going to rest on your hips, pulling you to him. “yea, it’s really pretty, right?” you smiled back, arms wrapping around his neck. but to your surprise, he shook his head no.

“it’s really hot.” he corrected with a smirk, leaning down to kiss you.

when he pulled back, his lips were a few shades darker and you swear you could’ve died right then and there. without thinking about it too much, you leaned close to him again and started kissing all over his face. you could hear his boyish giggles reverbating around the room. his hands squeezed your hips in an attempt to get you to stop.

when you led him to a mirror after that, he turned into a mush. you draped yourself over his shoulders and started peppering kisses down his neck now and the man just stood there not knowing where to look first.

should he admire how well the lipstick stains, the shape of your lips, really, looked on his face. or should he be staring at your face that was moving in the crook of his neck, marking him up some more. he couldn't handle it and his lipstick covered and frustration filled body turned around in your hold, going down to your neck (a very characteristic action for his love frustration surges).

and just like you did every time after that and like you’re doing right now, all you could do was laugh, hold him close and think about how incredibly lucky you were to have him as your person.

#stray kids x reader #chan fluff #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #chan drabbles #bangchan x reader #skz drabbles #chan x y/n #skz x y/n #bang chan fluff

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livelaughlovesubs · 21 days

Note

Hiii! May i request aftercare with Dazai? Reader makes him feel like he's the most fragile thing in the world after some of the most rough sex he's ever had. Take your tiiiime🫶🏻

Hiii, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long? Anyway aftercare it is

~aftercare, fluff & taking care of dazai~

“Haaah.. you were quite something just now.” Dazai collapsed onto the bed, hands spread as he let himself fall on his back. His skin was sticky, especially his lower parts, and his muscles were sore. It hurt like hell. Everything felt so nasty, but he simply lacked the strength to get up to go to the bathroom. He noticed how the mattress sunk beneath him, then how you brushed your fingertips over his face and tugged his hair behind his ears. “Thanks, you were amazing too.” You said, smiling to yourself. How dare you act all gentle and soft like this, when you literally just blowed his brains out, when you degraded him to the point he cried?

Of course he didn’t take it to heart, he knew you never thought that way about him. So he was only putting on a show, pouting and avoiding your gaze. “Does anything hurt?” You then asked, holding his hand in yours and rubbing his palm gently. Now you were treating him like he was a sick patient, caring for him with all the tenderness in the world. “My muscles are sore, my back hurts~! I’m so tired!” He complained, curious about what you will do next. “Haha, I’ll be gentler next time.” Both of you knew it was a lie.

Despite his complains, he still stood up by himself and went to the bathroom to wash up. You smiled, then followed him with fresh new towels in your hands. The sound of water splashing against the hard floor was loud, it bounced off the walls. Even though you stared at the glass of the shower, you couldn’t see him. It has turned foggy and white. Since you also had to shower, you quickly joined him, hugging the male from behind. “What’s this? An attack?” Dazai joked, then let water run down your body too. “Don’t be silly, I’m just admiring you.” He chuckled, his confident gaze was already back. “There are a lot of things to admire about me after all.” You heard him say, then he continued with, “but you are quite charming too, not on my level though.”

“Hah, thanks?” This man, he is really something else. Somehow you’ve gotten used to his behaviour now, simply changing the topic and rubbing his back instead. “Was there something you didn’t like?” You asked him as you massaged him, he did mention that he had sore muscles right? The hot water felt great against your skin, it washed away all your tiredness. “No, everything was fine. It was good.” He replied, suddenly all serious and almost shy. “I’m glad then.”

After all that, you went out first to grab the towels and wrapped him inside one immediately. “Don’t catch a cold.” Was all you said, while drying his hair. This is weird, he didn’t have to do anything, you took care of it all again. He couldn’t tell if he liked being babied or not, though you looked like you enjoyed yourself. “If I do get sick, will you visit me and take care of me?” What a stupid question, why did he ask you something like this? Wouldn’t he seem clingy now? You answered him without missing a beat, “if you were sick I’d nurse you til you are healthy.” “Pff, what if you get sick too?” Dazai said, laughing a little. It was a reflex, he felt embarrassed. How could you say something like that with a straight face? Besides, it’s nice to know someone cares about him.

“If I got sick, I’d want you to do the same.” You stared at him expectantly, he knew what kinds answer you wanted to hear. In that moment, he would have loved to promise you that he will, but he knew better than to promise something that isn’t certain. So in the end, he just snickered, “wouldn’t that be an endless circle then?” “Well, I don’t mind.” “You are crazy.”

While you were under the shower, you felt really refreshed and awake. Now that you’ve crushed into the bed again, the sleepiness was taking over once again. Yawning as you turn to his side, snuggling up at him and holding him in your arms. “Sleep well, my love.” You whispered, cuddling him and pulling him closer to you. How unfamiliar this warmth is… yet it felt nice, he’d never resist your touch. “Sweet dreams to you too, y/n.” He mumbled, before dozing off in your embrace.

#sub character #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs #dazai bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai bsd #dazai #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai fluff

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ktsumu · 7 months

Text

“it’s rotten work,” “not to me. not if it’s you.”

The lights are out in the house, and you’re settled down into bed beside him when Gojo asks you why you’re there.

“What?” you return, your words coming out more as a laugh than a question.

He shrugs — the sheets crinkle when he does so you know. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s not a dumb question.”

You sigh, rolling over and resting a hand on his chest, shutting your eyes and nestling down into the comfort you were in before he started his session of sharing the obvious late night thoughts that one normally keeps to themselves.

“Go to sleep, ‘Toru.”

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

“Mm, no,”

“You’re not answering my question,” he challenges.

“I don’t answer stupid questions, Satoru, go to bed.”

He grunts to himself, looking up at the ceiling as the hand that still rests on his chest burns through the cotton of his t-shirt. The room is quiet, but never quiet enough to make him forget where you are, where your breaths lie.

This time, he turns his head to look at you straight, his hand taking yours and playing with your fingers in the air idly like you're not trying to go to sleep.

You give up.

Opening your eyes, you tilt your head up with a sigh, looking him so dead in the eye that it almost stings.

“Hi, Satoru,” you say, voice a lot more passive than it is tired. “If you ask me that question again—“

“I won’t if you just answer,” he taunts, but you can tell there’s more behind whatever joking tone he puts on.

You scoff; your smile gives you away. “What do you mean ‘why are you here’?”

“Simple question, really.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you groan, rubbing your eyes as you sit up. “Maybe it’s because of this?” you answer, holding out your left hand, wiggling your fingers so he can watch how your ring glimmers in the moonlight that sneaks past the curtains.

Satoru cracks a smile. “Ooh, so you love me for my money?”

“Why else?”

You both snicker; you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Why are you asking me this, Satoru?” you say in something just above a whisper, taking his hand and placing it in yours, smoothing a thumb over his pulse. Still loud, still strong — he and his heart are very much alike. It’s why you wonder how he’s so quiet, now.

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head like he knows he sounds funny. “I dunno. Just seems wild, doesn’t it?”

“Define ‘wild.’ Because wild in terms of Satoru Gojo likely outdoes my definition by a mile.”

He doesn’t hide his grin, because he knows that you don’t deserve people hiding their happiness from you.

“I’m a little fucked for someone like you, aren’t I? Messy."

“I have your lastname now, isn’t it a bit late to think about that?

“Technically, you can always give it back.”

“Over my dead body, weirdo.”

Gojo cracks a small smile as you press a kiss to his cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek even after you’ve left. It sears the inside of his mouth in the best way.

He tilts his head, running a hand through your hair, catching his finger in a twirl of it. “I’m hard to deal with, no?”

You hum, looking around your bedroom. “Sometimes. Not always.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Not completely.”

Gojo snorts a laugh. “Hard to live with?”

“Also sometimes, never always.”

“Hard to love?”

“Always never,” you answer without hesitation, yawning as you lay against his chest. "Never sometimes."

Gojo closes his eyes, smiles to himself — even though he knows you can’t see. His head leans back against the wooden headboard of your bed.

“Okay.”

“So we’ve agreed that you’re being dumb?”

“I—well, I never agreed to that,”

“Good!” you say anyway, tugging his shirt until he laughs and sinks back down into bed. “Now stop acting like it’s a task to love you, okay? It’s not.”

Gojo stares. He watches you sink closer to him, your hand still wrapped in his, the pad of his thumb swiping over the diamond on your finger.

Yes, it was dumb to question this.

“Yes, commander.”

“Ugh, go to bed.”

#ignore ooc gojo i don't write him enough #someone teach me #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru #jjk drabbles #kit writes

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sourpeachsayshi · 28 days

Note

You had more thoughts about big bro Choso??

I'm listening 🎤

⊱ ─── [ marathon ] ─── ⊰

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: public (is it pseudo incest if yuji is asleep? and choso is his brother?); heavy petting; kissing; nipple play; dry humping; reader is yuji's best friend; choso is yuji's brother; non curse au; hooking up in secret; size kink

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ notes: nyx, my beloved. I initially was going to write something short, but decided to expand on this and I'm wrapping it up as a little gift to you <3

midnight rolls around, the living room glowing in blue light. yuji is on the floor, curled into a ball with his eyes shut as he snores quietly. the movie is still playing, you know it's the last one, but you've got another hour and thirty minute left and it only just started. usually you wouldn't be so conscious of the time, eventually falling asleep, but halfway through choso decided to join you both and you've been on the edge of your seat ever since.

he's so big. his strong, muscular legs taking up quite a bit of space on the humble sized sofa. you find yourself fidgeting with your outfit. tugging at the hem of your short dress as you adjust the straps of the top.

your cheeks are already warm, even though choso is innocently just watching the movie.

"you cold?" he asks, keeping his eye on the screen but picking up on your restless movements.

"yes," you lie. it's actually quite nice - neither too hot or cold, but you figure you would feel less exposed under a blanket.

choso gets up and walks over to the other side of the room. he picks up two blankets, one which he spreads over yuji's body and the other which unfolds over your lap.

"thank you," you softly answer, snuggling underneath to conceal yourself.

"no problem," he nonchalantly replies, but your body shivers when you notice that he sits even closer to you.

you try to watch the movie, tell yourself not to think about what happened a couple of weeks ago in choso's room. you nip at your bottom lip, your belly fluttering with guilt. you swore it would be the last time. you can't keep lying to your best friend like this. hate that you've been showing up at his place more often under false pretenses.

"comfy?" a deep voice whispers against your ear, and you squeeze your thighs underneath the blanket as you swallow the lump in your throat.

a breathy response comes out of you. "yeah, I am"

"good," he answers back, his fingers moving to unravel the blanket even more. "make some room for me then, I'm starting to feel the cold too.."

another lie. but a lie that makes your heart quiver with anticipation.

silence lingers, the two of you keeping your eyes on the television screen. you glance in his direction, wetting your lips at his handsome features. his hair is out, flowing freely to his shoulders, with some of the layers pulled into a half up do. his exposed ears show off his silver jewelry, and you notice a new piercing on his helix. his dark brows frame his perpetually exhausted eyes, his jaw tight and his mouth in a firm line.

he turns towards you just as you quickly glare at the screen pretending like you weren't just gawking in his direction.

choso leans closer, intruding into your space. "this movie sucks"

"it's only slow in the beginning," you insist, "it gets better towards the middle..."

his touch is warm, it makes your thigh tingle when he places his palm over your exposed flesh.

he strokes his thumb back and forth across your skin, "does it?"

"you should pay attention," you murmur, your legs spreading on their own accord, your face finally turning to his. he's so close that your noses bump, and you look at him with sparkling eyes. "the details are really important..."

"are they?" he answers back with a slight grin, teasing you as always. his shy, introverted personality tucked away somewhere else.

your heart pounds in your chest, your attention quickly moving to yuji who is still asleep on the floor.

"I can't seem to pay attention when you've been walking around the place in this little thing all day," choso adds on, stealing your focus once more.

the heat blooms in every space that makes a pulse. you know it's been a distraction, that was the whole point of you wearing it. the top fits a little too snug, your breasts pushed up and on the cusp of spilling out. the hem was a dangerous length, and you are far too ashamed to admit it was for the purpose of easy access.

his hand trails upward, the pads of his fingers delicately tracing a path up along your inner thigh. you gasp lightly against his lips, an electric spark running up the base of your spine when you feel him press his index finger against your underwear.

"what's got you so wet?" he purrs into your mouth, his bottom lip grazing over your own.

your eyes shoot to yuji again, your anxiety out on full force.

you place one hand on his shoulder in an attempt to pull yourself out of this precarious position, but choso simply slips his free arm behind your waist and tucks you into his frame. he kisses the corner of your mouth, his affection traveling to the sweet spot against your neck.

you swallow a whimper, his mouth hot and wet against your flesh. "choso-" you whine as quietly as possible, "your brother is right there-"

his lips find yours, he silences your warning with a kiss. his thumb traces the slit of your clothed cunt, his other hand slithering upward to squeeze your left breast.

"he can sleep through a earthquake," he replies nonchalantly. "we're fine"

you know it's true, but it still feels so...inappropriate.

your hand moves to hold his jaw, your body melting into his weight while you both make out on the sofa. he arches forward, keeping your back resting against the arm chair, the blanket falling to your lap and exposing your upper body. he removes his hand from between your legs, and hooks his index finger around the straps of your dress.

he pulls them down, drags the fabric further to reveal the deep swells of your breasts. a moan leaves you when he finally releases you from his kiss, your spit slick lips panting to catch your breath. he pecks your neck, the indentations around your collar bones, and further down. his greedy hands pull at your dress, just low enough that your hardened nipples are exposed. he uses both thumbs to massage the tender buds, a satisfied expression highlighting his face.

"I knew you weren't wearing a fucking bra" he smugly states.

your head falls back against the arm rest, your body tingling with pleasure from him tweaking and rolling your nipples. you shift your head to check on yuji again, your stomach twisting into a knot out of guilt.

before you can let yourself spiral into the depravity of your sin, choso glides his tongue over one of your nipples to silence your thoughts. the blanket is barely covering you both, the hem of your dress hiked up as your body slowly becomes horizontal.

the movie plays, a scene of passionate dialogue ensuing among the characters while you and choso make out heavily on the sofa. the music carries, a sudden boom from the bass making you both freeze. you both turn to yuji, noticing him shift onto his back still heavy with sleep.

you tremble underneath choso, gazing at him with frightened eyes.

"I can't-" you insist with a shake of your head, while he sighs against your neck.

your both in this position for a seconds, until he murmurs an "okay".

before you know it he's picking you up like you’re featherlight, maneuvering your disheveled state until he has you situated on his lap. large hands find your hips, and he drags you back until you can feel his length press up against your ass.

"relax," he whispers again, his teeth nipping at your delicate lobe. "you keep watching the movie..."

you find yourself obliging as you mold into his chest, your breasts heaving when you breath heavily as he grabs one of your tits in his hand to knead at your pebbled nipple. his other hand finds your soaked underwear once more, and presses the cloth between your lips as he massages the folds.

your vision is blurry, the blue light morphing the colors and the shapes all around you. you brain is a fuzzy thing, lobes made of cotton that's slowly being plucked.

choso kisses your shoulder, his hip bucking slightly to add some friction against his cock.

"turn around"

"but-" you stutter, your back slightly arching when he pinches your nipple.

"it'll be quick, just turn around and face me..." he firmly dictates, and you're so horny at this point that you simply just oblige with frustration.

he keeps the blanket in place as you spin, straddling him properly with your arms locked around his neck.

"lay on me," he adds soft, holding you in a gentle embrace as he hides both of you underneath the blanket.

you sigh dreamily feeling the brush of his cock against your cunt, choso's hands grip onto the plush meat of your ass, and you both instantly start grinding against one another for some much needed relief. his soft tee adds friction to your chest, your nipples brushing over his hard torso. your fingers sink into the locks of his hair, your thighs spreading further as you move with a little more conviction.

"shit-" he groans, lightly tapping your ass to egg you on. "oh shit, that feels good..."

you raise yourself up slightly, forgetting for a moment that you both aren't alone. you look down at where your sexes meet, watching yourself slide back and forth over the imprint of his cock. choso stares at your pussy with concentration, one hand traveling to slip an index finger underneath the fabric. he tugs it to the side, giving you better access. you're trembling, your arousal coating the light material of his sweatpants.

choso is bucking his hips subtly, the sound of the sofa creaks mildly. his eyes fall to your chest, the dress resting just under your nipples, your body glistens as a mist of sweat glitters your skin.

your thighs quiver, a ghost of a whine muted by the television screen when your stomach flutters as you reach your orgasm. choso moans, his head falling back to the sofa when he cums, tainting his sweats with a large, noticeable stain.

the heat of the moment dwindles fast for you, and you quickly glance over your shoulder to make sure that yuji is still asleep.

choso's fingers find your chin, turning you back to face him as he lowers you to his lips. "told you nothing wakes him up," he reassures.

"we can't keep doing this," you add with a shake of your head.

"you say this every time," he notes, helping you as he readjusts the straps of your dress.

"we...we went a bit too far..."

"too far is me fucking you, sweetheart..."

you gaze at him with frustration as you slither off his lap, tugging the blanket over you as shame burns your skin. you try to readjust your position, licking your lips only to find that you can still taste him on your tongue. but then he shifts, his mouth against your ear once more.

"and we haven't done that...yet."

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