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shotmrmiller · 2 months

Text

pornstar au

f!reader x ghost x price :)

2.7k words

tw: teacher-student scenario again, just for the sake of the porn. also, DP. first time writing it, so be NICE!

big thanks to @waves-against-a-cliff for reading what i won't

You sat on Professor Riley's lap after class, his rigid length smearing precum in between your soft, bare thighs as he fucked them. His large hands curled around your waist, long fingers creating tiny dents where he dug them into the supple flesh.

His breath warmed the delicate skin of your throat, as pants escaped his lips. You deliberately pressed your legs closer together— hoping that it provided enough amount of friction for him to finish.

You need this extra credit, after all.

Ghost inhaled sharply when you did, the grip he had on you almost painful.

"Fuckin' hell." His rich groan resonated in your chest. The gusset of your knickers was damp with arousal, both yours and his. The languid drag of his cock against your clothed pussy was so tantalizing, your core ached to be filled.

You were about to urge him to forget intercrural sex— to undress and fuck you already when a sharp knock on the door cuts through the fog in your head; a sudden rush of clarity pouring over you like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Shit.

Your back straightens at the interruption and quickly move to get off of Ghost's lap when he wraps an arm around your middle, keeping you firmly in place. A strangled noise claws up your throat. He cannot be serious.

"Come in," he calls out.

"No. No no no, you can't— you'll be fired, I'll be expelled, Professor Riley, please—" your voice warbles in your panic. His hold on you is as strong as steel, leaving no room for escape or resistance. You're helpless as the doors creep open and Professor Price steps in.

Of course, it's the most pretentious asshole teacher in existence.

"Hey, Riley, have you gotten the ema—" he trails off. His striking blue eyes flick down to your legs. Or more precisely, to what's still in between them fully erect.

"I was unaware you were busy with a...student." The sound of his footsteps draws closer. "Is this what you call detention?" Price leans on the desk with his hip, eyes never straying from you.

Ghost stifles a laugh. "Ask a better question, Price."

Heat licks up your jaw and cheeks when he resumes his thrusting as if there isn't another whole grown man in the room— one who can potentially ruin both his career and your collegiate one.

"Like what, Riley? Want me to ask if I can get a taste?" You look at Price and notice that his eyes are dark, limpid blue rings around the edges— knuckles stained white with how tightly he's clenching his hands. "You've never been a sharing type."

"Well, this sweet toy of mine loves being shared, doesn't she?" Swiftly, Ghost lifts you, his manhood now nestled against the curve of your back. His clever fingers move to your covered center, and draw featherlight circles on your hood, right above your clit. A whimper falls from your lips at the feeling.

"Answer him, pet. Tell Price ya don't mind gettin' this pretty pussy licked by him." He presses down on your bundle of nerves firmly with the pad of his thumb when you take a second too long to answer.

"I, I don't," you hiss when he rubs, "d-don't mind." Ghost gives your cunt a gentle tap.

"Don't mind what?" You swallow the lump lodged in your throat.

"I don't mind getting my pussy licked by Professor Price." His teeth tenderly graze the shell of your ear, followed by a small nip.

"Good girl," he mutters into your hair. Then directs his attention to Price, who's biting his bottom lip— the look he's giving you making your head swim. "She answered, so get down here or get out," he commands.

Ghost clasps his hands under your thighs and lifts until your feet rest flat above his knees. He hooks a finger into the sodden fabric of your knickers and drags it to the side, baring your glistening slit to the cold air of the room, erupting your heated skin in goosebumps. "On your knees, old man, unless they're too creaky to handle this."

Price's lip curls with unveiled amusement. "I was simply admirin' the view, Riley. Don't get your pants in a twist." He lowers himself to the floor smoothly until he's kneeled within inches of your exposed sex.

His prickly beard tickles the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and his mouth is warm and wet as his tongue slides between your folds.

Another former industry giant devouring your passion with the hunger of a starved man at a lavish feast. Each stroke of his tongue spreads the warmth in your stomach, a pressure slowly rising, building—

"Sit her on you," Price mouths against your cunt.

When you find yourself wedged between two burly men, there's not much you can do except surrender to their wishes. That means being lowered onto Ghost— instinctively closing your eyes as you savor the stretch and biting the inside of your gummy cheek at the mildly uncomfortable burn.

Gravity does most of the work as you sink into him in one gentle stroke.

And without reprieve, Price dives right back in. The dull ache from where Ghost's tip presses into the plug of your womb, to the pleasure coming from the attention given to your swollen bundle of nerves.

An intoxicating mix of bliss with pain furling at the edges.

It's so good, teetering on the edge of too much, but when Price sucks lightly on your clit, your body seizes. You scrabble to grab his dark brown hair, blunt nails biting into his scalp as your shatter around Ghost's cock and Price's mouth.

Ecstasy pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart, white-hot euphoria coursing through your veins. There's a ringing in your ears, shrill and deafening, and your breathing comes in ragged pants as you come down from your high.

Your face glistens with sweat as droplets trickle down your temples, hair plastered to your forehead.

Jesus.

Price lapped at the arousal that dripped down Ghost's length, softly groaning at the taste before giving you a wolfish grin behind his coarse facial hair that was damp with your desire.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," he murmurs.

You relax the tight hold you have on his hair as he tenderly kisses where you and Ghost are joined.

Ghost nudges your ear with his nose, and his deep voice rolls over you like a wave. "Greedy little cunt jus' about cut off my circulation, pet." He shifts under you, sliding even deeper than before, a hiss escaping from behind your teeth.

"I think Price is feelin' a little left out, don't you?" With a shaky nod and a quiet mhm, you feel his lips press against the side of your neck.

"Think you can take us both?" It feels more like a warning of what's to come than a genuine question. The idea of being stuffed by both of them sends a thrill up your back.

Price sits back on his haunches, palming himself from outside his trousers. "Think so, sweetheart?" He rises to his feet and promptly sweeps away everything from the wooden desk, scattering them across the floor. Taking a seat on the desk, he positions himself comfortably, his legs slightly bent and his feet firmly touching the ground. How unfair.

With a hand, Price beckons you to him.

Your legs tremble almost comically after having them in such an unnatural position for so long; tingling when you finally stretch them out in front of you. Ghost's hands at your waist help you stand, wincing when he pulls out of you unceremoniously.

Under his breath, he apologizes and gently nudges you towards Price by pressing his hand on your shoulder blades. "Go on, it's rude to keep him waiting." You're then guided forward as warm hands wrap around your biceps, leading you to stand in front of Price.

You drag your eyes from his down to his groin, where his erection is confined behind the strained zipper. Suddenly, Ghost's toned arms surround you, his hands eagerly reaching for the button on the front. "Lemme help ya out, love."

In seconds, Price's heavy manhood bobs as it springs out, ruddy tip hitting just below his navel. Simon firmly grabs your hand and swiftly turns it, exposing your palm. Without warning, he shamelessly spits on it before wrapping it around Price.

A guttural noise escapes him when you squeeze the thick of it tightly. He bucks his hips in a deliberate rhythm— taking hold of your wrist, ensuring your hand remains in position as he continues to thrust upwards until his cock is slick with his precum.

You can't help but rub your thighs together in hopes of getting some of the friction you're desperate for.

"Not gonna come already, are ya Price? We haven't even gotten started." Ghost ignores his scoff, rapping his knuckles on the desk. "Knickers off and climb up, pet."

You hastily tear off your smallclothes, shucking them to the side with your foot before hopping up on the desk, one leg at a time. Price steadies you with his hands on your waist. As you straddle him, your muscles ignite with a satisfying burn as they adjust the expanse of his thighs.

His voice is soft, gentle even, when he whispers into your ear. "Good?" You gasp sharply when Ghost spanks your arsecheeks before nodding at Price. "Jus' like we practiced, yeah?"

Yeah, just like you practiced. The plug you had to wear throughout the week whenever they both weren't tearing you in half should be more than enough prep. You hope.

Ghost taps the side of your thigh. "Cockwarm him while I get this perfect arse ready."

The stretch is intense as you lower yourself on Price— his cock thicker than Ghost's just not as long— it pushes the air out of your lungs. He bites his lip til it reddens, his eyes fixed onto where he disappears inside of you, fingers digging into the meat of your waist.

Your eyes flutter closed when he finally bottoms out, his girth splitting your swollen walls apart mercilessly.

God, he feels so good.

And then the sting of one thick, lubed finger pressing into your tight ring of muscle smothers some of that pleasure.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." Price tips your chin up with his hand, your eyes meeting his. "Good. Breathe for me, sweetheart." He leans forward to place open-mouthed prickly kisses on your neck. "Breathe, love. You've already taken us before. You did beautifully then, and you'll do beautifully now."

He distracts you from the discomfort by suckling on your skin, leaving red little love bites behind. Then, a second finger, so much bigger than your own. Price hisses sympathetically when you do— a tiny whimper coming from the back of your throat.

This time it's Ghost that breathes into your ear. "Doin' so good f'me."

Then he works a third finger in, and your back arches at the jolt of pain that licks up your spine.

Words of praise fall upon your ears, syrupy and saccharine, dulling the ache. He scissors and stretches gingerly, as he's always done. Ghost takes his time, curling his fingers inside— a slow and steady in and out that eventually has you clamping around Price.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you do. "So bloody tight."

"Alrigh' Price." Ghost takes you by the hips and cants them forward slightly, a cry falling from your lips at the change in angle. "Hold her open f'me."

He does just that; rough, worn hands spreading you open almost embarrassingly. There's a hot and heavy weight tapping your arse once, thrice— and then there's a blunt pressure pushing into your other much smaller hole. Your spine bows at the thick invasion, it burns, it throbs, but smart fingers find your neglected pearl and start to circle it.

The pain is merely physical, it can be overcome. Focus on the touch on your clit, focus on the hands that hold you, the heat that radiates from both of them. The harsh breathing of the man behind you as he fights to keep himself from fucking himself into you unfettered. Strained noises spilled from Price's parted lips as he felt your channel constrict, your sex beginning to get slick with your desire.

Ghost hilts, leaning forward until his barrel chest hits your back, a strangled groan coming from him. You felt unbearably full, about to tear at the bloody seams. Every single nerve from your navel down to the tips of your toes was on fire. You felt a throbbing sensation radiating from the back of your skull.

It was scalding hot, searing. The thin membrane that separated them felt stretched beyond its limit.

"Y'okay?" You can't even tell who asked you that past the rushing of blood that's in your ears. Your head feels too heavy on your shoulders, letting it lull forward until your forehead rests on Price's collarbone.

Ghost's chest vibrates as he speaks, the low rumble sinking into your skin, warming you from the inside. "Breathe for us, love. Deep in, slow out."

Right.

You remember what Price had said the very first time they fucked you. 'Breathing helps to process any pain and supports the nervous system.'

As you inhale deeply, your lungs expand to the point where you can feel a twinge of discomfort. But as you exhale, the tension in your body melts, your muscles gradually slackening.

Ghost undulates his hips once languidly, and while the ache flared back to life, below that was the pleasure you've become well acquainted with, desperately clawing its way to the surface.

A moan slips out of you unbidden.

"Perfect. So fuckin' perfect." Price's praise makes you dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, nails biting into his skin.

Then you're lifted by two sets of hands— one on your hips, the other on the underside of your thighs and brought back down. Fuck.

"Tha's it, love. Takin' us both so well," Ghost murmurs. When you begin to mewl, a clear sign of pleasure, Price plants his feet on the floor, and snaps his hips up. Black spots dot your vision, a euphoria shooting through your veins.

God, you hope your hips hold out.

They begin to move in tandem, one pushing in completely, while the other pulls out until just an inch stays inside.

It's sublime, obscene squelching coming from both your front and back. Once your body gives in to their assault, everything starts to blur at the edges, from your sight to your thoughts. You melt in their hands, softening under their touch as they take their pleasure from you.

They begin to fuck you in earnest, breath punched out of you with every thrust, and when Ghost takes control by grabbing a fistful of your hair, it sends waves of something through your stomach. The loud whine that comes from you is filthy.

"Always meltin' into a puddle over a firm hand, pet. Isn't tha' right?" He asks you as if you could even dream of answering. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth, and throat like sandpaper.

"Ready to make Price come? Choke his cock with tha' vice-like cunt, love. Wrench it outta him, take every drop of his cum, and then take mine."

Who are you to disobey such an edict?

The snarl Price lets out is animalistic when you squeeze him snugly, his thrusts turn jarring as he swells and stills— twitching inside of you, warmth pooling in your belly.

Only to realize that Ghost finished simultaneously.

There's a joke in there somewhere, about a couple finishing together, but you've been thoroughly fucked stupid.

Cut.

Simon takes you home— his home, and soaks you in a warm, bubble bath that smells like something he shouldn't have.

"I bough' it for you," he hums.

His callused palms knead into your sore calf muscles, hand making its way down to press into the arch of your foot.

"Don't go makin' those noises, love."

Eventually, you address the elephant in the room, and his answer makes your pulse race. "Gotta create a soft safe place f'you to land after somethin' tha' intense. Ya need to wind down, catch your breath."

He says it so casually as if it was common sense.

"Here. Drink your water." The bottle in your hands is room temperature, just how you like it.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #john price smut #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x you #captain john price x reader #pornstar!au

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rene-darling · 26 days

Note

Hi hiii

How do you feel about Choso from jjk? He's literally so fucking pretty, maybe it was the cool lighting in the episode but bro is majestic. I need to fuck him dumb so bad until he's babbling and his mind is so gone.

Yeah but that's me, how do you feel about him?

(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

DUMB- choso

...I feel the same ml, pretty sure this is gender neutral since I didn't use any pronouns for the reader, if I did feel free to inform me!...pic credits..sybbatra

...choso...

Choso is a pretty tame person, he's had limited contact with people so Imagine this hundred of years old curse who has never slept with anyone,

He's so pretty, isn't he? He definitely throws his head back while you're fucking him. Deep breathy moans and when he's really far gone he starts whining and pleading with you, what's he pleading for? He doesn't know. He just is.

Fuck him on your lap facing him towards a mirror, he's far too embarrassed to look. Throwing his head back onto your shoulder, his hot breath tickles your neck while he moans and whines right into your ear.

Getting too embarrassed by moaning into you, he's forced to look forward, to look at himself being fucked dumb it's so embarrassing he starts crying from shame! Cute darling is now crying into your neck, hiding his face in shame.

"aww... what's wrong soso-..? Hm?" fuck. He hates that nickname- no, he loves it. What? He hates it when you act dumb. "..so mean..y-you're-..s-so meAN-!" cutting off his babbling by suddenly grabbing and jerking his sloppy dick

It's tip is a raging red. It looks so silly.

His long hair flows down his neck and over your shoulder and back as he rests his head there. You jerk his dick a few times before letting it go, his hard-on slaps against his stomach with a wet sound, it makes you chuckle, while he whines at the sound. You're really so mean!!

His muscles tense up, he's really so close! You can tell. It's like clockwork how his body acts the same way before every release, you have its pattern memorized.

Tensing up, his mouth falls dry, and his breath hitches. He convulses, slightly shivering as his body slumps back into you.

His hand reaches out towards yours, and he grabs at it, tugging it, shaking his head he mumbles out "Mhm..n-no more...please, I've-...I've had enough, it's enough experimenting- f-..for today." He finds the energy to turn his head and look over at you. His eyes glossed over as he tries finding mercy in yours.

Sighing, you shake your head, getting a strained whine from him "I told you, we'll fuck until you can't speak- but it seems my pretty boyfriend here is quite coherent and able to make sense of things. We can't have that can we?"

You're so mean, so very mean. But he loves you, and he loves how you make him feel, so he takes a deep breath as he nods squeezing his eyes shut as he pouts his lips, he at least wants a kiss from you before you ravage him again!

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undercoverpena · 5 months

Text

be good, be quiet

joel miller x f!reader | joel masterlist

GIF credit to the amazing @perotovar who i adore, and i'm grateful adores me.

summary: bill tells you both you're sleeping in separate rooms when a thunderstorm doesn't allow you to leave. but joel isn't planning on getting any sleep.

wordcount: 3.7k warnings: post outbreak. smut. sneaking around (so to speak). p in v. fingering. joel angst. you riding joel. jo's spelling. praise kink. joel trying to keep you quiet (by sticking his fingers in your mouth). feelings, but joel-feelings.

AN: thanks as always to @thetriumphantpanda for leaving me comments in the document that made me feel less scared about posting. and also to @swiftispunk for being a cheerleader when i threw a snippet at her like a toddler with a drawing.

All unannounced, it rumbles in. Creeping in, bringing clouds that snuff light and immense claps of thunder. It’s the kind of storm that has lightning that even the shadows can’t hide from. Makes the house creak, groan—it pleading, weeping in its persistence to stand up straight and not cower.

It’s also the only reason the two of you are allowed to stay.

Joel hears the whispers, tuned in until they grow into near shouts in a room next to the one you and him are standing in. If you’re listening, you make no effort to show it—head turned, staring out as the rain thrashes down, eyes following certain droplets as they run down the pane.

Honestly, he doesn’t even want to fucking stay.

Had folded his arms to indicate as such when it was suggested. But, as he stares at you, he knows he doesn’t want you in it—recalling not all that long ago when you had shivered for days. You’d barely been able to speak full sentences as you remained curled in a ball he couldn’t unfurl, all cold to the touch, clinging to him as your teeth rattled in your skull.

It’s the only reason he’s grateful Frank forces Bill’s hand. His tongue piercing, delivering a fine—all razor-like, cutting, his voice booming that the two of you were to sleep in separate rooms.

He could have argued, could have glared, tilted his head—he didn’t. Not as the house shook with another crack of thunder, an idea sprouting, digging itself deep and blooming out across the wasteland living inside of him.

It’s why he plays along. Taking the fresh clothes, the offering of a shower, bidding you a goodnight loud enough for them to hear downstairs, a kiss to your cheek to sign it—burying a smirk under it all.

The whim pulsating, throbbing under his skin—not doused by the cooling temperature of the shower or his hand gripping the base of his half-hard cock. Memories, tinged with blackened edges brimming as he steps from the steam, thinking, ticking—

Waiting.

Waiting for the house to go mute in between the cries of the weather.

Waiting to strike, to prowl—a champion at it, awarded best in class.

Then, he tires from it.

Throwing the covers back, the soles of his feet meet the wood on the thunder. The ticking clock in the corner syncs with his racing heart, desperate to be quiet, maintain mouse-like footsteps, careful—as silent as he is when he moves through buildings that screech and click.

The door you’re behind is at the end of the hallway—shut, closed. A metaphorical do not disturb struck across it from the glare the two of you had been given before Bill had shrunk off to bed.

He didn’t care, not as the drops of water dripped from his hair down his neck, sliding under the fabric that didn’t belong to him. Fingers reaching out for the door handle, all set to twist, when it opens, metal pulled away from him—draping him and the dull flowered carpet in warm orange.

“Jo—“

He’s quick, hand smothering your exclamation, muffling your words. Covering them with his palm, enjoying how soft your skin feels even under it, as he raises his other hand, finger to his mouth—escorted by a glare, a silent order—before dropping it to your hips, grabbing, digging into you as he begins to walk you backwards. You move easily with him, pressing yourself flush to him, all trusting, reading him like a damn book.

“Were y’coming to find me?”

It leaves his tongue in a rasp.

And the look you give him makes his cock even harder than it already had been. Reminding him he’s too worn, too old to be doing shit like this—but fuck does he want to. Lay there, thinking of only you. Mind lost out at sea, bobbing along gentle waves of how you feel wrapped around him, that whimper you make when he flattens his palm to your spine, slides in, fills you, hips flush with yours.

You’re good, because you nod, no words—not making another noise. Your hand slips past him, shutting the door as your chest remains flush with his—the door happy, gleeful to return to its frame. He slides his hand from your mouth, moving to wrap it around the back of your neck, your chin tilted up without so much as a request.

Then, you smile, soft, almost innocent. But he knows you’re no angel—you’re something carved from molten and destruction, but fuck are you pretty. The kind that leaves an outline on the back of his eyelids. The kind that he suspects would turn heads, if you didn’t look like you wished to disembowel them for even looking. Plus, you’re always with him, eyes on him, enamoured, enchanted—

You shouldn't.

Not when he’s poison, slowly feeding you with drops—rotting your insides and blackening your soul. Watching you slowly being made in the shape of his past, carved, narrative rewritten and a future fading, before you get to live it, because of his company. A price scratched against your name.

But, you chose him—leave a mark, Miller. And he did, does. He paints himself on your spine, ropes of white whenever he can; he makes the juncture between your thighs slick with the mess he makes of you. More you whine, and that’s when it changed. When it became less about mindless distraction and more about possession, care, something else fucking entirely—

He pulls your ear to his mouth, your body relaxing, going limp—catching the scent of freshly washed skin. “Ima need you to be a good girl and be quiet. Can y’do that?”

Joel catches the smirk before you blink it away. Your teeth digging into your lip, nodding, catching the reflection of him as lightning floods the room—a sight that undoes him, affects him even though he’ll never show it. Because how much you want him scares him, makes him feel something other than numb, muted grief and disgrace.

The two of you don’t kiss, but he ghosts his lips over yours all the same. Something about the room makes it more intimate, romantic, normal.

“Not like you to break the rules.”

You snort, fingers knotting in his still-damp hair. “Well, I’m sure it’s equally not gentleman-like to sneak into a lady’s room.”

He grunts, and buries it in the back of his throat. Your tongue forces his hand, making him tug on the borrowed PJ bottoms you’re wearing. Palm flattening under the fabric covering your chest, resting it on your stomach, pausing, briefly feeling your heart beating, proof it isn't a fantasy, a dream, before sliding it down.

That’s when he focuses, basks in the feeling of nothing but the softness of your skin and the stories etched into it from surviving, from living. His fingers inching under the elastic and string, your eyes aflame, an inferno, and he wants you to burn him. Singe yourself into him, leave a mark, make it hurt.

“Stopped being a gentleman a while ago, honey.”

You’re wet. A truth two of his fingers feel, sliding them into your heat, suddenly enveloped by nothing but warmth and the sweet rose scent of the soap you washed your skin in. And it’s a comfort, eyes transfixed, all in awe as he watches you try to hold back a gasp—enjoying the way your nails dig into his neck, lashes fluttering and how you part your lips in a silent moan. He can make out what you’re saying is Joel. Each letter inscribed, even in a muted whisper. J-O-E-L.

He already decides he misses the way you sound. A new craving, a new need to make you sing—make your body break out into music, remind him how sweet something can sound when the world is nothing but grievous behaviour and murder.

It’s why he likes when your back is pressed to his chest, knees sore as he pistons in and out of you on the shitty mattress in the shitty room back in the QZ.

Because you can be loud, unfiltered.

There is no need to muffle back how good it feels what he’s doing to you, you can be unhinged, hiss his name, moan through gritted teeth if you’re trying to punish him. He hears them all the same, collects them. Stores them, and uses them to keep the last shard of him intact from all the loss and survival—the part of him he occasionally shows you. Usually in the dark, more morning than night, your chest flush to his back, not asleep, but not fully awake.

But, he can’t collect them here, can’t risk it here—slowing his movements down, hearing you fight it, struggling, being strangled by the moan you want to let breathe.

“C’mon baby, you know how to be quiet. Y’so good when we’re surrounded by clickers. This is no different.”

Narrowing your eyes, you whimper as the base of his palm catches your bundle of nerves. “You’re not—fuck, Joel—usually doing this when we’re surrounded by clickers.”

The corners of his lips twitch. It slides up into one of his cheeks, making a home there—all temporary, only something you seem to pull from him. “Guess I’ll have to help y’out then, won’t I?”

Your eyes narrow briefly before he does. Snaking two fingers—index and middle—past your lips, pressing down onto your tongue, continuing the movements of his other hand, the one pumping his fingers inside of you, coating himself in you.

He learns, quickly, that the pressure applied to your tongue does little to muffle your moan, but the clap of thunder smothers the rest. The way it bleeds out, shakes everything, allowing you a chance to whimper, whine and moan. Eyes digging into his, begging, pleading—

And, he could watch you for hours like this. At his mercy, hanging on the edge—shimmered with a light sheen of sweat and desperation swirling in your eyes. It’s the only time you’re weak, that you show him you can be vulnerable, soft, your edges smoothed down.

It’s why it takes him by surprise when he feels your tongue swirl around his fingers, sucking on them, staring into his fucking soul like you could repair all it had been through. Fuck he’d let you try when you look at him like that.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans, sliding his palm from your face, resting it on the wall by your head.

“You’ve fucked me on a forest floor, Joel. Don’t act so surprised.”

He lets you have that one—rewarding you for it. Unable to tear his gaze away when you’re overcome with it, stilling, tensing, clenching around his fingers like a vice as you constrict, breathing laboured, rapid breaths before you slant his name across his lips. Stain it. Bury the gratitude and relief as you slide your tongue past his teeth, worming into another part of him, a place he realises he’s wanted you to own. Wants to swallow it, have you rooted under his skin—

“Get on the bed.”

“No,” you rasp, grasping his wrist from between your thighs, bringing his fingers to your lips, tongue swirling before you release them with a pop. “Floor. Bed creaks.”

Another flash, another rumble—it allowing him to take in the expression spreading over your face. The calm, sleepy edge to your smile, all thanks to him. It sears into his skull, makes a home, and buries into a crevice he’ll never be able to scrape you from.

Least of all when you turn, shedding your clothes without aid—stripping himself as you busy ripping sheets to the floor, pillows scattering, a teenager's sleepover dream strewn across the carpeted floor. One he has you lay down on, sliding his mouth over the parts of you he hasn’t yet touched—lapped and enjoyed. Leaving a trail, a path of desire against your skin, your nails finding a home in his scalp, awarding him with gasps, small medals compared to the trophy of before.

“Wanna go on top,” you mewl, hand on his, pausing his hips from connecting with yours. “Wanna ride you, Joel.”

“Think you can handle it.”

It’s perfectly timed, almost comically, the way lightning sparks through the room—your glare more than sharp, digging into him, spacing out his insides until he’s nothing but bone.

He knows you can, but he likes taunting you. Enjoys the way your eyes lick flames across his skin, that your tone can be curt with him, gaze sharpened, pointing.

Joel likes being under you. Has a fondness for the weight of you on him and how your thighs feel on either side of him. Mostly, he likes what it says—what it gives you. An assurance you never ask for and he can never provide, because he can’t give you much, a lot, anything. He’s not good, kind or soft—he won’t trace three words against your shoulder and fan his hand out over your back as he tells you you’re a tempest on two legs, a thing which takes his breath, makes him crave, makes him want, makes him wish.

“You can do it—can take it, take me.”

“I know,” you bite back, lining the head of him at your slit.

It almost makes him snigger. That fury in you, that little determined flame that won’t ever be doused, becoming an inferno in your indignation. So, he whispers your name, fingers crawling up your neck, watching the space your bodies join as you sink down on him.

And he’s in awe as your pussy swallows him, inch by inch, the lightest hiss from under your breath caressing the air as your hips go flush with his.

“Feel good don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes closed, head rolled back fingers digging, half-curling into his stomach. “You always feel good, Joel.”

Your velvet wrapped around him, encasing him in warmth, all slick and needy. It tugs at him, and makes him for a moment feel like a man and not a carved-out monster who keeps fighting to live another day, for some reason or another. He supposes you wouldn’t let him have it any other way, would fight him and anyone else tooth and nail on it. You’re fierce like that, a difficult fucking thing he’s come across and now wishes to never lose.

“So big,” you whine in a whisper.

Lit up by the storm. It casts flickering shadows over your breasts over the muscles that contort as you roll your hips—if it lingered longer, he’d have been able to witness how wild your eyes were, how slick it is where the two of you are conjoined. Evidenced ruin, a sight he’d pull up in his mind when he’s alone, and you’re busy, and he pretends his fist is close to how you feel.

“Y’doin’ so well for me.”

Another flash grants him the chance to study your parted lips, the way your lashes hang over your cheek. It’s a sight, a fucking delight. An extra breath of oxygen and an anchor to keep him here all at once. A thing which didn’t cling, but had sunk its nails into him all the same—I’m not letting go, and you’re not going to ask me to.

You never say those words, but they hang—attached to string and bunting, a banner of sorts. One that isn’t wrong. A realisation that feels larger here than at the QZ. Surrounded by ornate white furniture and floral patterns, a room which has remained untouched, unspoiled—almost making him feel like a person he used to know. The one who he occasionally spots in the mirror, hanging back in his reflection.

It fucks with his mind. Makes him relaxed, and unwinds the stress from his bones as he plants his feet on the ground and rocks with you. Enjoys your moans, soft, bitten back but likely screamed in your head.

A thought beating inside him, all closed fists hammering on ribs: because he never thought he’d get attached to someone. Never mind someone who appears so otherworldly, likely created to threaten, but he finds only fascinating. A soul who unlocks things within him, finds a way through cobwebs and vines.

Someone who makes him wonder how passion and despair, adoration and darkness can all exist inside of him. Especially without losing the parts which he needs to live, to protect, to save—while keeping the parts that have you coming back to him.

He’s sure you see it, though. You understand him, having peeled back the layers in time and seen the decay which lives within his chest. You’ve even traced your fingers over his scars, ear close to them, as if they’ll spill all their secrets. Even without answers, you remain by his side.

It’s what makes this time different. So much so, he lifts your hand from his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. All tender, soft. Your eyes twinkle, shimmering with something—lit up again—before he places your hand back and rests his hands on your hips, aiding you, helping you ride him, until he has a better idea, a better thought—

His palms almost lift you off him, just the tip remaining as you hover. Digging his thumb and fingers into your skin, leaving indents he can trace when he catches his breath, and he latches his mouth in the space under your breast. Kissing, drawing a circle with his tongue, before he sucks, nips. Intentionally leaving a flaw, signing his name in a signature only he’ll be able to admire—a piece of evidence that this is real, you’re real. Knowing it will be there in the trek back to the life the two of you live; present when you strip off and change, a blight on otherwise perfection, put there by him—another ruin in your life.

Because you could do better than him. A fact he knows, has put to bed but still occasionally turns over.

I chose you because you don’t expect perfection, you’re happy with just good.

Except, you’re more than good.

Your fingers brush over his cheek, soft, gentle. Far too much of both in his opinion. Then he lowers you back down, pussy taking every inch, the lightest hiss fluttering over him as he stares up at you. Transfixed, lost. Almost able to live a fantasy, allow himself to fall into a dreamlike state.

Because this, right in this room, could have been plucked from the world before. It normal, could pretend the two of you were in a room in some inn somewhere or a bedroom the two of you would have built together—hand-chosen ornate furniture and pleasant knick-knacks that adorn surfaces, wooden frames with pictures he could imagine you’d fill if this was real, and not a break in the reality.

“This what you wanted when you were coming t'look f’me?”

He sounds drunk, intoxicated, maybe he is. Having drank from you for so long, he’s more you than he is rotten. He assists you as he snaps his hips to yours, burying the thought in his movements. But, he’s breathing you in—tasting the air tinged with the two of you as you both pant, hunger rearing, desperate, wanting to collide and spark out across nerves, muscles and fucking bone.

Yes, you chant. Yes, yes, yes.

M’close, Joel. So close.

It falls in breathless swirls, a juxtaposition to how tight you are around him, knotting perfectly at the base of him. Sucking him in, keeping him rooted, the head of him finding that spot that makes your body loose and boneless.

“Doin’ so good for me, my good girl.”

So he fucks you harder, uncaring if the floorboards creak, if they protest and shout, he has to. A thing inside of him commanding it. This is all he can give, so give, give, give—

He feels your nails dig, half-moons slicing in—a new scar, one he’ll be thankful to trace. Next is your thighs and muscles tautening. Then, that flutter, the one he seeks, desperate to own, his prize, no one else's.

Mine, mine, fucking mine.

And, distantly, he’s aware he’s the one who pulls you down, but he’ll tell himself later it was you. Trick himself that you required it, even if it was he who needed it. His mouth slanting over yours, clinging to your jaw and cheek, tongue swirling over the moan that is bestowed to him, that hits and fucking pounds into him. Unable to hold on, barely a handful of thrusts before he’s grunting into your mouth, spilling into you, pouring unspoken words to the place between your thighs as you grasp at the tufts of hair on either side of his face.

Something about it makes you taste sweeter. A man like him should never get to experience it now, not this version of him, the act more forbidden, prohibited. It’s what makes him want to spread you out on the floor, lick the expanse between your thighs, taste the two of you—clean you with his mouth and smear you across his face until he’s dyed with the two of you.

Instead, he grasps you close when you collapse against his heaving chest. Palm, all rough, blotched with death, pressing against your cheek as he kisses you. Knowing he should get up and clean himself from between your legs; knowing he should go back to his room.

But he wants to remain on the floor. Enjoying this, whatever the fuck it is. Hand stroking your arm, your fingers drawing shapes as your mouth parts from him, flicking a warmer gaze over him, before lying on his chest.

Stay. Because of the storm.

It’s barely that, just droplets of rain occasionally kissing the glass of the windows.

But in his head, he wants to pretend a little longer. Live in some make-believe land that this is your two’s house, he found it—safety, built ease into your muscles, allowed the callouses to rid from clutching weapons you shouldn’t know how to use. That it’s just a night where the two of you can’t sleep, rather than it being a night where the two of you just feel safe.

“Sure,” he replies in a gruff. “F’the storm.”

Sighing in contentment, rather than annoyance, even if he knows there’s so much suspended in the air—words not spoken or shared.

He almost thinks he could. Almost thinks the moment calls for it—a little whisper, a selection of perfectly chosen words that would wrap you in the knowledge you mean something to him.

But, he thinks you know.

Hopes it, anyway.

AN: shout out to G, who had to listen to me ramble about this two months ago. i hope, once you read this, it's worth the wait.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader

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luveline · 10 months

Text

spoilers for spider-man: across the spider-verse below

please don’t read any further if you are avoiding spoilers

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel hops dimensions expecting a new family, and a new life. he’s not expecting you —featuring a tired miguel and his confused but adoring wife. or, miguel gets the comfort he so desperately needs. requested here. fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. gun mention/no graphic scenes

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel seems different when he comes home that night. You've loved him for years, you know his face. He looks slightly younger and older at the same time, impossibly so. He looks like he has bad news and he doesn't want to tell you. Something harrowing. How else can you explain his expression?

You stand up from the dinner table. "Hey," you say gently. "Is there something wrong?"

He isn't convincing when he answers, "What? Uh, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Something looks wrong."

You step in front of him and lift your chin. Usually, he'd look down with a smirk, or at the very least a smile, but he seems weary. You lift your hand to his cheek, pinching it between your fingers without malice.

"Smile, handsome. You have a lovely smile."

He smiles. His lips part just slightly. "You… you really love me. You're happy."

"We're happy," you correct. "Me, you, and Gabs forever, right?"

"Gabs?" he asks.

"Don't start with me. Gabriella's a mouthful. A beautiful mouthful," you concede. "I still think we should've named her Sofia. And yeah, Miguel. I love you. Really really. Don't forget it."

You make him sit at the kitchen table. It's a selfish manoeuvre; you want him to sit so you can actually reach his hair. Your husband is the tallest man you've ever met.

"Did you get a haircut?" you ask, running your fingers through his hair slowly. He shivers at your touch, and tilts his head back in question. "You did. That's such a betrayal, my love. I've been cutting your hair for going on six years now, I'm suddenly not good enough?"

"You're good enough," he says. He really sounds so strange.

"I'm joking. Miguel, if there's something wrong, you really need to tell me. I can make it better. Well, I can try." You bite your lip, unnerved by his quiet, solemn air.

"Am I being weird?" he asks.

"No," you say, worried he thinks you're judging him. You never would. (He's being really weird.) "Of course not, you're just quiet tonight, that's all. Did you have a bad day at work?"

"I– I got mugged. On the way home from work. I forgot the– the milk."

"You what?" you ask, eyes widening in shock. Miguel's kind of gigantic. You've always said that you pity the fool who tries it, but apparently he's less hardy than you thought. A mugging explains his weird behaviour these last five minutes, at least. "What happened? Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You take his face into both hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a scratch along his jaw, but he seems unhurt. You suppose being attacked would age you instantaneously too.

"Miguel, are you in shock? Should I take you to the hospital?"

"I'm okay. I just feel strange."

"Are you sure?” He nods hurriedly. You purse your lips. “I'll make you something warm to drink, that'll help. As long as you're not hurt, right? Did he take your wallet? We'll have to cancel your credit card."

Miguel catches your shirt before you can go too far.

"Hm?" you hum in question.

Miguel visibly deliberates. His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. "Could I hug you?"

The hurting and worry you have for him intensify before falling on the back-burner. You can shove your own feelings aside easily if he needs comforting.

"I don't think you have to ask me," you say, offering your arms.

Miguel is usually a short but meaningful hugger. You've hugged so many times and in what feels like every place on earth, and he's such a tall man that even if he doesn't mean for them to be, his arms are all encompassing.

It surprises you that this hug is different. He's tentative. When his hand falls to the small of your back it slots into place, and you can feel his relief like a palpable thing.

"You’re okay," you say, your lips at his crown, your legs between his.

He's keeping space between you, and you don't like it. You press yourself as close to him as possible, your arms behind his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. Soft hair tickles your palm.

"Was it scary?"

"Was what scary?" he asks. You don't mention his little sniff. He's smelling your hair.

"Being mugged? Did he have a gun?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Oh, I see. There's no shame in being scared, you know that?"

"I'm not scared. I wasn't scared when it happened. I just wanted to come home to you."

You frown. His admission is like a barb in your chest, aimed true for your heart. "I'm so glad you did," you confess against his forehead, a murmur of sound. "So, so glad. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You kiss his head three times in a row. The last kiss lingers, his arms slackening around you.

You pull away, not wanting to smother him. Whoever's watching knows he's had enough of you these last few years.

"Where–" Miguel clears his throat. "Where's Gabriella?"

"She's in her room. Call her."

You're hoping time with her will bring him back into focus. He's clearly more affected by this than he's willing to say. You don't know how you feel about it. Terrified, because you could've lost him. Euphoric that you didn't. You'd had this funny feeling all day long, and it's weird, you’d felt that something bad happened, a moment at the sink with Gabriella singing in her room, the clock ticking on the wall. Miguel late, but promising to bring the groceries you needed home with him before dinner.

"Gabriella?" he calls up the stairs. You watch from the stove.

You'll grab the pan and make him some hot cocoa. Just as soon as he stops looking scared.

"Daddy?" Gabriella asks back. She's audibly ecstatic, and her footsteps are a stampede from her bedroom. You can see her from the kitchen when she gets to the bottom of the stairs. "Dad, pick me up!"

"Oh, right," Miguel says, leaning down to hold her.

He pulls her with all the grace of an elephant to his chest, and she nearly chins him.

"Woah, careful."

"Dad, you're super late. Mom said I can yell at you for being late."

"You can yell at me, if you want to." He gives her a curious look. "I'm sorry for taking so long."

Gabriella tilts her head to the side, dark hair shifting. She's a gorgeous little girl and her dad can't withstand it, melting as you hoped he would, the taut string of his back finally cut in two.

"I don't want to yell at you," she whispers.

"Good, because I don't want you to yell," he whispers back.

Gabriella leans back in his arms and giggles thickly. He almost drops her, and has to readjust his hold on her back.

"I'm so happy you're home!" she cheers, bringing her little hands up together from her chest and thrusting them out like fireworks. "You work too much! I thought doctors was s'posed to make everyone better and go home."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," he says.

You turn from where you've brought cocoa powder and milk to an emulsified simmer on the stovetop and beam at him. It's your favourite thing in the whole world when she mixes it up. Ever since she found his ID card with DR. written clear as day before his name, she's been under the impression that he works at the general hospital. Alchemex might break medical thresholds, but it is far from a hospital.

"Are you having hot cocoa with your dad?" you ask Gabriella.

She gasp in excitement and lists toward you. Miguel almost drops her for a second time. "Yes, oh my gosh!"

"Well, come and sit. What mug?"

Gabriella can't decide on what mug she wants; there's the orange cat with too many whiskers, there's the black one with bright white stars. After some deliberation, she decides on her and Miguel's matching daddy-daughter mugs.

"You're having some too, right?" he asks you.

"Don't I always?" you ask. "Though I do want to protest the mugs. Where's my mug? Don't I deserve number one mom?" You kiss the top of Gabriella's head where she languishes in Miguel's lap, before placing their hot cocoa down far from her arm's reach. "It's hot."

Miguel doesn't touch his. You blow cold air at Gabriella's and dip your fingertip into it periodically, content to spend some time with them both in amicable quiet. Gabriella just loves him to pieces, and she leans back in his arms with her eyes closed, basking in his closeness.

She squints at you with one eye. "Dad?"

Miguel doesn't answer. You nudge his foot.

"What?" he asks.

"You're not doing the thing."

"The thing?"

You frown.

"Yeah, dad." She huffs and curls his arm manually across her front. "Please, I want the kisses."

He looks at you, completely lost. You're feeling similarly confused. "She wants you to kiss her hair," you say, wondering if perhaps he's suffering from stress related amnesia.

He leans down carefully and kisses her hair. It's not the usual enthusiastic kiss, and he doesn't bother blowing in her ear after.

Gabriella glares at him. "My ear!"

"Blow in her ear," you mouth.

He blows gently into her ear. She shivers, shudders, and laughs up a storm.

When the cocoa's been drunk and the mugs washed and put away, Gabriella races upstairs, promising to return with a storybook and the drawing she made earlier in the day once she’s changed into her pyjamas. Miguel looks less lost than he had. In fact, he looks normal. The warm drink has put colour in his cheeks, and his daughter's cuddles have done their job. He's relaxed. He's forgotten the fear of the mugging, you're almost sure of it.

You waver beside him. "Can I sit with you, or am I too heavy?"

"Why would you be too heavy?" he asks.

"You always say I'm too heavy," you say, sitting down on his thighs. They feel solid, a little different from usual. Miguel works out, but this is strange. He must be more tense than you thought. "It's your worst joke."

"I'm sorry. I won't say it if it upsets you," he says, his voice rough and low.

"Who said anything about that?" He's never called you heavy to be cruel.

"Sorry," he apologises again. "I think all the excitement today messed me up."

You spread your fingers wide across his chest, his heart beating a surface below. "It's okay. You don't have to react any one way…" You rub the tip of your nose against his jaw lightly. "I'm so glad you're okay. I had this weird feeling like something bad happened to you, you know?"

Miguel laughs and coughs at the same time. It borders on being distressed. He's really worrying you. "You did?" he asks.

"Mm-hm. But you're okay." You work hard to sound sure.

His hand slides between your legs, fingertips digging into the soft inside of your upper thigh, though it doesn't stay there. He pulls away, looking flustered. "Sorry."

"For what?" You blink.

"I don't know."

You laugh and press a kiss to the column of his throat, your nose squished against him. "I was thinking we'd watch that new movie tonight, with Harry Woodson, but it has guns and stuff. Would that still be okay?"

He puts his hand behind your ear and guides your head back to look you in the eye. It's a familiar touch. He looks like himself again, though you truly are offended by his haircut. Maybe something happened at work and fried it off.

"You're really something special," he says quietly.

"How so?"

His face softens with your flirting tone. "You're kind. You're so kind. I've never met someone like you."

"What are you talking about?" you mumble. It's your turn to feel flustered, jellified by the earnestness lining his features.

"You're sweet, and soft, and so pretty," he says, matching your tone. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You understand the feeling. Sometimes you look at him and can't believe he's your love.

"Soft," you repeat. "Are you trying to say something?"

"Like that. That joke. You don't even sound mad."

"You don't have to be so amazed. I've been like this since we met, haven't I? I'm hardly ever angry with you." You follow down from his eye to his jaw with your knuckle, tracing a tear he hasn't shed. He's spun you into thoughtfulness, and more than that —reverential fondness for him aches in the very centre of your stomach.

"I must have some good luck," he says.

His near death experience has inspired a wave of sappiness.

You lean in until your forehead touches his, giving him time to close his eyes or lean away if he wants to.

"I love you," you say simply. "You're not lucky, you're amazing, and all this good you see in me? I see it in you, O'Hara." You huff a laugh, breath fanning over his top lip as you steal a wonky kiss. You pull back. "You're sure–"

Miguel kisses you. His hand flies to the back of your neck and his lips are eager, his head tilted to one side to accommodate your nose. He deepens the kiss and it's a mess, really, nothing like his usual kisses, no practised ease, nor confident touches. His fingertips push at the hairs lining the nape of your neck as though he's not sure what to do with his hand. It's like kissing him for the very first time.

It's not a bad kiss.

You kiss back slowly. You're the steadying constant to his hotheadedness, in kissing and in everything else, pulling time into an endless stretch of his mouth under yours, his body heat seeping into your skin.

The sharp point of a tooth catches your bottom lip. You gasp into his mouth and flinch away from him.

"Um, ouch? What was that, handsome, did you get your teeth filed to spikes?" you ask, probing your lip, a flood of giggles slipping between your fingers.

He looks at you like you've lit the sky one star at a time.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll be more careful, I swear."

"Sure," you laugh. "Well, you'll have to be more careful later. You promised Gabriella you'd read her the Wishing Tree, and she's expecting a performance. Voices included."

He adjusts you in his lap with more strength than you knew he had. "Will you help?"

You'll always help him. He doesn't even need to ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!

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yurinaa-world · 2 months

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𝒟𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈! 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈! 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈!

Characters: Gallagher, Aventurine & Sunday x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: Trying out dresses

Warnings: Fluff, spelling mistakes, wearing dresses cuz I like dresses,

𝒢𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶𝑔𝒽𝑒𝓇

“what’d you think?” you ask Gallagher, sitting on your shared bed at home—waiting to see the dress you were trying on— while playing with his lighter. You could tell he liked you by the way he was looking you up and down with such a look and taking in every part of you.

“lookin’ real good,” he says, flashing a grin at you. he always did have that kind of charm about him. “you don’t even need to try,” he added, grabbing your hips and rubbing up and down.

“Such a man with his words..and hands.” you smile and pull away from his hands to take a good look at yourself, running a hand through your hair and smoothing some stray hairs.

He soon got up from the couch and started wrapping his arms around your neck, swaying you back and forth. You let out a small laugh as you closed your eyes and rested the back of your head against his chest. He kissed you softly on top of your head.

His arms moved around your neck to your hips, with his face hiding in your neck and just feeling the hair on his chin scratch gently against your neck.

“You look good in anything you wear,”

𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒

"59,000 credits, that insane?!" you muttered to yourself; looking at the price tag might have just given you a heart attack. Looking in the mirror, it looks perfect on you, yet going bankrupt isn't what you're hoping for in life.

"Are you going to come out? At least let me see your pretty face." Aventurine calls out to you from outside the dressing room you were in. You can hear the smirk in his voice when you hear him. You sigh profoundly and exit your dressing room.

"Like it?" you ask, scratching the back of your neck, waiting for his opinion—not as if you were going to buy it,, but it wouldn't get his opinion—"You look so cute," he grins, coming closer to you,, before giving you a kiss that was too short for your liking.

"not cute enough to go broke in the bank." You groan, flattening down the dress with your hands; he chuckles lightly. "Come on, it suits you. I bought it for you."

"Ah, you don't need to." You sputtered, trying to hide how your cheeks heat. "You're my lover; you have to be awkward about it." he snickers, pulling you close to your hips and kissing your lips lovingly.

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎

Groans slip from your mouth while you unsuccessfully try to zip the back of your dress. Your neck hurt from looking back, and your hand started cramping. You were getting frustrated with yourself.

"Is everything alright?" Sunday asked you, from right outside the door of your dressing room—holding other clothes you wanted to try on—concerned about your groans. "No, could you help me zip the zipper?" You sigh in defeat, going over to unlock the dressing room door to help you.

You turned around to show him the half-zip-up dress, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks along with the twisted feeling in your stomach beginning to rise. Your throat started to feel dry as soon as you could feel him glaze longingly at your bare back.

You stand still, feeling a shiver as his fingers trace the zipper's path on your dress. The gentle pull and click echo as he secures the dress against your back.

It feels like he is trying to memorize every inch of you. His eyes were filled with such love for you. Before you could move around to show him the outfit, you felt soft lips on your backside, making you blush brightly. Unable to move—just wanting more—he started to trail kisses from your back to your neck.

His touch makes butterflies dance across your skin, and it feels like he is touching your heart and soul. You can feel your heart beating in anticipation of another kiss on your skin.

No, in reality, you wanted way more than just a kiss.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail gallagher #gallagher x reader #gallagher x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine hsr #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday x you

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emphistic · 1 month

Text

"Buttface"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I THINK IVE FINALLY GOTTEN THE HANG OF TUMBLR (hip hip hooray!), i plan on having yuuji being sukuna's baby brother, however, yuuji hasnt been born yet

Prologue: Ever since Sukuna moved in next door, you two have grown closer. Like, impossibly close. One might even call you two "friends;" albeit Sukuna would always shut that idea down. But one thing Sukuna wouldn't shut down? — is that he loves to see you smile. And he would do anything to hear your laugh, over and over again.

A/N: this is in the same universe as "I'm Lactose Intolerant", and while the ages of sukuna and reader dont really matter here, i wrote this with the idea of sukuna being 14 years old and reader is 13 years old (feel free to change that to whatever you desire), brownie points to whoever recognizes the movie that sukuna and reader are watching

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

"This movie is stupid."

"You think everything is stupid, Stupid." You quip back, flicking Sukuna's forehead.

"Touché." He scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest before leaning further back into the couch. You put your legs on his lap.

You grin to yourself, wondering if he really didn't notice that you called him by the name "Stupid". Then you think, he's probably just in a good mood, and go back to watching the comedy playing on the screen.

"I mean, how can it take you so long to figure out that someone who looks exactly like you is actually your long lost twin sister?" Sukuna moves his hand around to somehow make his point seem more valid.

"Besides, isn't this supposed to be a comedy? Where's the humor in this? This isn't funny, at all," Sukuna drones on — until you decide that you've finally had enough.

"This isn't funny? Well . . . it's not like you're funny, either." You stick your tongue out at Sukuna, in a teasing manner — to which he does the same.

"That's just what you think. I bet you didn't even know that all your friends come to me during break just to listen to me talk. In fact, most of the time, I'm not even trying to joke around, I'm just that naturally funny," Sukuna wore a smug look on his face.

"Sure, 'Kuna. They're just laughing because you have such a funny face. Sometimes I even get you mixed up with a chihuahua, you know."

"Oh really?" Sukuna glares at you, and gets closer to your face.

You copy him, "Yes — really."

At this point, the tips of your guys' noses were just centimeters away from touching. You could practically feel his warm breath on your face.

Woah.

Now you could hear your own breathing quicken.

Since when were Sukuna's eyes so red?

Your cheeks felt warm.

Why are his eyes so, so—?

"Buttface." Sukuna interrupts the silence.

You get pulled back to reality. "What did you just call me!?"

"What, you deaf now? I called you 'buttface,' Dumbass."

"Seriously, someone needs to control your vocabulary."

"Pft, I don't need any controlling."

You laughed, "Sure, Sukuna. Sure."

The movie ended, and the credits rolled. Sukuna grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, before getting off the couch.

"Want something to drink?" He peered over his shoulder at you, raising a brow.

"Ah, sure. Lemonade."

"Too bad, I ain't getting it for you," Sukuna stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and walked off — to the kitchen, you assumed.

You grumbled, and threw a pillow at his back. It just bounced off, though, and you sighed.

He returned minutes later, with a glass of lemonade in his hand. Which was a clear sign he was trying to aggravate you, because he's expressed multiple times his strong detesting of the refreshing drink. (You completely disagree with him, by the way.)

"Dude, seriously?" You frowned.

"Totally serious. I mean, I couldn't resist. This glass of lemonade was just calling my name." He took a sip.

"It is so good."

Another sip.

"Shame you don't have a glass yourself."

And another sip.

You were practically ripping out your hair at this point. "C'mon, 'Kuna. If you won't get me a glass, can I just have a tiny sip of yours?" You entreated him with all your might.

Sukuna rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to think about his decision. Finally, he said, "What's with that name you keep calling me? And — what's the magic word?"

You huffed, "Please?"

He gestured for you to go on.

You clasped your hands together in a desperate, beggar-like manner. "Pretty please, Sukuna? Just a teensy weensy sip? For poor ol' me."

"Hmm, let me think. How about . . . no."

You gawked at the pink haired boy.

"WHAT."

"You heard me."

"Aghhh!" You jumped on Sukuna, trying to grab the glass of lemonade yourself. If he wasn't going to share, you just had to take matters into your own hands — literally.

Your attempts were fruitless, however; Sukuna just kept on raising the glass higher and higher above his head, to the point you couldn't even reach his wrist. Damn him and his stupid growth spurt.

His hand starts to shake as you try to climb him like a tree. Next thing you know, your wish is answered. You got your lemonade. Except, not in the way you had hoped. The lemonade was everywhere. On your clothes, Sukuna's clothes, the couch, everywhere.

"Oh shit." This time, you didn't correct Sukuna's obscene language.

The room became so silent that you would be able to hear a pin drop.

"Sukuna!" You whisper-shout. (You had no idea why you were whispering.)

"Don't look at me, this was your fault!" His hand still held the now empty glass.

"Me? This was all you," you retorted, jabbing a finger into the older boy's chest.

"Sureee, Y/N. Let's just forget about the fact that you were practically climbing my body."

You blushed.

"You could've just gotten your own cup of lemonade, but no, you just had to spill mine."

You scoffed, "Well, you could've shared, but you didn't — because your shellfish."

Sukuna looked at you funny, "Do you mean 'selfish'?"

"Same thing, you know I make mistakes with pronunciation."

He shrugged. Then, a great idea popped into your head.

"Your mess," you exclaim, before pushing off of Sukuna and darting away, only to be pulled back by your hood.

"Hey!" You shout, falling back onto Sukuna's chest.

"This is your mess. You caused this, remember?"

You groaned, turned around, and tackled Sukuna. You guys ended up rolling off the couch altogether. Pillows were thrown, and the lemonade spread onto the carpet.

"Let go of my foot, you big oaf!" You yelled, shoving at Sukuna's face.

"Not until you admit this was all your fault." He continued to wrestle with you on the ground.

"In. your. dreams."

You guys continued to fight, which made the mess even bigger. It felt like hours had passed. Hours where you still didn't get even a sip of lemonade. Then, you heard the sound of keys, and next thing you know; your parents walked in.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest.

Your mom and dad took one good look at the two of you on the floor, and your mom said, "Knock it off, you two. And clean up the couch. I don't want my living room smelling like lemonade for the rest of the year." They walked into the kitchen.

You turned back to look at Sukuna, just to find him already staring at you. You guys continued to stare at each other before bursting out into laughter. Tears were basically streaming down the both of your guys' faces at this point.

Your mom yelled from the kitchen, "Ah, young love these days. So different from us — right, honey?" Your dad responded with a loud chuckle.

Looking down, you realized the position you were in. Sukuna lying on his back beneath you, while you were sitting on top of him. The expression on your face immediately soured.

You and Sukuna pulled away from each other in record timing, both of your expressions clearly, visibly flustered.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #ryomen x reader #jjk x you

252 notes · View notes

yinses · 1 year

Text

amaretto mirage

pairing: [modern]gn! reader x hantengu clones (sekido, karaku, aizetsu, urogi) wc: 10k+ rating: mature (for this part) a/n: the PLAN is two, maybe three parts. then possibly some accompanying drabbles if i haven't burned myself out

[also available to read on ao3] synopsis: you, a simple student, finds yourself caught in a sensual game between a quadruplet of brothers, leading you down a path of self-discovery and forbidden desires.

"oh, aizetsu, wait for me please," you call out as you hurry to catch up to your friend. the sun beats down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows across the pavement, and the air is thick with the scent of exhaust and the sound of honking cars. you can feel beads of sweat trickling down your back, and the weight of your backpack seems to increase with every step.

as you draw closer to aizetsu, you take a moment to study him. his tall, lean frame is relaxed and unhurried, and his sky-blue eyes twinkle with a serene kind of patience that you find both calming and exhilarating. you can't help but wonder how he manages to maintain such an air of composure in the midst of the chaos that surrounds you.

with a sigh, you turn your attention back to your own worries. the never-welcomed midterm finals loom ahead, and you feel a familiar sense of panic rising within you. despite being in your fourth and final year, you still feel woefully unprepared. your scattered notes are a testament to your haphazard studying habits, and you know you'll pay for it later with a headache.

as you walk alongside aizetsu, you reflect on the years of hard work and dedication that have brought you to this point. you've managed to maintain decent enough grades, but deep down, you know that the credit isn't fully yours. in recent months, you owed a large portion to the man beside you.

you first met aizetsu during your sophomore year, but looking back on your freshman year, you couldn't recall his face as easily. his presence had been shrouded by what you knew of his brother, urogi, the school's star basketball player.

it wasn't until someone mentioned the relation between the two that aizetsu finally showed up on your radar. but that's really where the likeness ended. it was true that physically they shared the same complexion and hair, but their eyes and personalities couldn't be more different.

you remember marveling at the biological mystery of how one brother could have eyes that mimicked the sun while the other had a pair that mirrored the ocean. it made mountains more sense than the floating superstitions of demonic energy that your classmates liked to loft around. and apparently, aizetsu had two other brothers who also had differing eye colors. they were all quadruplets.

so yeah, given that anomaly, you were okay with blaming biology. but what you knew of urogi was that he was boisterous and confident, a fitting temperament to balance out his presence on the court. aizetsu, on the other hand, was best described as the opposite, which would be quite fitting if they were only twins. he was not rude per se, but decidedly introverted, keeping to himself and maintaining a low tone. most noticeably, where urogi was always boasting a bright smile, aizetsu was more solemn.

"sorry, you said you didn't have anything planned after this, right? i won't hold you up, but i wanted to get you something for your help," you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

aizetsu's face remained inscrutable, his blue eyes calculating as he spoke. "we share similar classes. it is an equal exchange."

your heart fluttered in your chest at the sound of his voice. he was always so patient with you, despite the vast gap in your intellect. aizetsu was undoubtedly a genius, while you had to work tirelessly to keep up with the coursework. you knew he could manage on his own, but he chose to help you anyway.

gratitude and admiration swelled within you, only further cementing your desire to show him your appreciation. you weren't sure why he chose to befriend you, but you treasured his company nonetheless.

"it's nothing big," you said, attempting to downplay your intentions. your meager budget didn't afford much extravagance. "we can go to the cafe on campus. we don't have to sit down or anything. just grab something on the way."

your heart raced as you offered, hoping that he wouldn't see through your poorly veiled attempt to treat him. you couldn't help but feel nervous at the prospect of him rejecting your gesture or worse yet, interpreting it as something more than just gratitude.

aizetsu's gaze bore into you, and you held your breath in anticipation.

"alright, if you insist," he finally acquiesced.

relief washed over you as you smiled gratefully, thanking him for accepting your offer. you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest at the thought of spending more time with him. but you pushed those feelings aside, not wanting to ruin the delicate balance of your friendship

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

as aizetsu made the decision to sit down and order rather than grab and go, you felt a wave of nervous energy course through your body. you tried to remain composed, reminding yourself that this wasn't a date but merely a gesture of gratitude. you were pleasantly surprised that he had even agreed to come in the first place.

despite having known each other for months, you still struggled to describe your relationship with aizetsu. you were more than acquaintances, but not quite friends. your interactions were confined to the classroom and the library, but the countless hours spent studying together had brought you closer than you thought possible.

as you sat across from aizetsu, you couldn't help but fidget in your seat. the atmosphere was charged with a sense of anticipation, as if this small outing held more significance than either of you let on. you desperately hoped that this would be a step towards building a stronger friendship, one that could survive beyond graduation.

the cafe was cozy, with warm yellow lighting casting a soft glow over the wooden tables and chairs. the faint aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of other patrons. you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in this space, as if it were a sanctuary away from the stresses of academia.

as aizetsu ordered his drink, his eyes flicked over to you briefly before returning to the menu. you felt a flutter in your chest at the brief moment of eye contact, wondering if he was feeling the same sense of anticipation as you were.

as aizetsu's attention snaps back to you, you catch a glimpse of a camera flash and the click of a shutter from the corner of your eye. you shake your head, dismissing it as a trick of the light or your imagination. you turn your focus back to the conversation, discussing your tentative plans for the final semester and how you hope to broaden your knowledge in your major. aizetsu listens attentively, nodding and interjecting his own insights with ease.

suddenly, the serene ambiance of the cafe is shattered as a new figure emerges. when you look up, you find another version of aizetsu standing over the table. without even meeting him, you know this must be urogi, aizetsu's brother. his boisterous presence immediately fills the room, causing heads to turn and eyes to follow him. his eyes lock onto you, roving over you with unabashed interest before he snorts and pulls out a chair, sitting down uninvited.

aizetsu's brow furrows,"now is not the time, urogi. go away."

urogi simply crosses his arms, grinning as he refuses to budge. "nah, this is too good," he retorts, his eyes sparkling with mischief. the air around you suddenly becomes charged with a mix of curiosity and tension.

suddenly there is another click and flash, but this time much closer as urogi snaps a photo of your face. as the flash of the camera dies down, you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. you wonder if urogi's laughter is directed towards you, or if he's simply amused by his own antics. you force a smile, trying to play it cool, but it's clear that he's rattled you.

he sees your expression and laughs, “don’t worry, i’m not doing anything weird with it. just sending it to my brothers. it's not often little aizetsu goes out on a date.”

aizetsu's reply is sharp,"urogi that's rude. you can't just do what you want like that." the other brother only shrugs and by the time he sets down his phone the damage is done.

the atmosphere of the cafe suddenly feels oppressive, as if the walls are closing in on you. you're acutely aware of the other customers, their eyes darting towards your table before quickly averting their gaze. the low hum of conversation seems to have evaporated, leaving only the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

despite your discomfort, you can't help but also feel sorry for aizetsu. you never expect and act of gratitude would draw this much attention.

“it’s not a date, i just wanted to thank him for his help this semester."

urogi seems disinterested in your explanation as he taps against his phone. “yeah, aizetsu isn’t going to let just anyone sit him down for a meal.” he says it so absently but with a tone of finality that furrows your brow.

you don't want aizetsu to get the wrong idea, or for anyone else to think that you're trying to pursue something more than friendship. but urogi seems uninterested in your explanation, preoccupied with his phone.

the firmnesss in his tone when he speaks of aizetsu only makes you more curious about the reserved genius. as the tension thickens between the brothers, you feel like an outsider looking in.

the atmosphere in the cafe shifts, the ambient noise fading into the background as the two siblings stare each other down. aizetsu's eyes are narrowed with determination, and you can sense that he's not going to back down. his brother, on the other hand, looks almost amused as he crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently.

you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, unsure of how to proceed. you glance between the two of them, searching for a way to ease the tension. aizetsu's voice breaks the silence, clear and firm. "they're not a crush, urogi. they're a friend. this was meant to be a treat for our study efforts, and you're ruining it."

urogi's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his grin faltering slightly. "oh? just a friend?" he says, sounding almost disappointed. "well, that's a shame. i was hoping for some juicy gossip to share with the team."

you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at the implication, and you wonder how aizetsu is taking all of this. he seems unperturbed, however, his expression remaining resolute. "you're not getting anything, urogi. ."

there's a moment of tense silence before urogi finally relents, settling back into his chair with a sigh. "fine, fine. i'll behave. but you owe me one, little brother."

the tension in the air begins to dissipate, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the cafe noise returns to the foreground, and you take a sip of your drink to calm your nerves. you can't help but wonder how many other hidden tensions are lurking beneath the surface of aizetsu's life.

as the silence drags on, you begin to feel restless. you shift in your seat, trying to find a way to diffuse the tension. your eyes dart back and forth between the two brothers, unsure of what to say. finally, you clear your throat, hoping to break the stalemate.

"aizetsu doesn't get the chance to talk about his family often. i distract him too much with my countless questions on material," you say, hoping to shift the conversation to a more positive note.

your laugh however, cuts off uneasily as those golden eyes settle on you. a tug of something you cant describe pulls at his lips,”a distraction, i’m sure.” he studies you a moment longer, before reaching for the discarded menu. “well, let’s hear all about the person who has kept our brother occupied.”

aizetsu's focused gaze doesn't leave his brother, but you can sense the odd taste at the mention of his family. despite spending countless hours studying with him, you know little about his personal life. you wonder what secrets he keeps hidden behind those deep, contemplative eyes.

your attempt at lightening the mood with a joke falls flat, and you can feel the weight of the awkward silence settle over the table. your gaze falls to the table, the scratched surface now a blur beneath your fingertips as you twist them together nervously.

aizetsu's sudden attention startles you, and you raise your head to meet his gaze. the way his lips tug at the corners sends an unfamiliar jolt of something through you, but you can't put a name to it. his intense stare feels like a physical touch, sending shivers down your spine.

as he picks up his cup, you realize you've been staring too long. quickly, you avert your gaze, taking refuge in your own drink as if it can provide a shield from his penetrating gaze. aizetsu's calm tone breaks the silence, drawing your attention back to the conversation.

“given you don’t take your studies seriously, i’m not left with many options, urogi.”

urogi hums,”true. but that’s never stopped you before.”

your mind races to come up with a suitable response, but you find yourself at a loss for words. you clear your throat, hoping to regain some composure. "well, there's not much to tell. we're just friends, after all." the words sound weak even to your own ears, but they're the only ones that come to mind.

urogi snorts, leaning back in his chair. "just friends, huh? you're blushing like a bride, you know." his words are teasing, but you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

the intended outing for two has evolved into something you're not entirely sure how to describe. eventually, your waiter returns to take urogi’s order, not hiding their surprise well. but urogi is more attentive to you as he quizzes you on your hometown, studies, and interests.

"so, where are you from originally?" urogi asks, leaning forward in his seat.

"i'm from a small town south of here," you reply, feeling a little uneasy under his intense gaze.

"a small town, huh? what made you want to come to this big city for school?"

"i wanted to experience something new and different," you say with a shrug.

"i can respect that," urogi says with a nod. "what's your major?"

you share without pause.

"sounds cool. what kind of career are you hoping to have with that degree?" urogi asks, leaning back in his seat.

"i'm not really sure yet. i'm still exploring my options," you say with a smile.

meanwhile, aizetsu watches the two of you with a furrowed brow, clearly not thrilled with his brother's line of questioning. finally, he speaks up.

"urogi, can you stop talking so much for once? we came here to relax," he says pointedly.

urogi rolls his eyes but acquiesces. "fine, fine. but i have to ask. how about basketball? you're a big fan of the games right?"

aizetsu signs, but you can feel the mood finally settling to a comfortable point that you can lean into.

and so the conversation shifts to a more neutral topic, and you're able to relax a bit and enjoy your coffee that has run lukewarm now. but in the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder what urogi's true intentions are and why he's so interested in you.

as the bizzare occassion winds down, you can't help but feel a sense of surreality as the situation has evolved into something you never imagined. you would have never expected approaching the kid in the back of the lecture room would lead to this.

“i should get going, my shift starts soon.”

urogi whistles,” a worker and a student. busy, busy.”

as you reach for the check, your hand is halted by urogi's quick reflexes. he snatches it away with a playful grin, teasing his brother, "aizetsu, making our them pay? that's not very hospitable of you."

aizetsu simply shrugs, his expression unreadable. "i didn't want to insist and make them feel uncomfortable. they wanted to treat me, after all."

urogi's playful demeanor dissipates, and he studies his brother for a moment before suddenly slamming his own card on the table. "consider it my treat, then. you can owe me one, aizetsu."

the gesture catches you off guard, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks. you're not used to this kind of generosity, and it makes you feel both grateful and uneasy at the same time.

as the waiter takes the bill and disappears, you let out a small sigh of relief. the cafe, though delicious, has been a rollercoaster of emotions. urogi, the more talkative of the two, had bombarded you with questions, leaving you feeling dizzy and unsteady. aizetsu, on the other hand, had remained quiet for the most part, his blue eyes observing your every move.

as urogi scribbles a generous tip onto the bill and rises to his feet, you can't help but feel a little relieved that the intense scrutiny is over. he chats easily as he turns to his brother, his voice ringing with a certain cheerfulness that makes you wonder what kind of relationship they have.

"it was nice to meet you. i'm sure we'll be seeing each other again." urogi waves his phone in the air, the light catching the screen and casting a blue glow across his face. "sekido wants to see us. i staved him off for long enough, but we both don't want him calling."

his gaze flickers briefly to his brother, before settling back onto you. "sekido is technically the 'oldest'. a bit rougher than the rest, but," he pauses, his lips tugging up into a small smile. "i'm sure you'll get along just fine."

urogi throws an arm over aizetsu's shoulder, guiding him away as they make their exit. you watch them go, feeling more confused than when you first walked into the restaurant. what kind of family were they, to be so open and yet so guarded? you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts, as you gather your belongings and head out.

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

as the day waned, you hurriedly packed your bag and left campus feeling the piercing gaze of the curious onlookers behind you. the sky outside was a blend of oranges and pinks, the sun bidding a warm farewell to the day. you knew you had only a short window of time to change and make it to your night shift at the corner convenience store in your neighborhood.

at night, the store was a hub of activity, bustling with customers seeking to grab a quick snack or last-minute essentials. it was a simple job, but one that kept you afloat, paying your bills and rent. the store was always expecting customers, but not always with the most pleasant of crowds. the sound of shattering glass echoed through the aisles, causing you to wince from the front.

“oi, you’ll be paying for that, dumbass. i told you to watch where you’re going,” growled a gruff voice.

“i ain’t paying for shit,” retorted another voice, filled with equal parts anger and defiance.

you listened nervously as the argument escalated, hoping it would end before you became an issue beyond simple damages. as the two men continued to bicker, you couldn't help but wonder how your life became this - a constant struggle to make ends meet, dealing with difficult people and their petty squabbles. the thought made you feel a little weary, but you squared your shoulders and braced yourself.

the job itself wasn't glamorous, but it was a means to an end. you were grateful for the reliable income that helped manage your rent and groceries. the store owner even threw in a decent discount on some of the items, which came in handy during tight months. and being situated so close to home, you didn't have to worry about losing precious time commuting.

eventually, the two men made their way to the front, both jostling to get to the counter first. you waited patiently as they bickered and pointed fingers, each refusing to take responsibility for the shattered case of beer.

“oi, this bastard shattered a case of beer.”

“that wasn't me it was you.”

“as if.”

“well i ain't paying for it,” came the final reply with a sharp glaze your way.

you knew it was only a matter of time before the blame would fall on you, but you had grown accustomed to these petty disputes. with a smile, you offered to take care of it, hoping to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

the men, still grumbling but appeased for the moment, took their leave and headed for the door. you breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that they didn't try to engage with you further. you retreated to the backroom to gather the necessary cleaning supplies, mentally preparing yourself for the next unexpected hurdle.

it was an inconvenience, but at least this one made sense.

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

the air is thick with the buzz of students rushing to and from their final exams. your own mind is a jumble of information, formulas, and theories that you've tried to cram into your brain in just a few short days. the relief of completing one of the exams is quickly replaced with a sense of exhaustion and the anticipation of the next one. you're stumbling down the hallway when you suddenly collide with someone.

hands steady you, preventing you from falling to the ground, and a familiar voice rings out with laughter.

it's urogi.

you can't help but feel a little surprised to run into him again, especially during such a hectic week. the finals schedule has thrown off your usual routine, making it difficult to anticipate who you might see on campus.

despite the chaos of the week, urogi rather collected. his eyes sparkle mischievously as he greets you, as if he knows something you don't. it's clear that he's not here by coincidence. you wonder if he's been keeping tabs on your schedule, or if he's simply a master of appearing when you least expect it.

you open your mouth to apologize for the collision, but urogi beats you to it. "well, well, well. look who it is! i thought i recognized your backside from a mile away," he jokes, playfully teasing you.

you take a moment to look around and notice that the hallway is filled with students bustling to and fro. the fluorescent lights overhead cast an unnatural glow on everything. the air is heavy with the scent of stale coffee and sweat, a testament to the long hours spent cramming for exams.

in the midst of the chaos, urogi stands out like a beacon of calm. his hair is windswept and his clothing is slightly disheveled, but it only adds to his charm. his eyes dance as he talks, and you find yourself drawn into his infectious energy.

"finished with your exams?" he asks, his curiosity palpable. your last exam of today was one of the later ones, but fortunately, you've managed to escape the night classes this year. you don't know if you could survive that again. still unsure why urogi is talking to you, you respond politely. "yes, one more tomorrow, and i'm done."

urogi nods along. "right, right." as bodies move around you both, you can't help but notice the stares and whispers floating around. this is not the kind of additional stress you needed. you're already exhausted from studying and taking exams, and now you have to deal with gossip and speculation?

"well, i should get going. good luck with the rest of the week." urogi's gaze widens at your abruptness, and he reaches out to stop you. "hold on, i actually came to ask you something."

you can feel your heart rate increasing as you turn to face him. what could he possibly want?

“the thing is,” urogi begins, his voice low and conspiratorial. “i'm hosting an end of semester party tomorrow night. it'll be a chance for everyone to unwind and forget about their worries. you should come.”

you immediately go to decline, you barely know urogi but you know of the crowd he attracts. that definitely would not be your scene trapped in a house with all of them. “thanks for the offer but—”

urogi cuts you off, “it’d be really great if you came. aizetsu needs the break too and he’s more inclined to come if you do. “

he seems to sense your hesitation and reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. it's a show of camaraderie that surprises you. you didn't realize the two of you shared that kind of relationship.

“you still owe aizetsu a treat, right? you can use this as one,” he says with a wink.

you frown at his words, feeling as though you're being manipulated. you cant help but frown at that, “that feels more like a treat from you. which would make it twice youve done that.”

urogi shrugs as he pulls away,” really? i dont see it that way.” he waves of his shoulder as he departs, not giving you room to argue.

“catch up with aizetsu and coordinate. see you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder.

as you watch him disappear into the crowd, you're left wondering how quickly this semester has changed.

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

the final exam had come to a close and the air in the classroom was charged with a palpable sense of relief and accomplishment. as the instructor wrapped up the semester with final words of praise and congratulations, you couldn't help but feel your spirits lift with each passing moment.

you were finally done.

as the rest of the class began to shuffle out of the door, your eyes drifted to aizetsu. despite trying not to think much of it, urogi's offer returned ahain. now, without the excuse of exams, it was harder to bat away.

making up your mind, you rushed to catch up with aizetsu as he made his way out of the classroom.

"aizetsu, hey!" you call out, your heart racing as you catch up to him. he turns at the sound of your voice, and you feel a jolt of something electric as his cool blue eyes meet yours.

"did you feel confident about that? you should, after all the effort i put into quizzing you," aizetsu says, his voice low and smooth. you shake your head, trying to refocus your scattered thoughts.

"yeah, actually. thank you. i used your revision guide last night too." you reply, feeling grateful for his help during the exam preparation.

aizetsu nods. "good, you've earned the break." you notice something lighter in his posture today, something more friendly. "do you have work tonight?" he asks.

his question reminds you that you have something else to ask him. "no, actually, i wanted to see if you were planning to go to urogi's party."you say, your voice laced with a touch of hesitation. aizetsu raises an eyebrow, his expression quizzical.

"urogi's party?" he repeats.

it feels odd to ask, given that they're brothers. but you feel as though you were right in assuming that aizetsu had no interest. as if to mirror your thoughts, he frowns. "no, i never really go. i didn't think it would be something you enjoyed either."

well, it seems you both have a pretty good scope of each other. a gesture that fills you with unexpected warmth. it gives you the courage to push further. "normally no, but i thought it could be fun?" you offer with a shrug. "and i still owe you a treat. let me buy you a drink?"

aizetsu is quiet as he considers you. it's almost as if he sees through you and can imagine the echoed conversation from between his brother and you yesterday. the scrutiny makes you nervous. but just as you go to take back your offer, he sighs with a shrug. "if that's what you want."

"yeah, i think it will be fun," you grin, more t ease with his acceptance.

"alright."

it appears that he wants to say something else but leaves it at that. you watch him go, feeling both relieved and anxious at the same time.

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

as the evening draws closer, you can feel your anticipation building up. the last day of exams has left you feeling exhilarated, and you can't wait to let loose a little at urogi's party. but before you head out, you decide to put a little extra effort into your attire. you rummage through your closet, picking out an outfit that is both stylish and comfortable.

as you slip into your clothes, you can't help but wonder why you're putting in so much effort. after all, it's just a party, and you'll be surrounded by a bunch of drunken college students. but a part of you knows that you're doing it for yourself, to feel good and confident. and maybe, just maybe, you're hoping that aizetsu will notice too.

the memory of your conversation with aizetsu earlier in the day lingers in your mind. you can't shake off the feeling that something has changed between you two. the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you - it all felt different somehow.

as you step off the bus, the bustling city surrounds you like a cloak. you take a deep breath, feeling the energy of the crowd electrify your senses. the sound of car horns and chatter mix together in a chaotic symphony, and the neon lights of the city create a vivid display of color.

but as you walk towards the address, you begin to realize that something is off. this is not the typical college housing area where you expected urogi's party to be held. instead, the street is lined with bars and clubs, their neon signs lighting up the night sky.

as you approach the establishment linked to the address, you notice a line of your classmates snaking along the sidewalk. it seems that urogi has chosen a more unconventional venue for his mid-semester bash. you can hear the muffled thump of the bass from inside the bar, and the scent of alcohol and sweat wafts towards you on the breeze.

for a moment, you hesitate. this is not your usual scene, and you feel out of place.

as you approach the entrance, you notice a burly man, who must be the bouncer, engaged in a heated discussion with a student and another man who looks vaguely familiar.

the man’s furrowed brow gives him a perpetually annoyed expression, but you can't help but notice the resemblance between him and aizetsu and urogi. it's almost too obvious for you to believe that he's anything other than the third brother.

that leaves one left.

"there should have been a limit on the patrons," the man grumbles as he stares down at the line of students with a look of distain. "my brother knows the capacity and we're well past it."

"but i was invited," the girl protests, but neither even acknowledges her.

"they're welcome to wait until someone leaves, but i won't have regulators at my door over some college students," he says, turning to leave.

you scan the long line of people waiting outside the venue and a sense of disappointment settles over you. it looks like a never-ending queue, and you can't help but think that no one will be leaving the party anytime soon. the ingress and egress would surely be a nightmare for those at the back of the line, which includes you.

despite feeling a bit disheartened, you had made an effort to dress up for the occasion. you don't know why, but you had a feeling that tonight was special. maybe it was because aizetsu was coming, and you wanted to look your best for him. you hope that he will notice your extra effort, but you're not entirely sure if he will.

you pull out your phone to let him know about the situation.

the least you could do was inform him that you tried. you uncover your phone and send a text

hey, the place is too packed for more entry. i’m going to head home. sorry for convincing you to come :(

his reply comes quicker than you expect.

are you still here?

a few blocks down? about to catch the bus soon.

the text is sent, and you wait for a reply. as you stand at the bus stop, you see the headlights of the approaching transport. but just then, a voice startles you.

“hey, why are you going home? did you not want to come?”

it's aizetsu, and you're surprised to see him standing there. he's dressed more casually than you, in a light shirt and jeans. you quickly explain the situation with the bouncer and the overcrowding.

“but you wanted to come?” he asks, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

“i mean, i guess. i got dolled up for it,” you reply, turning a bit to show off your outfit.

aizetsu gives you a quick once-over, and you feel a rush of warmth at the attention.

“then don't let it go to waste. let's go."

you're hesitant at first, but his encouragement pushes you forward. you feel a bit anxious about the overcrowding, but you're also thrilled to be going to the party with aizetsu.

aizetsu's determination to get into the club was unyielding and he led you back under the bright lights illuminating the entrance. despite the short amount of time that had passed, the line had remained steadfast, with the same resolute girl still standing at the front. aizetsu, however, was not deterred as he pulled you to the front of the line. the bouncer regarded you both with a cool stare.

“capacity limit,” he stated firmly.

“they were invited by both myself and urogi. kick someone else out if you want, kyogai, it won't make me sad,” aizetsu replied confidently.

kyogai seemed to consider the proposition for a moment, but ultimately gave in as aizetsu pulled you through the entrance. the waiting students erupted in protest, but their complaints were muffled as the sound of the music inside grew louder.

stepping into the club, you were struck by its beauty. the colors, lights, and sounds all melded together to create an atmosphere unlike any you had experienced before. the room was alive with energy and excitement, and you couldn't help but feel swept up in the moment.

the decor was impeccable, with plush velvet seating and shimmering crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. the bar was lined with a vast array of drinks, and the bartenders were busy mixing and shaking cocktails. the dance floor was a sea of bodies, pulsing with the beat of the music.

“this is beautiful,” you breathed, marveling at the sight before you.

“karaku designed it. he would appreciate the compliment,” aizetsu said and you realized that must be last of his brothers.

indirectly, that meant you were now aware of four of them. your mind raced with questions, but for now, you were content to lose yourself in the magic of the night.

as aizetsu leads you to the bar, you take in the lively atmosphere around you. the music pulsates through your body, vibrating every fiber of your being, and the colorful lights cast playful shadows on the walls. the decor is sleek and modern, with a futuristic vibe that seems to transport you to another dimension. it's a far cry from the usual places you frequent, but you find yourself enjoying the change of pace.

as you lean against the bar, taking in the scene, you feel a sudden tug on your shoulder. urogi stands before you, a wide smile on his face. his presence is commanding, and you can't help but feel drawn to him. his eyes roam over you, and you sense that he's impressed by your appearance.

"where have you been?" he says, his voice tinged with amusement. "fashionably late, i see." urogi dressed for the occasion, comfortable in a nice button up and slacks.

you smile in response, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "i wanted to make an entrance," you say playfully. "and i'm glad i did. this place is amazing."

urogi remains close and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. he turns to the bar and raps his knuckles against the counter, “oi, karaku. you just going to just stand behind the bar oe do work?”

you watch as a handsome man with emerald eyes approaches them, his lips pulled in a tight frown.

it's clear that this man is urogi's brother, and you can see the family resemblance in their sharp features and confident demeanor.

his lips pull in a taut frown as he regards urogi, “i’m meant to manage the staff. since you decided to invite the entire campus.”

karaku's gaze shifts to you and you feel a flutter in your chest. he's just as attractive as his brothers and his eyes seem to penetrate your soul. you can't help but feel a little intimidated by him, but also curious.

“hey, its good business, right?”

“you don't know the first thing about running a business.”

“at least i go to school to learn.”

“And someone how come out dumber.”

“oi—”

as the brothers continue to bicker, you can't help but feel a sense of fascination with this family. they're unlike anyone you've ever met.

as karaku's piercing gaze meets yours again, your heart quickens, and you feel a flush spread across your face. "you're aizetsu's friend," he states matter-of-factly, his voice low and smooth.

you blink, momentarily stunned, before realizing that you've lost sight of aizetsu in the exchange. you glance over your shoulder and see him still leaning against the bar, a picture of nonchalance.

"yeah, that's right," you reply, extending a hand in greeting. to your surprise, karaku accepts the gesture.

"well, what will it be then?" he asks, his tone businesslike.

"oh, i thought you were just managing," you say, trying to keep up with the conversation.

"i am," he replies, his eyes flitting to the busy staff behind the bar. "but since my staff is busy because of him, now i have to step in. your choice?"

you quickly order a simple drink, but karaku frowns at your request. "do you take recommendations?" he asks.

"um, sure," you say, feeling a bit out of your depth.

karaku turns and reaches for a bottle, his hands moving with fluid grace. you watch in awe as he expertly mixes the ingredients, turning a plain liquor into a colorful and vibrant concoction that perfectly matches the atmosphere of the club.

he sets the drink in front of you, and you take a hesitant sip. the taste explodes on your tongue, and you can hardly believe how delicious it is. you take another sip, relishing the complex flavors that dance across your taste buds.

"this is great, thank you," you say, smiling up at karaku.

the corners of his mouth lift in a small grin. "glad you like it."

you fumble for your wallet, but karaku turns away before you can offer to pay. "sorry, i have to go manage my brother's itinerary," he says, his voice fading as he disappears into the crowd.

you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see urogi at the retreating figure. "hey, you're welcome for the tips, asshole," he says, nudging you playfully.

you laugh, feeling lightheaded from the drink and the atmosphere of the club. it certainly wasn't your typical scene, but you were glad you came.

he gestures to your hand, and you realize that you're still holding your wallet. "you can put that away," he says, "we got you covered. you're a guest."

you feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of being treated, but you realize that it's too late to back out now. aizetsu seems to sense your hesitation, and he steps in to reassure you. "you can get the next one," he says with a smile. "you still owe me a treat, right?"

you nod, feeling grateful for the generosity. it's not often that you get to experience something like this, and you want to make the most of it. you take a deep breath and let the atmosphere of the club wash over you. you can feel your body relaxing, your mind clearing. this is exactly what you needed.

"great," you say, a smile spreading across your face. "now let's really get partying."

in response, urogi grins and you feel yourself being tugged away.

⚘. ⚘. ⚘.

urogi's hands on your waist felt both warm and secure, guiding you along with the rhythm of the music. the dance floor was alive with movement, bodies swaying and pulsing to the beat. you caught glimpses of colorful lights flashing overhead, illuminating the club in a vibrant glow.

aizetsu was still nearby, but his serene demeanor made it clear he wasn't there to party in the same as the others. when you had tried to get him to join, he waved you off, telling you to have fun. you wondered what was weighing on his mind, but decided to let it be for the night. this was a chance to let loose and have some fun, after all.

urogi's voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to him. "you know, aizetsu's not one to hang out with anyone. he must think highly of you."

you felt a flutter in your chest at the thought. aizetsu was someone you admired greatly, and to know he valued your company was a special feeling.

urogi continued to lead you in the dance, his movements smooth and practiced. "and karaku doesn't just give out recommendations to anyone either. he's a bit of a stickler for quality."

you laughed at the thought of karaku being a hard-to-please critic. it was clear he took pride in his craft, and his passion showed in the drinks he served.

“that just leaves sekido.” urogi’s grip tights as he pulls you to his front. “but I think your luck will carry you through.”

as the night wore on, you felt yourself letting go of any worries or stresses. the music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the company was good. you were grateful for this moment of pure enjoyment, surrounded by friends old and new.

as you dance with urogi, you become lost in the rhythm of the music and the swirling colors of the lights. your movements flow effortlessly with his as he pulls you closer, his hands finding the curve of your waist.

you glance over at aizetsu, but he seems lost in his own world, his expression solemn and unreadable as he relaxes by the bar. when he catches your gaze, he raises a drink with an equally raised brow.

as you try to slip away from urogi's grasp, you find yourself lost in the surreal atmosphere of the party. the thumping bass of the music seems to pulse through your veins as the neon lights cast a hypnotic spell over the crowd. the scent of sweat and perfume mingles in the air, creating a heady aroma that makes you feel intoxicated.

urogi's hold on your wrist is loose, but his chin rests heavily on your shoulder. you feel his warm breath on your neck, and it sends shivers down your spine. you glance over at aizetsu, who seems to be lost in thought as he sips his drink at the bar. you can't help but feel guilty for abandoning him, especially since he came here with you.

you pull against urogi's grip once more, and he reluctantly lets you go.

“you think it matters but it doesn’t. we’re different but we all appreciate the same thing. try not to think so hard about it.”

his words are cryptic, and you can't help but wonder what he meant by 'we'. who was he referring to? the other party-goers? you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts, but they remain jumbled and confused.

“urogi what—”

“urogi! finally, i’ve been stuck outside this whole time. why didn’t you come get me?”

just then, a whiny voice interrupts your musings. it's the girl from outside, and she seems to have managed to sneak in somehow. urogi greets her with a forced smile, but his grip on your wrist tightens once again. you can feel the tension in his body, and it makes you uneasy.

the girl's eyes flicker over to your joined hands, and you can see the jealousy simmering in her gaze.

“who is this? didn't they come in with aizetsu?”

you're not sure how much more of this you can take, and you make another attempt to leave. but urogi pulls you even closer, his grip almost suffocating.

"sorry, we need a break," he says, and you can hear the irritation in his voice. you can feel your patience wearing thin as you try to extract yourself from his embrace, but he refuses to let go.

while you definitely agree with the statement, you weren't expecting to be pulled in the opposite direction of the bar. you can feel the tension in his muscles as he leads you towards a quieter corner of the club. the swaying throngs of people blur as you're led towards the next level of the club.

as you pass a red rope barrier, you realize it's a reserved section. the area is dimly lit, but you can make out a few plush couches and armchairs arranged around small tables. the air here smells different too, more luxurious and fragrant. not once does anyone move to stop you both. it's clear now that the club is not only managed by karaku, but also held some sort of ownership.

you can't help but feel a sense of relief at the brief reprieve from the intensity of the party. you take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the cool air against your flushed skin.

urogi's gaze meets yours and you can see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "i'm sorry about that," he says, his voice softening. "i wanted you to enjoy yourself, not feel overwhelmed."

you feel a pang of guilt at his words, realizing that you are indeed a stranger to all of this. but there's something about urogi's easy charm that puts you at ease.

“c’mon, i promised you a break.”

as urogi guides you into the room, the pulsing music fades away and the sounds of hushed voices and clinking glasses fill your ears. the dim lighting casts a warm glow on the faces of the people lounging around the room. your eyes immediately find aizetsu, who is leaning back against the couch, his drink held loosely in his hand. he must have slipped through the crowd at some point during the brief confrontation.

“so they managed to get in.”

the voice is deep and smooth.this must be the final one, sekido. his presence commanded attention even from afar. as you approach him, you finally realize the last detail about him that you couldn't place before: his eyes are a piercing shade of vermillion, drawing you in with their intensity. he seems to have grown broader since you last saw him, his arms comfortably stretched over the back of the couch.

“hey, you saw them and didn't let them through? you ass.”

you glance up at urogi, who lets out a sigh as he leads you to the couch and positions you between himself and sekido. you can't help but wish that you were seated between him and aizetsu instead, but you push the thought aside. other than the initial comment, no one made you feel unwelcome.

"they weren't invited by me. apparently, you can thank aizetsu for doing it for you," sekido continues, a smirk playing on his lips.

urogi rolls his eyes and pulls you closer to him, his arm draped around your shoulders. "i can't believe you saw them all dolled up like this and didn't intervene on your own. i wouldn't have been able to resist."

sekido lets out a snort and reaches for his own short glass, taking a sip. "i hardly saw them. and i'm not you."

urogi's arm around you is both comforting and possessive, as if he's claiming you as his own. you're acutely aware of his body heat, the subtle movements of his muscles as he shifts to get more comfortable.

aizetsu, on the other hand, exudes an air of calm, his posture relaxed as he sips his drink. his eyes meet yours briefly and you detect a hint of amusement in his gaze.

sekido, with his broad shoulders and easy confidence, seems like the type of person functions as the foundation of the group. he lounges back against the couch with the careless grace of a panther, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. you can't help but feel a little intimidated by him, even though you know he means no harm.

you can feel the tension between the three of them, but you're too stimulated to fully comprehend it. you look around the room, searching for a distraction. "where is karaku?" you finally ask, trying to change the subject.

the man in question enters the room with a flourish, as if summoned, balancing bottles and glasses with practiced ease. you marvel at his skill, wondering how he manages to keep everything from spilling. the scent of rice wine fills the air as he sets the glasses down.

he apologizes for the plainness of the glass, but you don't mind at all. you're just grateful for the hospitality. urogi grumbles about karaku never wanting to meet his friends and you get the sense that there's a deeper tension between the two brothers.

you take a sip of the rice wine, savoring the complex flavors as they dance across your tongue. it's smooth and slightly sweet, with a subtle aftertaste that lingers in your mouth.

“so what about you caught our brother’s interest?”

sekido's sharp gaze bores into you, and you feel yourself squirming uncomfortably under his scrutiny. his eyes seemed to be searching for something, but you couldn't decipher what.

you realize that befriending aizetsu had been quite an accomplishment. but you already partially knew that. the man was not one to socialize much, and you had to muster all your courage to approach him. you had always been anxious about approaching people, even those related to your studies, but something about aizetsu drew you to him.

as you recall the memories of your initial interactions with him, you can't help but smile. aizetsu wasn't the most talkative person, but over the months, he had opened up to you in ways you never expected. you liked being around him because it made him look less alone, but it was more than that. it was a two-way agreement, and he welcomed your presence, going as far as to save your seat when you became a regular.

"i just wanted to be his friend," you finally say, and that was the truth of it.

karaku's voice interrupts the silence that follows. "how cute."

you take another sip of your sake, trying to fill the void created by the unsaid words that were lingering in the air. the brothers around you slide into their own conversations, and you take a moment to observe your surroundings.

the room is dimly lit, casting an warm glow on the faces around you. the air is thick with the scent of sake and the gentle hum of conversation surrounds you like a warm embrace. you feel oddly secure, despite being surrounded by people you barely know.

around you, the air hums with the sound of the brothers' voices, blending together in a cacophony of chatter. it's both exhilarating and terrifying to be in the midst of such men, all of whom exude an aura of authority that's impossible to ignore. you glance down at the floor, where a pattern of intricate symbols is etched into the wooden planks. it's a reminder that you're sitting in their territory, and that fact isn't lost on you.

you're brought back to the present when you notice that your cup has been refilled, courtesy of karaku. the gesture is both generous and intimidating, as if he's reminding you of your place at the table. you take a sip of the drink, letting the liquid wash over your tongue and down your throat.

as you drink, urogi's arm slips back around your shoulders. his touch is surprisingly cool against the warmth of your skin, and you can't help but lean into it, relishing the sensation. you're not sure if it's the alcohol or the company, but you're starting to feel a little lightheaded.

urogi breaks the silence with a teasing question. "so, i want to hear more juicy details of why you like aizetsu. surely, i'm cuter."

you laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. "aren't you all quadruplets? you all look the same."

urogi pouts, his lips twisting into a playful grimace. "oh, so you agree i'm attractive. but that also implies you don't see a difference between us. surely you can appreciate the polarity."

you squint, taking a closer look at urogi. out of all the brothers, he has the most boyish looks. "hmm, let me think," you say, pretending to deliberate. "i guess you do have a more youthful appearance, like aizetsu."

urogi grins mischievously. "oh, still too vague. let me give you something to compare." and with that, he leans forward and kisses you.

the sensation is both shocking and exhilarating. you're not sure what to do at first, but then you start to respond, letting yourself be swept up in the moment. urogi's lips are soft against yours, and his tongue teases yours playfully before he pulls away, leaving you breathless and flushed.

“so?”

for a moment, the air is heavy with the weight of what just happened. your dazed from the action, words thick on your tongue before you can finally manage,” i’ve … never kissed aizetsu.”

urogi’s gaze goes comically wide,” what? but you guys had such a nice date set up before.”

as urogi's words sink in, your mind races to catch up. you had never considered the possibility that your friendship with aizetsu could be interpreted as something open. the memory of your planned outing together suddenly feels like it's been cast in a new light, and you wonder if maybe you had been sending mixed signals all along.

“it wasn't a date… we were…” where were your words?

but before you can even begin to sort through your thoughts, urogi's warm breath tickles your ear, and his words pull you back to the present. "were?" he asks, his voice teasing.

your heart flutters in your chest, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.

no, not were to imply something had changed.

because nothing had changed. you are—

you open your mouth to speak, but before you can find the words, karaku's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"urogi, stop. you're confusing her."

you look up to see aizetsu seated across from you, his expression inscrutable. you can't tell if he's angry or hurt, but the tension in the air is palpable.

for a moment, you feel like you're drowning in a sea of emotions, unsure of which way to swim. you don't know what to say, or even if there's anything you can say to make things right.

as the silence stretches on, you become acutely aware of the atmosphere in the room. the low murmur of conversation from the other patrons of the bar seems to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of your own breathing ringing in your ears.

urogi pouts, “i just asked them a question.”

urogi's pout only adds to the surreal atmosphere, as if his expression alone were enough to challenge the laws of physics. aizetsu doesnt relent, “but you didn’t give them a fair sample to compare. you rushed ahead as usual.”

the brothers continue their conversation, but you find it hard to focus on anything except the electricity that seems to be pulsing through the air.

rushed … ahead..?

just when you think things couldn't get any more intense, aizetsu leans over his brother to cup your face. you're taken aback by the sudden closeness, but before you can even process what's happening, his lips are on yours. the kiss is firm, yet gentle, and you feel your head spin as you lose yourself in the moment. this is the closest you've ever been to him, closer even than during your study sessions.

when he pulls away, you're left gasping for breath, still reeling from the experience. and then, just as suddenly, urogi turns on you. "so now you have a comparison. can you tell the difference?"

you can feel the weight of their gazes on you, but you can't bring yourself to face them. you're not sure if you're ready to handle the scrutiny, not after being kissed by both brothers in such a short span of time. it's all too much, too surreal, and you're struggling to find your footing in this strange new reality.

"look at that flush. now i'm intrigued, you found an interesting one, aizetsu."

you feel a rush of emotions as sekido's words weigh heavy on your mind. was that what they thought of you? were you just another classmate to take advantage of their brotherly bond? the thought makes your heart ache and you feel a sudden urge to leave, to preserve what little dignity you have left.

but before you can make a move, sekido's hand is on your arm, pulling you towards him.

“the two of you are still close from familiarity. they need an outlier to appreciate the variance.”

you can feel the roughness of his calloused skin against your flesh, sending shivers down your spine. as he cranes your head up, you can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach at the intensity of his gaze.

"pay attention," he commands before dropping his mouth to yours.

sekido's kiss is ravenous and urgent, surpassing any notion of chastity as he devours your mouth. his tongue slips past your lips and explores every inch of your mouth with a hunger that takes your breath away. you try to match his intensity, but your chest heaves as you struggle to keep up with his passion. when he pulls away, your head spins from the sheer force of the kiss.

you're left dazed and disoriented, your mind racing with questions and doubts. how had this night come to this? to be caught in the middle of the brothers, playing with your affection? you can't help but feel like you're in over your head, unsure of where this unexpected turn of events will take you.

“well, suppose it's only fair, eh?”

as karaku approaches, you can feel the energy shift, a palpable tension in the air. his presence is suave, and you find yourself captivated by the way he moves, the way he carries himself with such confidence and grace.

he kneels before you, and you feel a jolt of expectation as he leans in to kiss you. the touch of his lips is electric, a subtle shock that ignites a fire within you. his kiss is practiced, but not cold - he leads you through a dance of passion, his movements sure and fluid, his touch light but commanding.

as he pulls away, you can feel your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and fear. you are unsure of what just transpired, of what it all means - but one thing is clear: this was no longer a simple game.

his thumb brushes across your lips, and you can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks into your eyes. his voice is low and seductive, a whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

"pretty, pretty," he murmurs. "so what do you think, are we so similar?"

#hantengu x reader #sekido x reader #aizetsu x reader #karaku x reader #urogi x reader #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader

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pandoraslxna · 3 months

Text

Teylan x human reader

⋆｡° ✮ Minors dni 🔞

⋆｡° ✮ Masterlist

⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: somnophilia, oral sex, size difference

⋆｡° ✮ Credits to my pookies @neteyamsyawntu and @justcaptiannoodles for allowing me to use their pretty Teylan pictures 😚

There's light edging out along the sides of the curtains on the windows, warm yellow against the white walls, when your eyelashes start to flutter. It's early enough so Teylan is caught in that warm, fuzzy space where he's asleep enough to feel and lively enough to respond, because he sighs softly when you sit up. It’s like he’s subconsciously missing your warmth next to him, the moment you make a move to get up and start your day.

Looking down at him, you smile fondly at the sight of his messy hair framing his face, the rare sight of him without his hat on, so blissfully unaware of how precious he looked right now.

You watch his chest rise and fall, eyes following the bioluminescence freckles on his stomach, his hipbones, down to where they lead your eyes right under the blanket. Looking back up at him, you bite your bottom lip in thought.

So far, Teylan has been the perfect gentleman with you. A picture perfect boyfriend, that takes care of all your needs, that is there for you and takes care of you no matter what. He’s the sweetest and nicest person you’ve ever met on this exomoon, truly. And even though it usually takes him a while to get out of his shell and voice his own needs, you know exactly what your big Na‘vi boyfriend wants and deserves.

There's a bruise high up on his throat, a reminder of last night and how long it took you kissing up and down his neck, while grinding down against him, to get him to speak out what exactly he wanted you to do. He’s so pure and sweet, his thoughts are just too filthy to be spoken out through such soft lips. But it’s so much fun getting them out with the right motivation.

But right now, right now he doesn’t need to beg for it, doesn’t even need to ask you for this. Right now, you do it because he deserves it. And also because it’s hard to control yourself when he looked so good in his sleep.

You lean down to trace the hickey with your lips and Teylan murmurs, shifting against the mattress. Breathing in, you shuffle down to exhale over his belly, then trace your tongue around his navel and further down. You kiss him there, twice, and lean away, glancing up. Teylan sighs, a blush spreading over his cheeks. His hips jolt a little once you move the blanket away, making it easier for you to get his clothes off without waking him just yet.

That’s another strike against your self-control; the way Teylan lets himself be vulnerable for you, trusts you so much his body even responds to you in his sleep. He‘s been hard the moment you kissed his throat, but seeing him in all his glory never fails to amaze you. You would never understand how a person that is so beautiful to your eyes could ever feel self-conscious about themself. But you would never grow tired of telling your boyfriend that. Even as he lays asleep in front of you, you can’t help the hushed whispers of praises falling from your lips.

Your fingertips tingle and your skin is practically humming once you close both hands around his cock and give his length a little kitten lick. Again, his hips jolt up, a gentle thrust into your smooth hands, the tip nudging against your lips and you smile.

You enjoy the feel of Teylans skin, warmed through with sleep, and the way he moves for you, the way he can't help it because he isn't thinking about it.

Teylan worries about the right way to behave everywhere– even when it's only the two of you with the blankets over your heads and the blinds drawn tight. Sometimes his hips want to thrust, the need almost unbearable, yet he holds completely still, until you give him the go-ahead, tell him it’s okay.

But here, with him asleep and you laying between his thighs, Teylan is free to move and do as he pleases, as his body craves. No room for overthinking and doubting. It was just about pleasure.

You place your puckered lips over the very tip, tongue poking the salty slit, and his mouth falls open. Yours does a moment later and your cheeks hollow as you slowly make your way down the length of him.

Teylans breath wobbles, his brows scrunch together and a soft whimper escapes him when your tongue traces the underside of his shaft. Your lips are slicked with spit in a matter of seconds and you put just enough pressure on your suction to make more noises bubble up from his throat.

Teylan’s whimpers soon become louder and his body arches up, forcing himself even deeper into the welcoming warmth of your mouth. You know he would never allow himself this much pleasure if he were awake right now. He would hold back and apologize for every gag he elicited out of you, every tear that rolled over your cheek whenever your throat constricted and you swallowed around his length, no matter how good it felt for him or how many times you told him you wanted this.

After a few seconds of sucking and slurping around him, you slowly draw back again to catch your breath. Looking up at him, Teylans mouth is still parted, his eyeballs rolling under his eyelids. You had barely pulled him out completely when his hips thrust up, tip smearing pre-cum all over your lips, moaning again, seeking more of the sweet heat enveloping him. And you let him.

Your mouth is skilled, warm and insistent, not quite taking him in whole because he’s entirely too big for you, but you try with an intoxicating stroke of tongue until you feel him at the back of your throat. While one of your hands was stroking the parts of Teylans cock your lips couldn’t reach, the other stroked his trembling thigh soothingly.

He was close, you could tell as his moans picked up, his breathing heavy and his body tense, but suddenly there was a hand in your hair, gently attempting to push you off of him.

Looking up at Teylan through your lashes, lips still wrapped around the head of his now very purple cock head, you smiled innocently, and then pulled back, popping off him.

"Good morning, baby", you said softly, your smile growing wider at his sleepy, flushed face that was trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes were wide open, staring at your pretty face between his legs.

"O-Oh, what are you–"

"Shhhh," you kissed his protests away, giving him a few strokes with your hands that had him throwing his head back against the pillow and moan in bliss. "I just wanted to make you feel good, honey. Just go back to sleep and enjoy it."

#romancingpandora2024 #teylan #avatar frontiers of pandora #Avatar #Teylan x female reader #afop teylan #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #frontiers of pandora #teylan x reader

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appocalipse · 15 days

Text

something good ⋆ bucky barnes

summary: bucky is about to go to war without confessing his feelings for you. you are about to watch him leave without confessing your feelings for him. that is, unless one of you gets up the courage to do something about it...

"I...need some fresh air. I'll be back."

Steve looks like he's going to argue with you as you push the chair out, but then you glance toward where Bucky disappeared in the crowd of people dancing, and Steve's face softens before he gives you a nod.

"We'll be right here," he says, pointing to your barely-touched drink. "Be careful."

The alley behind the bar is damp and quiet, cool from the rain earlier in the day but blissfully empty. You lean against the bricks and tip your head back, closing your eyes.

Steve was wrong — you should have stayed home.

He'd begged you to come out tonight; it wasn't just the two of them, he'd said, his eyes wide with hope. A few others had been invited, too, old friends who Bucky had wanted to see one last time before shipping out tomorrow.

And girls, of course. Girls with big smiles and bright eyes, who looked at Bucky as if they were hungry and he was a steak dinner.

To his credit, though, Bucky had asked you to dance first, and you'd said no. No, because it would have been impossible to act casually around him with your hands on his chest and his on your waist.

So, yes, you’d needed some fresh air after that. How could you not, when—

"Are you mad at me?"

You turn toward the voice that came from down the alley. Even though it's dark, you, of course, recognize him instantly, silhouetted against the weak light coming from inside the bar.

"Me? No, you—I'm not," you reply, your tongue feeling like it weighs three pounds. You attempt a smile. "What are you doing out here? You should be inside, enjoying your last night, no?"

Bucky shrugs and walks closer, but only far enough so you can see each other without straining.

"I was looking for you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Steve said you'd come out here."

"I'll go back inside soon, I promise. Don't worry."

He doesn't move except to kick a loose pebble away from his toe. "Why didn't you want to dance with me?"

Your stomach plummets at the question. He sounds almost hurt, and you wish you could explain yourself to him in a way that doesn't include blurting out your stupid feelings in the process.

"Uh...I don't know, I just...well, no reason," you stumble, wishing desperately that you weren't such an idiot. "I thought I'd keep Steve company while you...you know."

"Danced with the rest of them?"

You nod silently.

Bucky makes a scoffing sound before running a hand through his hair. "They're all the same."

"Okay..."

"It's not, uh, it's not what you think," he continues, taking a step forward, then back again as if he's unsure of how close to stand. "The girls — they're nice and pretty, sure, but...they're just not... I don't think they're my type, I guess."

"Uh-huh," you murmur, turning your gaze downward toward your shoes, suddenly finding it easier to look anywhere but at him. "Yeah, well, we better get back before—"

"Is there somebody else?"

The air in your lungs vanishes at his abrupt question, and you look up as your heart starts beating out of rhythm.

"Excuse me?" you whisper, surprised that you've even found your voice. "Somebody else?"

"Somebody that you...that you're seeing," Bucky says slowly, his words strained, as if every one causes him pain.

You stare at him for a second, hoping this is a joke, that maybe Steve put him up to asking these ridiculous questions — or maybe he's been drinking too much — because, surely, Bucky couldn't possibly be trying to ask you what you think he's trying to ask you.

"Bucky, let's just go back inside—"

"It's Steve, isn't it?" he cuts you off with the most absurd statement yet. His expression softens. "It's okay, really. If you are, I mean. He's a really good guy."

"Steve?!" You actually laugh at the absurdity of it all, shaking your head until the shock fades away into incredulity. "Jesus Christ, no! I mean, Steve is...he's like a brother to me, what...what the hell are we even talking about?"

"But...there's someone?" he asks again, sounding less upset than he had a few moments ago.

"No, not—no," you say, slouching against the wall and shrugging halfheartedly. "There's no one. Honestly, there hasn't been since..."

"Since when?"

Since I met you.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that a sinkhole will open up and swallow you whole. This has gone on long enough. "I don't know. It's...been a little while. I don't know what you want me to say, really."

"I just wondered."

"Okay, fine."

You start to walk back to the door leading inside, but Bucky moves so quickly that you run smack into his chest.

"Wait, just—"

He grabs your hand and holds it gently, thumb softly brushing along your knuckles.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected contact. You glance down at where he's holding onto you, then back up again, confused, curious, wondering if this is real and not some strange dream you'll wake up from any moment now.

You exhale with a shaky laugh when he lifts his other hand to your cheek and rubs his thumb across it, stopping at the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, so slowly, he leans in.

"Bucky," you breathe, his name soft on your tongue.

His forehead touches yours, and you reach up to rest a palm against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"Do you not want me to...?"

He's never been this close to you, but everything about the moment feels familiar — the heat radiating from his body, the light scratch of his stubble on your cheek, the smell of him surrounding you.

You lift your chin slightly. "I do, but..."

"Just..." You feel the warmth of his breath on your lips; he's so close now that they brush against yours as he speaks. "I wish I'd...said something before it came to this."

"Before what came to this?"

"That I'd have...asked you. Proper, like. Dinner, movie. You know, the way it shoulda been. Before I...before I leave."

You stiffen at the word leave, pulling back so that you can look him in the eye.

"Bucky..."

"I wish I would've asked you to dinner. Would've loved to take you to dinner," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Wouldn't that have been nice, doll?"

A small smile lifts the corner of your mouth. "It would've."

"It could've been nice, you and me."

"I think it could have been."

"Yeah?" he chuckles quietly, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the back of your fingers, then your palm. "I think it can still be. You see, I'm quite selfish. I'd like to go to war with something good to think of. Something — or someone — to come home to. That'd be worth coming home to."

"Like...Steve?"

It's a joke, of course, and Bucky, to his credit, does laugh, too. Then, he slips a finger under your chin and tips your face up toward his. You hold your breath as he dips his head to place a gentle, barely-there kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Not like Steve. No."

The music from inside the bar becomes louder, a woman's voice singing softly, sweetly. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear...

"I..." You clear your throat nervously, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. "You better come back to me in one piece."

"You gonna be waiting for me?"

You smirk. "I mean, I already waited this long, so I might as well—"

The rest of your words disappear into his kiss. You gasp at the sudden, almost desperate press of Bucky's lips on yours, but then he brings his hands to the sides of your face and kisses you more gently, more slowly, more purposefully, as if he has a lot to say to you in this moment but words fail him and the only thing left to do is this — to kiss you, over and over, again and again, to say, with his lips, with his hands, with every inch of himself...that he'll come back to you.

You whimper as Bucky's teeth catch your lower lip and tug before letting go. He pulls back far enough to look at you, to see your swollen lips parted. "So...that means yes, right?"

"Yes," you murmur. You slide your hands over his shoulders and into his hair, pulling his mouth back down to yours. "It means yes."

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krakensdottir · 9 months

Text

Also something really important I want to point out about Aziraphale's religious trauma.

It's often framed as him being directly abused by Heaven, generally emotionally. And while I don't doubt he's been belittled at points - probably not by Gabriel, the iconic exemplar of the Toxic Positivity boss, but we know how Michael and Uriel etc. can be - it also seems like he's received quite a lot of praise and has generally managed to pull off the appearance of being A Good Angel, or at least a satisfactory one. I don't think, and this is controversial, but I don't think Heaven was usually overtly hard on him.

Because that's not how this kind of cult mentality usually operates. Instead, it teaches you to abuse yourself. Your overseers don't have to directly hurt or insult you if you're so ingrained with fear of failure by the culture you were brought up in that you constantly question yourself as not good enough.

It's not as... satisfying, I guess? As an external abuser being the main issue. But it's a lot more real. At least to me, because I suffered so much anxiety over being 'good' when I was a kid, and it wasn't from direct abuse. It was absorbed from the culture I was surrounded by. I picked it up by osmosis from society at large, and it tormented me. I worried, I doubted, there was a time I literally feared going to Hell. And I wasn't raised strongly religious. My mother certainly treated me as a Good Kid, and never gave even the suggestion that I wasn't. But I felt that way anyway. And it tore me apart. Because internalizing that shit makes it so much harder to fight.

And to be clear at this point, I am not saying Heaven isn't abusive. I just think the nature of its abuse is more subtle and insidious than it's often given credit for. And - this is even harder to accept, but it's true, and it's important - it's not just abusive to Az. All the angels are victims of it. Yes, even Gabriel. The moment he, one of the most powerful forces in Heaven, steps out of line, we see that no one is exempt. Never even mind Muriel, who is literally on the lowest rung of the Heavenly ladder and has probably never been told they're worth anything beyond being, you know, an angel, so at least you're better than humans and demons.

It's a contrast with Crowley, who has long since accepted most (not all, there are definitely some deep issues remaining, but they're nothing like Aziraphale's) of his internal doubts and struggles. His fears are almost entirely external. He doesn't beat himself up if he fucks up. He doesn't have to. There are people happy to beat him up for him. So when things go really bad for him, his instinct is to run. To get out of the way of harm as much as possible.

The fact that Aziraphale is harder on himself than anyone else could be is a vital part of his character. He self-punishes. He self-criticizes. He feels awful every time he breaks the rules in the slightest, even though he isn't usually caught at it. Crowley can find some safety in solitude if he keeps his wits sharp and his head down. Aziraphale can't, because he carries Heaven's conditioning with him at all times. He doesn't need oversight, it doesn't take external threats to keep him in line. You don't need direct threats when literally everyone in your celestial workplace has seen firsthand the consequences of rebellion.

I don't know if I'm making sense here. Again, this is informed by personal experience and I can't claim to be unbiased. But I see so much internalization with Aziraphale. He literally can't even accept praise without being nervous as hell, and I don't think it's fear of punishment or ridicule that's his primary motivation. He simply cannot ever be good enough for himself.

That's how they get you.

Anyway, I think it's why his reaction to disaster is the opposite to Crowley's, why he feels he has to turn and face it and somehow avert the horror (or, alternatively, find some way to reconcile it in his head and accept it - because let's be real, that's often what happens) rather than get himself away. He's less afraid of failing his superiors than he is of failing himself. And God, who is, objectively, the biggest abuser in the entire story.

#go s2 spoilers #good omens meta #aziraphale #this internalized stuff hurts so much #and it's SO much harder to shake than other forms of trauma #breaking free from heaven isn't just not easy - it's impossible until he finally accepts that HE isn't a failure for not fixing everything #and that's the part of him that crowley can't wrap his head around #tl;dr heaven's culture is abusive to all its angels and they manifest it in different ways #and aziraphale takes it harder than any other we've seen

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oepionie · 1 year

Text

—"RED LACED HEARTS" various

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

sypnosis: leona, ace, & jamil with an s/o that gifts them a big bag of chocolates

⊹ [ cw ] — slight angst, hint of jealousy◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF.GN! READER | leona sugar daddy era, jamil wants to throw hands w your suitors, ace gets jealous◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1k+◞

✩—LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

"Happy Valen-"

"Didn't I tell ya' you didn't have to get anything for me?" Leona grumbles, taking the human-sized box of chocolates from you and dropping it onto his bedroom floor. Truthfully, Leona doesn't really see the use of valentines day. He hates the tacky gifts and how they're coloured in bright pinks and reds, garishly decorated and covered to the brim with hearts and laces.

What's so special about the holiday? You two are already a couple are you not? Isn't it only for mushy, lovesick idiots who can't even get past the hand-holding stage?

"I just wanted to give you a gift…but if you don't want it then I'll just take it back. That cost a lot y'know." You frown, bowing your head down to the floor. Leona's ears droop a bit and he sighs, getting off his bed to walk over to you. He places his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look into his emerald-green eyes.

"Hey…I didn't mean it like that." He mutters, stroking your cheek with the rough pads of his thumb. The lion pulls you down to lie next to him, his tail wrapping around your leg.

"Know damn well you don' got enough to go by. I'd like it better if you use that cash for yourself." He says, wrapping his arms around your torso and spooning you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled as you carefully undid the now-loose braids in his hair, running your fingers through his tresses.

Leona couldn't care less about chocolates, cheesy love poems, or teddy bears…but being the centre of your attention ain't so bad.

"Here." Leona takes your hand and places a thin plastic card in it. Confused, you examine the card for a while before turning to him. "Why are you giving me your credit card?"

"I'm taking you out shopping later. Use that, I'll pay for everything, no buts."

✩—ACE TRAPOLLA:

Ace eyes the gigantic box of chocolates in your hands, a smug grin on his face. Oh, that was definitely for him. His sweet and adorable partner made him a special Valentine's Day present, making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Prefect, you truly had no idea just how much you inflated his ego.

He casually leans against a table, clearing his throat. Holding in a laugh, you pretend to ignore him and continue scrolling through your phone. Once again, he is attempting to play the cool guy.

Ace furrows his brows, leaning in closer to you and clearing his throat louder this time. You stay silent and continue looking down.

"…"

"Oi! Prefect!" You smirk, letting Ace wrap his arm around your shoulder. He caved in quicker than you thought. His hand sneakily drifts over to the gift, fingers curling over the cover.

"Soo…who's this for?" He beams at you, all excited like a puppy.

Ace looked so happy…it was too bad you decided to mess with him today. Smiling back, you snatched the gift away from his grasp.

"It's for Deuce!" You pipe up. His eyebrows rose to his forehead as his face and jaw dropped. He raced forward to try to grab the present away from you, screaming "DEUCE?"

You dodged him and ran to the opposite side of the room. He gawked at you, practically seething with anger and jealousy.

"I-I'm your boyfriend! Not him! Why-" He sputters out, hands grasping your shoulders. He shook you back and forth, whining.

"What kind of partner doesn't buy their boyfriend anything but give their best friend chocolates? "

"Calm down. Of course, it's for you." Rolling your eyes, you grasp his hand in yours. You dragged the box towards him before timidly brushing a kiss against his cheek. "H-Happy Valentines Day."

He seized the chocolates from you right away and gazed at them like they were the most priceless thing in the world.

"MAN! You really gotta pull these lame jokes all the time? These better be the best chocolates I've ever tasted!" Ace joked, popping a heart-shaped piece into his mouth. He sent you a boyish smile. "Well…since it's coming from you, I'm sure it'll be the best."

✩—JAMIL VIPER:

Jamil scowled at the jumbled presents and love letters sitting atop your desk. His hands grasped a box of his own, itching to just rip every single gift out of there. How in the world was he going to get his present inside of that mess?

Even though he was your lover, he couldn't even get his present through—damn these suitors!

"Jamil?" He jumped and turned to face you, a sheepish expression on his face. You were looking up at him brightly, holding an enormous pink box in your hand. He noticed how your arms shook with the weight of carrying the entire thing.

"Happy Valentines Day!" You cheered, holding the box up to him. He gently took it from your hands, eyes soft. His irritation had melted away into something warm and gentle, these feelings making his heart beat faster and his palms sweat.

"Thank you, prefect. Oh, and this is for you." Jamil handed you the neatly wrapped box, filled will all sorts of handmade sweets and pastries. He rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed at the somewhat lacklustre gift.

Jamil's eyes darted to the stack of presents atop your desk, he swore he saw a brand-new phone in there somewhere.

"I know it's not much but it's from me…It's not as expensive or as flashy as some of the other gifts you received but-" He was interrupted as you hurried to sweep the heaps of presents off your desk and into Grim's, the cat looking more than happy to receive so many things.

You turned back to him, clutching the gift tight in your arms. "It doesn't matter! I only want your gift!"

Jamil felt his heart skip a beat. With a rare smile on his lips, he pressed the bright pink box against his chest.

"Me too."

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst leona #twst ace #twst jamil #twst leona x reader #twst ace x reader #twst jamil x reader #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #ace trapolla #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper x Reader #ace trapolla x Reader #ace x reader #leona x reader #jamil x reader

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rlqfpdl · 1 month

Text

All I want is you

Apollo!Fem!reader x Jason Grace

Summary: You can’t help but admire Jason. Not knowing he’s doing the same.

Contains: fluff. Characters might seem a bit ooc.

A/N: I noticed the lack of Jason fics so hope you all enjoy this one. I had such fun writing it. Feedback is always welcomed and reqs are open <3

Word count: 1.1k

His skin seemed to glow perfectly, his eyes sparkled with the sun. His perfect silky blonde hair was a bit messy, like he had just woken up. Gods, it was flawless, like gold. His slightly tilted glasses made him look cuter than when he didn't have them on. If you didn't know any better, you would say you're enamored, captivated, charmed, enchan…

“Stop staring, you're drooling,” Will said, pointing towards the corner of his lip and casually continuing to eat his breakfast. You brought your finger towards your lip to confirm. How embarrassing, you thought. “I wasn't staring. I don't know what I could ever be staring at,'' you defended, avoiding Will's gaze. Suddenly, your plate was really interesting as you fiddled around with some pancakes. Smooth, gaslight your brother into thinking he's the crazy one.

“Sure lover girl, let's pretend you weren't ogling at Mr. Sparky over there,” Will just knew how to push your buttons. Both of you being top healers meant you knew each other better than the rest of your siblings. Sadly, that also meant he knew your weaknesses all too well like a certain blonde he kept talking about.

“He's way out of my league” you rebutted. You didn't give yourself enough credit. Most would assume you were a daughter of Aphrodite if it weren't for the distinct freckles and soft glow that every Apollo kid seems to have.

“Yeah well, he likes you back. you guys just need to be a little less shy” he stated as if it were a fact. But it wasn't, well, at least not for you. Jason was just too handsome. Sure, the Aphrodite boys were too, and so were some of the Hermes boys, but Jason was just different in your eyes. It wasn't only about looks; it was his caring personality and how nice he could be. Not that it was a surprise, but considering he is the son of Jupiter you would have thought he would be a little more conceited.

”You know, you keep saying that, but I don't see it. Plus I can't think of crushes right now; we have to prepare the infirmary.” both you and Will know that deep down, you wanted to believe that Jason liked you back but were always ‘too busy’ to talk about your feelings.

Especially on capture the flag days, You weren't one to participate; fighting isn't your thing. You were half decent with a bow but just awful at playing, landing you with the amazing job of nursing everyone back to health. You would think people knew better than to slash each other to almost death, knowing that their desert privilege was on the line. But that never seemed to stop anyone from creating more work for the Apollo cabin.

You sighed as you prepared some of the beds in the infirmary, having gauzes and ambrosia ready at your disposal. Singing softly as you worked, maybe you weren't blessed with amazing archery skills or astonishing arts abilities, but you had other skills in your favor. Like your voice and talent with the lyre. Most of the camp would agree that you were the best singer from the Apollo cabin, often leading the sing-alongs at the campfires or just singing sweet children's songs to the little ones at camp.

Caught up in your singing and folding of sheets, you didn't hear the conch being blown or the screaming campers celebrating their victory or announcing their complaints over losing. So, to say you almost had a heart attack when you heard a soft voice call your name was truly an understatement.

“Gods Austin you scared me,” you said, looking at your brother as he smiled softly, “Sorry you just have a patient ready for you, doc,” he said, smirking slightly as he was up to something. “I'll attend some; tell Will to take care of the rest” You turned around, not looking at your now creepily smiling brother. You started putting a little tray on one of the beds . Austin continued talking, “Oh but there is this camper who has specially requested for you,” he said as he dragged said camper towards you. “Okay well bring them up; i don't have time to attend everybody,” your voice started to faint as you looked up towards this oh so special camper that requested you.

“I can come back at another time if you're too busy,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with rosy cheeks, he was embarrassed. But now you sported matching red cheeks as you looked at him intensely in awe of his presence. “No, you fine Jason please sit” you gestured towards the bed. “I got nicked with a sword; it's not that bad” he explained, tilting his head, his voice was ringing in your ears like a charm.

“Can i touch your face” you mumbled as you began to study the small gash he had from afar. “Sure,” Jason stuttered a bit, his face getting a little bit redder. You softly touched his jaw, further inspecting his injury. “Well, it's not deep enough for ambrosia or nectar, but it's still kind of deep,” you stated grabbing a cotton ball with a pair of tweezers “I’m just going to clean it up and heal it ,” you said, your voice shaking a bit. Jason could only muster a hum as you placed a tiny amount of alcohol into his wound. He winced at the sting, but it didn't seem to bother him that much, especially with how gently you touched his face.

Both of you fell into an uncomfortable silence, not knowing what to say, faces a bit too close to each other, entering in panic mode. Yet Jason built up enough courage as he whispered a faint “Your voice is so beautiful.” You couldn't help but look into his blue eyes, eternally getting lost in those precious sky-blue irises. Your faces got closer slowly, instinctively, as if it was the only way to respond. Trying to wrap your head around the boy's words truly left you speechless. But life decided to ruin this perfect moment as you heard someone speak.

“I need some help with some Ares kids,” Will said standing there, clearly seeing he had interrupted something. “Right,” you responded brushing off nonexistent dust from your camp shirt and looking back at Jason. “Your wound should feel better now, let me know if it doesn't,” you said, all giddy at the thought of him coming back. He just nodded shyly, trying to say anything as you walked closer to Will but ultimately stayed silent.

“Your voice is so beautiful, marry me Y/N” mocked Will as both of you walked towards the other side of the infirmary, punching his stomach, “Shut up” you whispered. Gods, Jason Grace might just be the death of you.

#percy jackon and the olympians #hero’s of olympus #jason grace #fanfic #ria fics #jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #will solace #apollo!reader #apollo cabin #jason grace fluff #tooth rotting fluff

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the-marshals-wife · 4 months

Text

Angel Shot (John Wick x Reader)

A/N: Just a little something because I missed writing for John and watching all the movies again on winter break has got me feeling inspired. ♥

Description: John Wick x Fem!Reader, protective John fluff | Warnings: mild language, alcohol, suggestive themes, Y/N is harassed/threatened and John intervenes | Setting: before Helen (or AU without her, you decide) | Word count: 1,474

Gif credit: user johnswick

Imagine John coming to your defense when a former associate won't leave you alone

It had been a long week. All you wanted was a moment of peace and a cold drink. Normally, you had no trouble finding that at the bar within the New York Continental. On this night, however, you found yourself wishing you had gone elsewhere. No sooner had you taken the first sip of your cocktail did Rico Augustine spot you from across the room.

You keep your eyes fixed forward and pretend not to notice his approach on your right.

"Look who it is," he announces, mockery in his voice, "The rooftop sniper."

"Rico," you acknowledge placidly. You could already sense this interaction would not remain civil. A quick glance his direction allowed you to take notice of his haggard, unshaven face and wrinkled suit. Even in the subdued glow of the mood lighting, you could see the wildness in his bloodshot eyes as he clutched the edge of the bartop.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink," he starts, leaning in closer, "but considering I'm a little light of funds right now, maybe you should be the one getting me something, huh?"

The alcohol on his breath was strong enough to burn your nose. Apparently, he'd managed to evade both sleep and sobriety since you last spoke.

"I already have one," you say, gesturing with your glass, "And I'm not sure you need another."

"It really is the least you can do, after what you stole from me," he provoked, his disgust poorly veiled.

His proximity, paired with his odor and audacity, set a fire in your blood.

"Are we really going to go over this again?" you ask, turning toward him, "I didn't know you were there last night. I wouldn't have taken the shot if I had. I don't work like that."

"You know that's my territory. I followed that mark for two hours and you took him right out from underneath me. I needed that money," he seethes, drawing out his next words, "You owe me."

You pivot back to the bar, your temper flaring. "It was an open contract, Rico. Just because we worked together on the Morocco Exchange doesn't mean I owe you," you state, taking a swig before speaking once more, "I already gave you a 30% cut, from a profit you didn't earn in the first place. That means we're finished."

His hand flies up to grab your wrist, causing you to drop your drink. The glass rattles and liquid sloshes out as it hits the bartop, but it does not fall over. With the dull roar of music and conversation filling the room, the noise isn't enough to catch the distracted bartender's attention.

"What if I say we're not?" he asks, his voice growling in your ear, "What if we're only finished when I say we are?"

Before you can answer or go for the dagger concealed in your shirt sleeve, you feel the cold steel of a concealed blade begin to dig into your ribs.

"I tried being polite, but you just had to keep flapping those lips of yours."

"You don't want to do this," you warn through gritted teeth.

"Wrong again," he sneers, his gratified tone sending a shiver down your back, "Why don't we continue this conversation up in my room, hm?"

You try to make eye contact with the bartender, but his back is still turned toward you, occupied with a chatty patron. Only one option remained: be even less civil. You try to free your dagger slowly from its sheath on your forearm without Rico noticing. It starts to slide loose as he pulls you toward him with a sickening laugh. The hilt is almost in your palm when, in the mirror on the wall of liquor bottles, you catch a glimpse of someone approaching from behind. They come to stand at your left a few seconds before you hear a voice that brings immediate relief.

"Hey, Y/N."

"Hey, John," you say.

"Nice night," he remarks.

"Sure is," you reply, glancing to him from the corner of your eye.

"Evening, Rico. Can I buy you a drink?" John asks.

"Thanks John, but Y/N and I are about tapped out for the night. Ain't that right?"

You attempt to turn your head towards John, but Rico pushes the blade harder into your side in response.

"Yeah," you say unconvincingly, wincing from the sting, "Thought about ordering an Angel Shot though."

There's a brief silence before John speaks again. "That so?"

"This doesn't concern you, Wick," Rico snarls, his fake cordiality gone in an instant, "Mind your business."

"Actually, you made it my business when you pulled that knife," John responds calmy, "Now, how about that drink? Or shall I make a dinner reservation instead?"

You feel the grip on your arm loosen a bit. Your assailant knew as well as you did what that meant. One of two things awaited him: a whiskey, or a body bag.

Despite the warning, Rico scoffs, looking past you to glare at John.

"Come on, Wick. You and I both know you don't have the balls to break hotel rules," he retorts, his thin lips curling into smirk.

John doesn't blink. "You willing to bet on that?"

You suppress the urge to smile as you watch the reflection of your harasser's face lose its gusto, along with most of the color.

"Last chance, Rico," John says, "Take your hands off her, and walk away."

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Rico narrows his gaze, but lets go of your arm. "Of course. Whatever you say, Baba Yaga," he jeers, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve.

You exhale, but the sweaty brute leans back in close to your face and hisses, "The Boogeyman won't always be there to save you. This isn't over."

Rico starts to walk past you, but John grabs his arm, and tilts his head ever so slightly. "I didn't catch that last part."

He clears his throat, avoiding John's piercing stare. "It was nothing."

"Uh-huh," he deadpans, "Didn't think so."

"What's the matter, Wick? We're all professionals here, aren't we?" he poses; more a begrudged plea for mercy than an inquiry.

"Some of us more than others, it would seem," John replies, proceeding to lower his voice, "If you threaten her again, you'll find out just how professional I can be."

Rico clenches his jaw, his eye twitching in rage. Even as he choked on his own venom, he knew he was beaten. He violently recoils as John releases his arm, straightening his jacket and running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. You, John, and the rest of the room watch him retreat until he's completely out of sight.

Boogeyman or not, John had a way of drawing attention. The hush that had fallen over the room fades as customers return to their drinks and conversation, no doubt now discussing what sort of gruesome scene they were nearly witnesses to.

John finally turns to you. "Are you alright?"

You nod and smile a bit, "Thanks to you."

"I'm sure you had it handled."

"Yeah, but I wasn't looking forward to scrubbing his blood out of this fabric. You can never find this color, I'd hate to toss it," you chuckle, looking down at your shirt.

"We wouldn't want that," he says, amused.

You replace your tousled hair behind your ear and meet his softened gaze. "Thank you, John."

"You're welcome, Y/N," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket, "You look like you could use a refill."

He holds up an all-too-familiar gold coin, then places it on the bartop. "On me."

"That's two I owe you then," you counter, giving him a knowing look.

"No. You don't owe me anything," he states, kind but firm. The look he gives you in return makes you feel that you shouldn't argue.

"Fair enough," you say, watching the now attentive bartender top off your beverage, "But at least let me get you a bourbon."

John retrieves his phone from another pocket, reading the screen and stowing it back as fast as he'd produced it.

"Thank you, but I'll have to take a raincheck," John says, touching your shoulder before walking away. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

"You have business elsewhere tonight?" you question, calling after him.

"Yeah," he answers, pausing a moment, "But I won't be checking out for another day or so."

You smirk. "Be seeing you, then?"

He nods, the smallest trace of a smile on his face.

"Be seeing you."

He turns to leave, and your eyes follow him until the last. Drink back in hand, your heart continues its excited drumming. You press the cold crystal to your lips and grin. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad night after all.

"Give 'em hell, John."

#john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick #keanu reeves #my writing #first fic of 2024 #to many more 🥂

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mitsies · 1 year

Text

clementines ; aki hayakawa

aki hayakawa hates your guts. unfortunately for him, he's stuck with you for an investigation.

aki hayakawa x reader, forced proximity, huddling for warmth, rivals to lovers, confessions, fluff fluff fluff! - wc: 2.5k

aki hayakawa doesn't see your appeal.

you're pretty, sure, and you can be funny sometimes (not that he'd ever dignify your humor by laughing at your jokes), and you've got a good head on your shoulders- but he just can't bring himself to like you. he's not too sure why.

you make him feel weird, in a way he's not very familiar with. his stomach turns when you're near and his palms go sweaty, and his throat runs dry. it feels like his heart is on fire and his blood is burning beneath his skin when you're near- he doesn't think he likes it.

and so, when aki realizes that you're the only person left to accompany him on an investigative mission, he's not the happiest in the world.

"hurry up," he states dully, as you flit around the devil hunter's headquarters in search of your coat.

"forgive me for not wanting to freeze my ass off outside."

"you don't have an ass to freeze off."

you freeze. "that was a low blow."

aki shrugs and turns, beginning to walk towards the exit. "you're taking too long."

"okay, okay, jesus. fine. i guess i'll just get hypothermia and die."

you're tailing him now, as he opens the door for you. "thank god."

you shoot him a wordless glare and his stomach drops- he isn't sure why. he doesn't talk to you again as he enters the driver's seat of the car.

you slide into the passenger's seat as he begins to drive. "so.. we're going to shinjuku? what for?"

he side-eyes you. "did you even read the information about this assignment?"

you shrug. "i skimmed it."

aki exhales. "we were given an anonymous tip about the gun devil's whereabouts."

you straighten at this, and he continues: "there's a system of old underground tunnels at the location we're headed to. we're checking that out."

"oh."

aki wants to punch you at that moment, because he looks over and sees you mulling over your thoughts and you look so good even when you don't mean to. he returns his eyes to the road.

the drive is quiet, except for your occasional statements or questions. aki's responses were brief and rude, and typically deterred further conversations. silence had settled around the two of you by the time you'd arrived at your destination.

the entrance to the tunnels is located on the outskirts of shinjuku. they were overgrown with ivy, and puddles of murky water are splattered around the entrance. aki watches you as you frown at the entrance.

"this looks like it's going to be gross." you dip the heel of your shoe into a puddle experimentally, watching as greenish sediment swirls around.

"you're going to have to get over it." your eyes shift to him at his words and suddenly aki's skin is burning, despite the chill of the tokyo night.

you're visibly irritated by him, and you roll your eyes and march into the tunnels. "of course. you're so right, as always. what would i do without you, the great and powerful aki hayakawa?"

the way you say his name sends a thrill of ice down his spine. aki pretends it was just the cold as he follows you inside.

you were right. the tunnels are indeed disgusting. they were obviously occupied at one point- the main passageway branches off into many different rooms.

each room, though, was either empty or lost to time. skeletal furniture and unidentifiable plant growth is all that's left. cobwebs gather in the corners and more filthy puddles collect in divots on the floors. the air smells heavy of mildew, and it's enough to make aki's skin crawl. he wonders how many people have died down here.

to your credit, you don't comment on the apparent ick-factor of the location. you diligently search every room, attentively leaving no stone unturned and pushing aside your own discontent.

aki might not like you, but you're undeniably good at your job. he can't fault you for that.

eventually, though, the both of you reach the end of the tunnels. at this point, you're deep underground. the light of your flashlights is the only thing illuminating the path forward.

"so, that intel was a bust," you state with a tight grin. aki scowls at you. "no shit, idiot."

you huff and turn away. "there's one room left. if we're lucky, that'll have what we need."

you open the door and, to both of your surprises, this room is fully furnished. aki is quick to enter behind you, letting the door close after him.

it's a small, cramped space, with a dust-covered desk in the center. the walls are lined with bookshelves that look like they haven't been touched in years, and an ancient rug that undoubtedly carries a disease or two lies on the floor.

"would you look at that," you start, turning to aki with glittering eyes, "maybe i'm magic."

he looks away from you, his heart burning under your gaze. "start looking."

you pour over the books, skimming covers and leafing through pages, while aki examines the desk. ultimately, though, he comes up empty-handed. he turns to you and sees that you've also found nothing of interest.

"i guess we got led on," you sigh.

"damn it." frustration bubbles up within him, and aki exhales heavily. he doesn't want to yell at you. he really could, and he kind of wants to, but he knows it's not your fault that he's pissed off.

he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, and you raise an eyebrow. "you can catch as many diseases as you want, aki, but let me and my nice clean lungs have their peace, please."

he wants to make fun of you. he wants to call you a coward, or some other trivial insult, because his blood is suddenly smoldering underneath his skin and it's all your fault for looking at him. but he just shoots you another glare before beginning to the office to light his cigarette in the hallway.

but as soon as he opens the door, a deafening crush of rock rains from the ceiling. the earth trembles and aki must've really, really pissed mother nature off because he's sent crashing back into the office's filthy stone flooring.

the collapse of the tunnel's roof ended almost as soon as it began. the thunderous rumbling ceases, and you're suddenly at aki's side.

"you're hurt. don't move." you stand, on edge, to try and survey the scene.

"i'm fine," aki tries, attempting to get up- but the world begins to spin and his leg hurts really fucking bad and he's back on the floor.

you let out a snort of laughter. "sure you are."

aki wants to say something but he snaps his jaw shut, watching from the ground as you pull open the office's door. a wall of massive rocks encases the entrance- some smaller ones begin to tumble back and you hop away with a small noise.

(aki thinks he might have brain damage, because he's smiling now. he bites the inside of his cheek to hide it.)

"okay," you declare, "we're kind of stuck here."

(aki is no longer smiling.)

he tries to stand for the second time, only to be humbled by gravity yet again- this time, you catch him before he slams into the stone flooring again.

"god, are you okay? do you have a concussion?" he grumbles something incoherent in response to your concerns. he sits leaning back against the wall as you fuss and examine him. (he hopes you don't catch how he has to look away because his face is undoubtedly flushed over your meticulous gaze.)

"oh my god," you start, as your eyes trail down to his left leg.

he tries to see what you do, pulling the pant leg up a bit, revealing his gnarled ankle. it's bruised and already bluing, with an ugly gash on the side. he's not sure how he didn't notice the blood before.

he pulls his pant leg back down. "whatever. we've got to find out how to get out of here."

you stare at him, unimpressed. "we're definitely stuck, aki. promise."

he wants to protest but he knows you're right. "god."

"yeah."

he tips his head back and closes his eyes in frustration- he has to have the worst luck. the sound of rustling clothing brings his attention back to you.

you're unbuttoning your plain black vest, which was your own addition to the devil hunter's plain uniform. aki always thought it looked good on you, though he'd only ever chided you about it for violating the dress code.

you pull it off of you and roll up the sleeves of your white button-up. he stares. "what're you doing?"

you glance up at him, and there's mirth in your eyes. "saving your life from the infectious diseases down here, hotshot."

aki rolls his eyes. he hates how helpless he feels, being unable to walk and underneath your watch. he can do nothing but observe as you wrap your vest around his cut leg deftly. your fingers brush against his skin, sending sparks throughout his nervous system.

once you're done tending to his wound, you retreat, and sit on the desk after dusting it off a bit. aki didn't realize how warm you were until you'd gone away.

"how long do you think we'll be here for until the other two come to get us?"

"probably a few more hours. they won't come until morning, at the earliest."

you purse your lips. "unfortunate. i was going to have chinese food tonight."

aki raises an eyebrow. "you can cook?"

"no," you say with a crooked grin, "but i have a takeout place on speed dial." i'm a horrid cook."

"i can imagine."

you laugh, and aki feels like he has just been given a warm hug. "what, are you a professional chef or something? who are you to judge me?"

he tries not to smile, but he thinks he does a poor job of it. "i could be a professional chef when compared to you."

you're grinning now, tilting your head with amusement as you tuck one leg underneath yourself on the desk. "you should teach me how to cook sometime."

and there's that feeling again- the unpleasant burn of every blood cell within aki's body, the thundering of his heart, the whirlpool in his gut. he impresses himself when he's able to form a coherent response. "maybe i will."

conversation flows between you and aki like a dam has been removed. he's still a little rude, and you still respond a little passive-aggresively, but it's easier to talk to you than aki remembers it ever being.

he begins to realize that he's not too sure why he disliked you in the first place. you were pretty, and you were intelligent. you had musical laughter and a sense of humor to match. you cared about things and people, and aki dared to think that he was one of them.

you were lying down on the desk now, hair fanning out behind you when you asked him what his favorite food was. you were hardly visible in the dim lighting, only discernable due to the white glow of the flashlight.

"i think oranges."

you pull yourself up. "oh. same."

"oranges are good."

"they are."

you pause for a second before brightening. "actually, wait-"

hopping off your desk, you fish around in a small messenger bag that you'd left on the floor at some point. you produce a small, brightly-colored fruit- a clementine.

"not quite an orange, but," you smile, moving to sit near aki on the floor, "i always keep one on me just in case."

you hand him the fruit, and he looks at you. "in case of what?"

(aki doesn't realize, but all the cruelties and demeaning words have died off his tongue. he doesn't care for them anymore, he's content with your company.)

you shrug. "bonding moments. i tried to give one to power before i realized that she's more of a... y'know. blood fan."

aki laughs.

(he's just as surprised as you are.)

he tries to compose himself as swiftly as possible, peeling the clementine gingerly. he splits the fruit in half, giving you the larger one.

the two of you eat your share in silence, an unspoken bond forming like ice over a freezing lake. aki thinks he likes clementines more than oranges now.

"you know," you say, after you're done with your slices, "i'm pretty sure you hate me. am i wrong?"

he freezes at your bluntness. "i don't... hate you."

he steals a glance at you. you're sitting with your knees pulled close to your chest, and aki takes in your side profile. he sees the curve of your lips, the slope of your nose, the taper of your chin- and he realizes that he could never hate you, not when he's in love with you.

oh.

aki hayakawa is in love with you.

"really? because you're kind of mean sometimes." you say it like it's a joke, but he can tell you're serious. he's still taking in his own realization, so for a few seconds, he just opens and shuts his jaws like a fish out of water.

he notices you shivering, and he realizes that you must be freezing- you lost your coat, after all, and your vest was currently tied around his bleeding leg. he shrugs off his blazer, and drapes it across your shoulders.

"i don't hate you," he struggles to get out. he looks away, and you blink.

"i don't hate you, too."

he expects the conversation to end there, but you keep going.

"i like you a lot, actually." you say it like it's a fact, like you didn't just put your heart out on a table for him to dissect. you don't look at him, either, even when he whips his head around to stare at you.

"oh."

"yep."

"thanks."

"uh-huh!"

aki doesn't know what to say. you seem content with the silence. he is not.

"you're cold," he states after a brief lapse in conversation.

now you look at him. "i mean, i was. but you gave me your jacket. i'm good now. thanks, by the way."

"no, i think you're still cold." you tilt your head at him, confused, before realization sparks behind your eyes.

"oh. oh, you're right. oh, great and powerful aki, i am so very cold and in need of warmth this fine, frigid winter night."

he rolls his eyes, awkwardly shuffling closer. until your shoulders touch and your legs are in line. he barely stops himself from exhaling sharply when your head falls onto his shoulder.

your body is warm against his, like a space heater, and aki doesn't think he's ever felt more alive. his hand absentmindedly finds its way around your waist and he feels your heartbeat pick up.

"goodnight," he finds it in himself to whisper a few minutes later.

you're already asleep.

(the next morning, aki wakes up to you standing up by the carpet, which you'd moved to reveal a wooden trapdoor, leading to daylight- an escape hatch.

you stare at him. he stares at you.

"we suck at this," you whisper as if it's not just the two of you in the room.

aki grimances.

"you do," he says, even though he doesn't regret a single thing.)

author's note: plz ignore anything wrong i have not watched csm🤭

#aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #hayakawa aki #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man #aki #reader insert

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