#im so weak look at that head tilt

[evilvvithin]

PREY (2022) dir. Dan Trachtenberg

#im so weak look at that head tilt #feral predator #yautja #prey #prey 2022 #horror #predatoredit #preyedit #fyeahmovies #horroredit #userhorroredits #dailyflicks #junkfooddaily #filmedit #filmgifs #mari.gif

[felsartdump]

So finally fucked around and figured out how to add brushes to Sai2. Now I can use lace in my art without wanting to off myself- yay! Irina is another lovely NPC in our RRbtC 5e Homebrew Campaign and I love her. I figure a vampire lady is suiting for spooky season too.

#rrbtc #red roses by the crypt #felart #5e art #vampire #irina #rose #lace #idfk i dont tag shit right no more its been too long #not entirely happy with this but the excuse to be looser with my shit was nice #i had so many ideas for this when i started that didnt pan out #i wanted her black lacey parasol in there #i wanted a head tilt and focused eyes #in the end i got to keep the over-the-shoulder look because im weak for those

[oflgtfol]

banging my head into the wall i think so mcuh about mandalorian armor. in so many different ways. like is there a word for the weird cheek indent things i cannot possibly call them cheek indents but i mean if youre a mandalorian and mandalorian armor is something you wear approximately every day if not all the time and your armor is like considered A Part Of You then surely you have a word for every aspect about it. what are those cheek indents

#i need like a diagram with all the anatomy outlined and labeled. in english and mando'a also #the ANATOMY of mando armor.. thats a great word for it #not only this but like also again if your armor is like so fucking important for not only you individually but also just your entire #culture and has been for millennia upon millennia #then surely so much must go into the design of it - in so many different ways #pure functionality. practicality. but also yes aesthetic !!! #mando armorers coming up with different designs and tweaks to ensure its at its highest functioning but also it looks damn good!! #which is why the neck is so annoying to me ITS SUCH A GLARING WEAK POINT #after MILLENNIA of design tweaks for maximizing functionality why is there such a terrible weak point #why is every mando in live action out here rocking a BARE NECK #YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!! #JUST LOOK AT JANGO FETT !!! #or god forbid when fanartists draw like din with his head tilted up and then you see bare skin LIKE BARE SKIN? #HE IS GOING TO GET DECAPITATED . #IS THIS YOUR MAN? #clears throat. sorry. im normal #brot posts #mando posting

[luveline]

PLEASE IM BEGGING I WILL SELL MY FAMILY FIR THIS

More flirty bombshell reader but Spencer was just let out of prison and now instead of just getting all hot and bothered he flirts back 😼

Love you and your writing pooks 😏😚🫶🏾

love you! fem, 1.1k

This has been the longest eighty four days of your life. Not even three months apart and yet it's felt as long and arduous as three years, and so you do what you must on the day Spencer is released from Milburn; you take your time putting yourself back together, preening and polishing, as pretty as you've ever looked. 

Penelope looks good too, JJ as well. The girls are here to represent, and that's without mentioning Luke's general unbelievable physique. 

You're pissed at being left outside but you can manage. You can cope. You don't think Penelope, bless her huge heart, is going to fight you for Spencer's attention. Not for a good five seconds. What to say first? I miss you, I love you, I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen, that I couldn't do more. 

He appears behind a grate door, Luke at his side. Then the grate is opening, JJ with tears in her eyes behind him, and every idea of what to do goes out the window. 

Your breath catches before he's so much as touched you. 

"Hey," you say. It starts well, ends weak, tears in your eyes as you choke, "hey, handsome." 

"Hey," he says, hugging you with more care than you're expecting. "Oh my god, hey." He lets out a sigh of relief, his face dipping down to press against your shoulder. You feel the familiar curve of his nose and hold your breath to stop from crying.

You let him go a selfish ten seconds later, but Spencer keeps your hand as he hugs Penelope, one-armed. It's awful and selfish and you don't care, you go in for the second hug on tiptoes, arms behind his neck, your mouth pressed as high as you can reach on his face. A mess of lip gloss is left behind when they finally crowbar you off of him long enough to get in the car, and even then you're clinging to his hand, worried someone will take him again, that you won't be able to do a thing about it. 

You wrap your arms around his and hug him on the drive back. You can't stop looking up into his face. Spencer, unflinching, meets you there, his eyes a little glassy, his face sallow but getting better. 

"Missed me?" you ask quietly. You've only so much privacy. 

"So much." 

"Like a hole in the head?" 

Spencer leans down an inch. "No, like, I really missed you." 

"Of course you did, you–" Spencer leans down suddenly and disarms you, his breath warm against your cheek. 

"I what?" he asks, kissing your cheek. 

"You haven't been away from me that long in years," you breathe. 

"It took getting used to," he says agreeably, speaking low, his breath hotter still as he kisses upward. Two kisses, that's all they are, but when he sits straight again you're thrown. 

"But you got used to it?" 

"No," he says, smiling at you like you've made a funny joke rather than thinly veiled insecurity spoken in a desperate attempt to garner some reassurance. 

It was difficult coping with the hurt of his having left you in the dark. You knew he was doing something he shouldn't have been, but you never for a moment imagined this outcome. You worried (deep down, and not for his ears) that he'd met someone new, that he'd grown disinterested in your years of love and life. Of you. Especially as he's matured, which is to say he stopped looking like he was about to walk the stage at New York Fashion week and started dressing sharp as a tack. Your Spencer stayed yours, but he got older, and you did too —you look older. You're still yourself, high maintenance, prideful, sweet, but you're not the same. 

Between the distance that bloomed with his secrecy and his growing maturity, you were caught off guard. And then not long after he was arrested in Mexico and you couldn't get him out no matter what you did, or who you begged for help. 

Spencer brings his hand to your cheek, tilting your head one way slowly, and then the other. There's confidence in his touch that you've felt before, just never to this extent. 

What happened to you? you think. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

"For what, sweetheart?" you ask, meaning it implicitly. He's your sweetheart. He's everything. You're too high on his return to want an apology. 

"For everything. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you." 

There's something you can work with. "Oh, you will?"

"I promise." 

Mindful of your friends in the front seats, you press your cheek into his hand, turning your head just enough to touch your lips to his palm. His eyes are dark brown where they meet yours, pupil and iris one and the same. "How?" you murmur. 

Spencer brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. Something in his eyes speaks even as he stays quiet, a light, an amusement, as if to say, I know exactly what you're doing, but it won't work. 

I'm not a saint, you say back with a sheepish smile. You close your eyes and let your head fall into his shoulder. He hugs you close despite the lack of room, his chin landing atop your head gently. "You'll have to try harder," he whispers. 

"Don't know what you mean." 

"Months of missing you and the first thing you do is try to torture me." 

"That's our thing." 

"No, our thing is me worshipping the ground you walk on," he says into your hair, hand squeezing as it roves up your arm, reassuring himself that you're there, that you're real. 

"Like I wouldn't do the same if you'd let me. I would've done anything." He probably can't hear you anymore, your voice a suggestion of sound. "I would've done anything if I thought it would…" get you back to me.

Spencer does you a favour of ignoring you. Later, you know he'll bring it up again. You'll have time, because he's going home. For now he does his best to hold you together in the company of others, always thinking about what you need. "You look so pretty today. Is that for me?" 

"I always look pretty." You haven't felt it lately.

"I know. Maybe it's because I didn't see you for so long… It's like seeing you again for the first time." 

Your chest aches in a strangely nice way. "And how are you coping, handsome?" 

He rests his cheek on your forehead. On paper, you're flirting. In actuality, you're being one hundred percent honest with each other. "I'm not. My blood pressure has gotta be 180 over 110 right now."

"I love it when you talk medical to me." 

"I love you." 

You nose at his suit sleeve ineffectually "I love you." 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[95rkives]

baby fever⼂k.nj

summary: what was supposedly a peaceful morning stroll in the park, an unexpected encounter triggers namjoon’s intense desire for a baby, turning him into an adorable, baby fever-filled mess.

parings: bf!namjoon x fem!reader

genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, namjoon is in love

wc: 1.7k

a/n: hi hi! wanted to quickly say i’m on vacation rn, hence the slow updates but! big things are coming soon ;) im so excited to share! for now, i hope u enjoy this short oneshot, im actually so very proud of it, i was giggling, kicking my feet while writing this </3

"according to statistics, the average individual devotes approximately half a year of their life patiently waiting for traffic lights to transition from red to green."

his statement elicited an amused laugh from you, bordering on a light-hearted scoff. you cast a sidelong glance at him, raising your eyebrows in playful skepticism. "well, that sounds like quite a creative excuse to evade obtaining a driver's license."

a soft chuckle escapes him, his hand playfully swaying yours in gentle synchronization as you stroll along the serene lakeside in the park. "it's true," he asserts, meeting your gaze with a mischievous grin, creating a brief moment of shared complicity before you both resume gazing ahead.

"and besides," he interjects, tilting his head slightly in a contemplative manner "opting for bicycling and walking is infinitely more enjoyable, not to mention immensely beneficial for the environment."

you shake your head in mild disbelief, unimpressed by his narrow-mindedness and his pretentious vocabulary. "well then, i suppose i shall retire from my role as your personal chauffeur—in fact," pausing for dramatic effect, you continue, "i'll go as far as relinquishing my license, selling my car, and indulging myself in that coveted prada bag i've long desired."

that prompted him to throw his head back in a burst of laughter, his eyes brimming with amusement as he glanced at you. "so dramatic," he remarked, gently lifting your interlocked hands and planting a tender kiss on the back of yours, releasing a soft breath of laughter through his nose.

a subtle tsk of annoyance escaped your lips, accompanied by a discreet roll of your eyes as your head turns away from him. you find it impossible to suppress the sly grin that stealthily spreads across your lips.

"you know," he begins, his words trembling with a hint of laughter that gradually subsides. his gaze shifts downwards, fixed upon his own feet, attempting to suppress a smile. "i find it incredibly attractive," he admits, a sly grin playing on his lips as he turns to face you once more, his posture slightly bowed, leaving you weak in the knees. "when you're behind the wheel," he clarifies, a gentle laugh escaping his lips as you avert your gaze, feeling a gentle blush warm your cheeks, however subtle it may be.

"oh, so am i exempt from the rules? can i single-handedly destroy the planet?" you playfully quip, a sly grin playing upon your lips as your gaze roams everywhere but his face.

he allows his eyes to linger on the side of your face for a heartbeat longer, before he subtly clears his throat and returns his focus forward. giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he finally responds, his voice carrying a touch of mischief, "yes," he pauses, a slow, confident grin spreading across his lips, "without a doubt."

laughter spills effortlessly from your lips, and you can't resist playfully nudging his shoulder with your own. the gentle collision causes him to stumble ever so slightly, his balance momentarily disrupted, but a massive grin radiates across his face, unable to be contained.

as your attention drifts away from the conversation, a delightful sight captures your eyes. "oh," you exclaim, unable to hide your enthusiasm. "look, ducks!" a grin lights up your face as you observe mothers and children congregating near the tranquil lake, joyfully feeding these charming creatures.

namjoon follows the direction of your gaze, and a gentle smile graces his lips. he steals a quick glance at you before returning his focus to the scene ahead. "would you like to go feed them?"

without a moment's hesitation, your response is immediate. like an exuberant child, you eagerly pull him along, almost breaking into a jog as you make your way towards the spot where the ducks are already being fed.

your hand slips away from his, and you gracefully lower yourself into a crouch near the edge of the serene lake. in perfect formation, ducks accompanied by their adorable ducklings gracefully glide through the water, forming enchanting lines. the sheer cuteness of the scene elicits a delightful flutter in your heart, filling you with pure joy.

namjoon positions himself behind you, his hands casually nestled in the pockets of his jeans. with tender admiration, he gazes down at you, a radiant smile gracing his features, exuding warmth and affection.

"i have no bread," you pout, or at least that's the conclusion he draws from the palpable disappointment lacing your voice.

“i can go get some; there's a bakery not too far—" his words are abruptly halted by an unfamiliar, yet endearingly tiny voice, capturing his attention. it doesn't take long for him to realize that the voice belongs to a little girl who has appeared nearby.

"would you like to share with me?" the little girl bravely approaches you, and your face instantly lights up with a radiant smile in response to her sweet offer. as she draws near, you realize she stands at the same height as you, since you were crouched down, appearing no older than four or five years old.

“oh," you exhale a soft, melodic laugh, your eyebrows lifting in surprise. "you are so incredibly kind," you remark with genuine warmth, tilting your head ever so slightly. her beaming smile grows even wider upon receiving your compliment, her innocent delight radiating in response.

as the distant calls of what appears to be her mother draw nearer, the three of you instinctively turn to face her.

“ava!" the mother pants as she finally catches up, coming to a stop. "didn't i tell you to stop bothering people?" her face adopts a pouting expression, a thinly veiled attempt to conceal her underlying irritation, her eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“but, mom," ava whines in such an adorably plaintive tone that it elicits a shared snicker between you and namjoon. "she doesn't have bread!" she huffs, her frustration evident, prompting the mother to heave a sigh of surrender.

“i'm truly sorry," the woman interjects, her eyes shifting between you and namjoon, offering apologetic smiles. "she's been going around handing bread to everyone she meets—"

“please, there's no need to worry," you assure her, your voice carrying a gentle tremor of laughter. your attention then shifts back to the little girl before you. "how about we feed them together?" you suggest, employing the softest, most endearing tone you can muster, aiming to ignite a sense of excitement in the young one. it proves successful as ava nods eagerly, brimming with anticipation.

with a carefree grace, she positions herself in front of you, leaning back casually against you. in response, you wrap an arm around her, your palm tenderly resting on her stomach. the scene proves to be utterly captivating, prompting namjoon to bite down on his lip in an effort to contain his smile—or perhaps even a squeal. either way, he finds the sight undeniably adorable, melting his heart in the process.

the mother approaches and stands next to namjoon, casting a smile in his direction before her gaze shifts to her daughter and you. her eyes brim with curiosity as she poses the question, "girlfriend? wife?"

although caught slightly off guard, namjoon responds with a warm smile, a sheepish laugh slipping past his lips. he looks down at you once again, his eyes sparkling with affection and adoration. almost dreamily, he confirms, "girlfriend." the woman chuckles softly, captivated by the enchanting connection between the two of you.

completely unaware, you wholeheartedly engage in feeding the ducks with ava. together, you toss pieces of bread onto the lake, captivating the ducks' attention. to your sheer joy, one of the ducks emerges from the water and gently takes bread from ava's hand, prompting her to squeal in pure delight. your laughter harmonizes with hers, forming a symphony of happiness and carefree bliss.

namjoon's heart leaps, skips, and dances within his chest, each beat amplified in intensity. the way you engage with ava, emanating an innate gentleness and kindness, strikes a chord deep within him. it's a tender scene that tugs at his heartstrings, leaving him captivated by the beauty of your nurturing nature.

lost in his captivated state, namjoon remains oblivious to the fact that you have risen to your feet, gracefully making your way towards him. only when ava runs back to her mother's embrace does he snap out of his reverie, his gaze shifting to you as you approach him with a gentle grace.

you come to stand beside him, and almost instinctively, his arm drapes over your shoulders, drawing you close as you face the mother and daughter together.

“now, say thank you,” the mother playfully prompts ava, gently swaying her in her arms. her smile extends towards you, and in a shy, sweet whisper, ava utters her gratitude, causing your heart to soar with joy.

“thank you," you reply, placing emphasis on the word 'you.' "without you, i wouldn't have been able to feed the ducks." your smile radiates with warmth and tenderness as you gaze at the little girl, a soft giggle escaping your lips, filled with genuine appreciation and delight.

engaging in heartfelt conversation, you share a few more words with the mother, building a connection even in the brief encounter. the exchange concludes with beaming smiles that radiate warmth and gratitude, as you bid each other farewell, the memory of the delightful interaction lingering in your hearts.

as you observe them walking away, namjoon's gaze shifts towards you, a sly smile gracing his lips. his hand tenderly caresses your shoulder, moving up and down in a soothing gesture as he speaks. "you would make an exceptional mother,"

the tone of his voice catches your attention, drawing your gaze to meet his. as you lock eyes, you notice the way he slightly purses his lips, a subtle but unmistakable sign that he's trying to contain a smile. with a knowing glance, you quickly catch on.

“absolutely not.”

“wait—” he bursts into laughter as you shake his arm off your shoulders and begin walking away. however, he swiftly follows suit, reaching from behind to wrap his arms around you, creating an endearing obstacle that makes it more challenging for both of you to walk

“you're absolutely insane," you playfully groan as he showers your neck, shoulder, and cheek with gentle kisses. he nuzzles into your hair, emitting a soft giggle that resonates with warmth and affection.

"one child won't hurt," he whispers softly, his words carrying a hint of mischief. you start to wiggle in an attempt to break free from his embrace, but he only tightens his grip around you, refusing to let you escape his affectionate hold.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #bts fluff #namjoon reactions #namjoon drabble

[tlouadditc]

can you please write about ✂️ with Abby😳💖💖💖

oh my god. yes. [small drabble since im just starting back!!]

warnings: 18+ [MINORS AND MEN DNI], reader x abby, scissoring [duuuuhhhhh], short story w/ no background, no established relationship, rushed ending, idk what else atp.

despite popular belief, abby prefers scissoring. something about skin to skin contact with you, bumping your clits together vigorously, only focusing on your orgasms- it's intimate.

the first time you scissored her wasn't awkward at all; abby let you get on top, let you pick the pace, and guided you a little when you got tired. her care for you was something you never experienced before, something that made you 100x more comfortable with her.

"mmfuck- abby," you breathed in between kisses, your clothed pussy grinding against her pelvis, hands gripping at her toned biceps. her hands traveled up and down your sides, lifting up your oversized shirt and revealing your soaked panties. the room was hot, only noises heard was the heavy breathing and wet kisses shared between the two of you. her eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, stared into your soul.

"what's wrong, baby?" she asked, a hand travelling down to your hip, guiding you as you whimper helplessly. "what d'ya need?"

moments later, you two were in the middle of the living room, on the couch, heavily panting as the sound of wet squelches and skin slapping fill the room to the brim. sweaty bodies atop of each other, small moans leaving both of your mouths. "jus' like that, cmon," she moaned, one large hand on your hip, rocking you in just the right places. your head is fuzzy, no thoughts, no worries, just focusing on the feeling in between your thighs. one of your hands grip onto her leg, leaving a hand mark; the other holding onto the couch for dear life. "so fuckin' pretty," she whispers, a hand coming up to caress your tit. "say you've never done this before but-" her head tilts back, cutting her sentence off with a loud groan. she guides you to go faster, juices spreading all over your heat. your legs are getting weak, the feeling becoming overbearing as you reach your climax. "cumming already? fuck, you're perfect," she coos. all you can do is hold onto her while riding out your orgasm. she talks you through it, praising how good you are to her. "good girl.."

not soon after, she does the same, using your sensitive bud to get her off. you lean down and leave wet kisses all over her body, lipgloss marking your territory. her chest moves up and down as she comes to her senses, body still trembling from pleasure. "that was.." she starts, but she ends up just giggling, looking at you laying on her bare chest. her laugh is contagious, causing a small abruption of laughter in the room. you both lay there, feeling closer than ever.

a/n: yay no hiatus anymore! i hope i dont jinx that. anyway hope this was good and im excited to get back into writing :p!!

#tlouadditc #brook speaks.. i think #the last of us smut #tlou fic #tlou2 smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby smut #abby the last of us #abby anderson

[koqabear]

congratulations on 2k!! im so proud of you so heres a song equation that i think is so genius

the weeknd, one of your girls + beomgyu + smut and fluff = popular fuckboy!beomgyu x popular sweet!mc

this song is so beomgyu to me😵‍💫😵‍💫

♫: One of the Girls, The Weeknd // [2K Masterlist]

"Beomgyu’s a lot more obsessed with you than he’d like to admit."

beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 2.1K // genre: smut, pwp, only a bit of fluff sorry <3 MDNI.

warnings: dom!beomgyu, sub!mc, oral (m & f rec), name calling (slut), finger sucking(?), spitting, praise, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, etc.), deep throating, dacryphilia maybe, possessiveness, overstimulation, cumming untouched ig. unprotected sex.. lmk if i should add anything

Notes: 2k followers ended months ago and this bitch is still here

Beomgyu never intended to keep you around this long.

Pretty girls like you were never his type. Saccharine sweet, innocent smiles, bright eyes and an energetic attitude that brought people to you like flies to honey. You had the world in the palm of your hand, opportunities at your feet and friends that were loyal like dogs— you were perfect, untouchable, untainted. 

Everything he was not. 

Maybe that’s how he got where he is now, low lidded eyes observing you carefully, watching as your shining doe eyes plead up at him, careful hands smoothing up and down the rough material of his jeans; you’re so pretty like this, he finds himself thinking, all pliant and weak to him, waiting for his command like a mindless puppy— your throat bobs and your tongue darts across your lips, dainty fingers playing with the loops of his belt as you silently plead for permission to let him feel good.

“My friends were talking about you today,” Beomgyu murmurs, tilting his head and reaching down to caress your face gently; warm hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, smiling at your head that immediately goes to lean into his touch, “said they couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout the way you looked in the dress you wore to last weeks party.”

Memories flash in your mind; the party your friends dragged you to, only complying because you were aware of who was taking part in hosting it— the pure, innocent image that hung over your head causing heads to turn the whole night— you could hear it, practically, the whispers and comments wondering what you were doing in such a place, all having speculated you the type to hate loud, rowdy environments like these.

They weren’t wrong; you barely lasted an hour in that dark, crowded place, finding yourself having a much better time in the back of Beomgyu’s car, pretty dress bunched at your hips and your makeup smudged by the time he dropped you off at your place, greedy hands refusing to let you go so easily, not one to put up much of a fight yourself; you’ve always been fond of waking up to the sight of Beomgyu first thing in the morning, anyway. 

Beomgyu’s eyes darken; you’re snapped out of your reverie by the feeling of blunt nails digging into your skin, your head tilted back as you’re forced to stare back at Beomgyu’s dangerous gaze.

“They also couldn’t stop talking ‘bout how bad they wanna fuck you,” he seethes, nails digging in deeper at the very thought; your eyes glisten and you shift restlessly on your knees, a shaky sigh escaping your lips at his tone— his thumb quickly reaches over to weigh down at your bottom lip, parting your lips slowly. 

“Would give anything to feel your mouth,” he recounts, thumb pushing into your mouth, a gentle pressure against your tongue as he surveys how easily you obey him; his brows knit together and his thumb hooks down against your tongue, opening your mouth roughly as he hovers over you; his face is inches away from yours as he speaks, his voice barely audible. “Said it’s such a shame they didn’t get their hands on you that night.”

Beomgyu could only sit back in his seat and listen; a spectator to it all, jaw clenched and arms crossed as he took in the way they spoke about you, salivating over you— the very reminder is enough to have his blood boiling. But, who was he to lash out at them? As far as the world was concerned, you were a pure, pretty girl that was expected to marry the son of an influential family friend. Beomgyu was never supposed to be in the picture.

“Wonder what everyone would think if they saw you now,” he mutters, voice patronizing and eyes filled with a sick arrogance as he stares down at you, “a good little slut on her knees for me.”

Without further warning, he spits; you flinch slightly at the action, a whine ripping through you as he straightens back up. Deft fingers smooth down your head, digging into your scalp and forcing your head forward— your hands are quick to undo his jeans, not needing another word from him for you to know what he wants. 

“Fuck,” Beomgyu breathes out, dazed at the sight of your eager actions, quickly undoing his jeans and getting to his leaking cock; your hand is warm and soft against him, and he feels himself twitching pathetically the moment you finally pull him free from his underwear; your pace is familiar and your lips are plush as they kiss at the tip of his cock, doe eyes glancing back up at him for approval.

“So perfect for me,” Beomgyu coos, caressing your cheeks and watching as you take him in your mouth slowly, lidded gaze glued onto the lewd scene like he’s determined to ingrain everything about this moment into his mind, “Know just what I like, such a good girl.”

His voice is soft and deep as he purrs out praise to you, hand wandering down until it’s placed at your throat curiously— you relax instinctively, jaw falling slack as he begins to thrust shallowly, whispered curses and rumbled groans making your thighs clench pitifully— but your hands simply fall down on your thighs, knowing that Beomgyu never likes it when you touch yourself like this. 

Your tearful yet determined gaze has Beomgyu’s pace stuttering— you just look so damn pretty under the dull lights of his room, the feminine and cute outfit you’ve put on today not helping at all; your makeup is already getting smudged from the tears that cling to your lashes and the drool that builds up at the corners of your mouth, taking everything Beomgyu gives you with nothing but a wide doe-eyed look. 

“Shit…” Beomgyu groans, his thrusts a lot rougher than they were moments ago; he’s getting closer, you can tell, your hands balling into fists on your thighs as you continue to let him fuck your mouth just how he likes— his hand is frantic to grab at the back of your head, fingers stinging at your scalp as he pulls you flush against his pelvis; he’s still, and you can feel him throbbing in your mouth— your throat stings and your eyes squeeze shut, hot tears running down your cheeks as you swallow instinctively; Beomgyu lets out a sharp moan at the feeling.

“D–Don’t— don’t… do that,” Beomgyu huffs out, hips grinding subconsciously against you, your lungs starting to burn as you place a frantic hand on his thigh— but Beomgyu pays no mind to you, clearly lost in his head as he lets out a shaky sigh; at the sudden feeling of you placing a slight pressure on him, he looks down at you curiously. 

“Hold it,” he tells you, lips twitching darkly as he feels you swallow again, body tensing as he simply ruts into your throat gently, “just a bit longer… you can take it baby.”

Your throat constricts around him, your eyes sting and you whine on his cock that continues to stuff your mouth— Beomgyu only pulls out once he feels you tapping weakly at his thigh, watching with low lidded eyes as you immediately begin to sputter and cough, a string of spit connected from his tip to your lips; he leans down to get a good look at you, watching you with a deceivingly soft smile as you try to regain your breath— his hand smoothes down your hair fondly, head cocking to the side as he prompts you to look at him. 

“Good?” he asks gently, watching you nod without hesitation; he chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before he takes your hands in his, pulling you up and beginning to walk you backwards toward his bed, “Good.”

As Beomgyu hovers over you, your he can’t help but find himself thinking about how fond he’s grown of this sight; of you, your breathless figures and your shiny eyes that catch his every movement, from his gaze that takes you in hungrily to his hands that slowly push the skirt of your dress up. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Beomgyu breathes out, your wide eyes watching as he shifts down to lay on his stomach, slow, warm hands running up and down your thighs— you squirm impatiently at the feeling, hips bucking and lips parting in a gasp as he places a slow kiss onto your clothed cunt; mouth lingering for a moment, smiling coyly at the wet patch that already seems to have formed— and he looks back up at you, fingers hooking under your panties to pull them down as he speaks. “All mine too, right?”

Without thinking, you nod.

“Wouldn’t let anyone else see this perfect body,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to wander up and down your slit, toying with your clit and watching the arousal leak out of you desperately, “It’s all for me.”

Beomgyu always seems to get like this, you think to yourself— his touches are teasing, needy, and his tongue is warm as he licks at your clit, fingers picking up where he left off so he can talk— he’s insatiable, possessive, and his words always make you clench a little tighter against him; you think he must feel the way you react to him, and that’s why he’s taken a liking to running his mouth so much. 

You couldn’t be any more incorrect, though— because as Beomgyu finally begins to use his mouth on you, tongue fucking your hole and nose pressing insatiably against your clit, he can only find himself thinking about how he’d like to spend the rest of his life like this— here, with you, listening to the way you keen and cry and bury your fingers in his hair, whining incoherently into the air. 

“I’m— I’m close,” you stutter, your hips bucking and chasing after Beomgyu’s mouth; he simply hums in response, eyes closed with bliss as he feels your thighs shake and close around his head— your voice is pretty and airy as you stutter out mindless praise, every moan of his name causing his cock to twitch and leak against your mattress, unable to stop the way he grinds against it stupidly. 

“R-right— Right there, oh my god, please don’t stop, please— coming, I’m coming, Beomgyu—!”

Your hips buck up and your back arches— your nails dig into his scalp and pull at his hair, shaky moans falling from your lips as your body tenses up and your orgasm washes over you. Beomgyu remains keen to it all— every sound you make, the way your body shakes and falls limp, he takes it all in, tongue still lapping hungrily at your arousal and hips still grinding into your mattress. 

He helps you ride it all out— your eyes prick with tears all the while, sensitivity sending shocks throughout your body as you feel him groan against your cunt, burying his head further in even after you’ve begun to whine that it’s too much; when his head emerges from between your legs, he looks just as dazed and out of breath as you— if not more so. 

“Gyu…” you mumble out, eyes drifting down to his chest that heaves, down to his stomach and noticing something that makes your eyes widen; Beomgyu follows your gaze, glancing down and looking away with red tinted ears.

“Can’t help it,” he huffs, not ashamed in the slightest as he hovers over you, cupping your face and leaning down to capture your lips, barely parting so he can speak, “you’re so hot when you cum.”

“Am I?” you ask softly, laughing at the immediate nod you get; your hand wanders down between your bodies, fingertips brushing over his cum-stained stomach and on his already hardening cock— your brows jump, and you smile. “Need me to clean you up?”

Beomgyu’s fervent shake of his head catches you by surprise; he’s never been one to deny the feeling of your mouth on him, so to say that this unexpected was an understatement.

“Just wanna be inside you,” he mumbles against your lips, the feeling of his cockhead grinding against your clit bringing about a sigh from both of you, “wanna see you cum again.”

The whine you let out at his words is enough to have him entering you slowly; dark eyes taking in every change of your expression, watching as your brows furrow at the stretch— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of the sight. 

No other girl has ever managed to do what you have; the man above you feels entirely enamored as he watches the way you cry and clench around his cock, gasping his name and clinging onto him desperately— you drive him crazy, and this only serves to prove it further. 

You were never supposed to leave such an impact on him. But now that you have, Beomgyu will do anything to make sure that you don’t escape his clutches.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fanfiction

[fushisagi]

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

#atsumu #miya atsumu #hq #haikyuu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu angst #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu angst #hq angst #fic: miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

[arminsumi]

🔞 playtime w enemy!gojo

g. satoru — さとる

NOTE: i think abt this idea all the time n i just thought id gift u all a piece of mean nasty enemy gojo lusting for u

WARNINGS — ignore errors pls, smut, he's mean he's a jerk but he kinda feels for u, blood mentions, fighting, m*sturbation, he jerkin it to a pic he snapped of ur defeated face 🫠 sexual tension, impact play (slapping n spanking), dirty talk, namecalling (sl*t, wh*re, b*tch, freak) and nicknames (bunny, sweetheart, baby), dirty talk, unprotected sex, taboo sex (fucking ur enemy) creampie, it's nasty im ngl, god kink thing??? he rlly cums n goes 🧍‍♀️, hairpulling

just... just enemy!gojo...

enemy!gojo kissing you like he's trying to kill you. you can feel this murderous rage on his lips after you fuck up his heroic plans.

and enemy!gojo fighting you like he's trying to get in your pants 🥴 he hates you so much, but let's be real he's in fucking denial and needs you so bad. after fights, he's cooped up in his bedroom jerking off to the memory of all those positions he put you in. ("ooh, well aren't you flexible?" he teases when he literally puts you into a full-nelson. "hey, if this whole villain business fails for you then you can be my personal pornstar.")

his whole body feels like it's on fire when you're throwing fists with him. he shakes not from exhaustion or pain but just pure sexual desire. he gets so upclose and personal with you, you're sure it's on purpose. when you're limp and defeated, he takes a victory picture :( grabs your jaw and says "smile for the camera! aw, pretty lil' loser. you're so photogenic!" and you know when he gets home, he's gonna jerk off to that.

he can barely take your martial arts seriously, because you're so fucking tiny and weak in comparison to him. enemy!gojo likes to remind you of that, when he has you on your knees with your nose dribbling blood.

"aw, sweetheart, you're so fucking weak it's kinda turning me on."

he's got a fistfull of your hair, forcing your head to tilt back so violently yet when you look up at him, you can't help but feel this raw sexual tension and primal need to kiss him and worship him.

"f—fuck you, gojo — y-you're a freak. you think you're god... but you're a monstrous freak."

he's looking at you. and you're not sure if that's a murderous look or a pure lustful look — is he gonna kill you or fuck you? in his mind, though, the idea of killing you long faded away; you're his favorite enemy. what would he do without you? fighting with you is just the best, he gets to joke and tease and flirt and pester you and see you enjoying it wholeheartedly.

"bunny, look how cute you are, bleeding for me."

when you try spit your blood at him to retaliate, he's considering pulling his zipper down and stuffing your stupid mouth full of his cock. now that would put him on a power trip like nothing else.

then imagine the day this needy, desperate man actually snaps. and you snap. and the both of you fuck like bunnies. panting and feral. he couldn't say no when you started begging on your bruised knees for him to just fuck you already, just split you open on his cock.

his thrusts are primal. he's mocking you, voice so venemously attractive.

"wh—what would your friends think now, huh? think they'd still trust you knowing how willingly you spread your fuckin' legs for me? you damn slut. 'seen the way you look at me, gets me hot every time. you don't have any fucking idea what you do to me, do you? ha—ahhh that's so good... that's so fucking good..." his voice is usually so composed even when fighting, but when he's balls deep fucking up your guts so passionately then his voice becomes strained.

and he loves hearing your cute dirty talk, but you've got such a small voice he thinks it's cutely pathetic.

"f-fuck, g-g—gooojo ~ ! fuck me like you hate me."

he chuckles, "oh, baby. i don't have to fake it. i hate you so — fucking — much — ahhh — damn bitch, making my life so hard the least y-you could do is let me have this pussy once a week."

"a-anything for you."

his heart flutters. why? you're his enemy he reminds himself and makes his thrusts meaner and harder until you can't form a coherent thought. he relishes in your screaming moans, and there's no end to the teasing. as soon as he notices something he comments on it.

"ooh, look at that little pussy cream for me. who's it creaming for? who? that's fucking right, me. yeah stay like that and take my cock."

"o—h my god, nnn ~ !" you squeal, feeling almost too good with your threatening orgasm.

"ah-ah, there's no god but me, baby. i'm the one making this pussy freak out. ooh... think you're right, i do have a god complex. why don't you indulge in it? yeah? c'mon, baby i'm your god."

"y—you're m-my g–god, satoruuuh ~ ! ow!"

he plants a hard slap to your face. you're no stranger to his mean slaps, in fact you've joked to yourself about being his favorite bitch to slap. but that one in particular hurt, and you loved it.

"don't say my fucking name like we're friends, you freak. f—fuck... you like that, don't you? yeah? little freaky bitch likes getting slapped? mmm that's cute. kinky litttle fucking whore, let's see how hard this pathetic pussy can cum."

he pumps his cock into you at such a mean angle that you completely lose yourself, babbling obscenities and trembling in his strong hold. you couldn't free yourself from his grip even if you wanted to; he's the strongest, after all.

you get a good idea of how strong he is when you fight and sneak off to fuck.

the way he presses down on your back, the way he bullies his cockhead so deep that it feels like he's in your tummy, the way he pulls both your arms back with a rough tug like you're a ragdoll — just his fleshlight that he can move on his cock himself however he likes because he's so much bigger than you.

"gonna cum, my little slut gonna take it? yeah? good. that's what i like to fucking hear — oh fuck — ahhhah cumming — hah fuck that's good — that's — mmm — that's my fuckin' girl."

he plants rough spanks to your ass, groaning so deeply and holding you so close against his body that you feel like you're one with him.

"ooh, fuck..." he pulls out hastily, zipping himself up. forehead and abs beading with sweat. "thanks, love playtime with you. now get the fuck out of my sight." he sounds so sweet and venomous that you can't tell if he's joking, but then you remember a cold hard fact;

gojo satoru is your enemy.

#🗑️ — trash #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #smut #mdni #satoru smut #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou x reader #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo sensei #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut

[singswan-springswan]

ficlet under the cut

The crate tipped with a sudden lurch and broke open on the ground. Zuko spilled unceremoniously with the motion. Inelegant. Graceless. Normally his movements held much more regality, but he'd been kidnapped and stuffed in a scratchy box and out of the water for some indeterminable length of days, so cutting himself some slack here felt appropriate.

It wasn't much brighter outside the stupid box. His scales were dry, his head was killing him, and the floor held a pleasant cool against his mounting fever. He really needed water soon. Every part of his body felt... scratchy. Discomfort would escalate into pain, and then asphyxiation. He would suffocate if he dried out. Idly, he wondered how long it would take. The humans seemed to know. They hadn't acted worried yet.

"Our latest bounty." The voice looming over Zuko was muffled in weird places. "I thought it might spark an interest. You collect fire fish, isn't that right?"

Zuko bit down a hazy groan and fumbled to prop himself up. The loss of the tile's cool against his cheek was one he mourned, but there would be time for relaxing when he found a way out of this mess. He could barely think straight. The humans—the pirates who'd ransomed him from the girl in blue—were standing guard around him now. He could see their boots. They were facing all the same direction, same way the voice was talking towards, and Zuko turned to observe.

The surrounding space was large, a room, and very dimly lit. This wouldn't normally be an issue, being that he was a mer, but his headache made his eyes lazy and bad at adjusting to the dark. If he squinted, he could see the ripple of light along the walls. Blue. Weird. In the direction of the pirates' attention, something like the outline of a table was visible—as large and imposing as the room itself. A single shadowy figure occupied a seat on the far side. He looked weird with the backlight. Zuko's vision was getting spotty.

He didn't get much chance to scan the rest of the surrounding space, because the pirate captain decided to be a jerk and grab his hair. It'd long since escaped its neat topknot, now bunching and sliding strangely in dry heat. The pain and the change in angle made Zuko rapidly lose sight of the shadow man.

"This one's quite a specimen." The pirate tilted Zuko's head back, baring his throat—maybe as a joke; it was always hard to tell if humans knew the significance of such a display—and lifted him enough to catch the light. So their potential buyer could get a better view.

Zuko would like to rip the pirate's skin off and feed it to him, but he was weak with dehydration, and his previous struggles against the man's crew had left him exhausted. All he managed was a low hiss. If humans could understand mer speech, he’d be cursing them as soundly as possible. Someone was standing on his tail. Not that it made much difference. He doubted he could have swung it if it wasn't pinned.

"I've seen a lot of the fire mer in my day, but this one's real pretty. Don't feel bad turning the offer down. We'll keep 'im if you won't." His crew laughed. Bastards. Zuko could hear the leer in the pirate's voice. It made him dizzy with anger.

Then a low grind echoed softly, and the humans cut their chatter short. Zuko distantly registered the shadow at the table moving. What made that noise? Was it his chair? He stood, rounded the massive table, and drew closer. All Zuko could see was a dark, unfocused blob. Vaguely humanoid.

"Yeah, don't be shy! Come get a closer look!"

The fist in his hair tightened. His scalp burned. The fins all down his back shuttered, and a stinging ache began to form in his gills. He needed water. He needed to get out of here. He shouldn't have wandered so close to the shore, even if that pretty girl in blue seemed so friendly at first glance. She did sell him out to these pirate scum. He should have known way better.

Even standing an arm's length away, the lighting continued to cast shadow on the pirate's potential client. It could be reasoned, then, that Zuko and the humans around him were washed in the room's best luminance. Certainly his scar could be seen clear as day. Maybe his tail was pretty, but there were parts of him imperfect. Maybe the stranger wouldn't want to buy him for that. Maybe Zuko would be stuck with these idiot pirates forever.

A smooth voice came from the stranger. "Release him."

"Sure, sure."

The pressure on Zuko's scalp vanished. He collapsed to the cool tile with no more grace than before, even further disoriented, and with a worse headache. He grit his teeth in frustration. That bastard was still on his tail.

Cool fingers tilted his chin up before he could lift his head on his own again; he hadn't seen the shadow man crouch down. Startled, Zuko yanked back and hissed a second time. He made sure to reveal far more fang and fan far wider with his fins; he just wanted these stupid humans to stop poking and grabbing him however often they pleased. Was that too much to ask? He wasn't an ornament. And he sure as heck had no intention of being a pet.

The stranger's face was close, and shadowy, and out of focus. Zuko's head was killing him. The room spun.

"The shape of the fins—” The stranger’s voice began.

“Really something, isn’t it? Never seen a mer so fancy before.”

There was a beat of silence, then the cool fingers returned to Zuko’s jaw and held him firmly in place. He growled. It didn’t make a difference. He was exhausted and hot and vulnerable, and everyone could tell. There was no way to stop them from doing as they pleased. 

“There’s a scar.”

“Wasn’t us, mate. Looks like the beast’s had it for a while. I think it adds to the aesthetic, don’t you agree?”

Zuko glared. It was the sort of one-sided remark he’d only accept from Uncle Iroh, though Azula had made attempts to express similar sentiments in that weird way of hers. He’d always hated the scar. At least the monster who put it there was dead now.

The stranger gave no comment. He reached another hand out and pushed Zuko’s hair aside, away from his eyes. Zuko did his best to meet the unfamiliar gaze as steadily as possible, despite the awkward backlight. He was being stared at. He refused to show how unnerved it made him. His trembling and fever didn’t help much in that regard.

Finally, after a dreadful length of scrutiny, the shadow man spoke. “How much do you want for him?”

Zuko could hear teeth in the pirate’s smile. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Ten-thousand.”

Zuko didn’t know how humans calculated their currency. He’d assumed mer in general to be expensive, but they called him a stupid something fire fish, and it sounded like exotic. Even so, the pirate captain seemed shocked. He let out a high chuckle.

“Well! Show me the gold and you’ve got yourself a deal!”

The stranger waved an uninterested hand over his shoulder, and another grinding sound reverberated through the floor. Zuko couldn’t see the source of the sound with multiple different shadows clouding his vision. Judging by the pirates’ hushed tithering, their payment had been offered.

“Excellent! Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

“Zaheera will see you out.”

The group broke formation around Zuko and floated away, whispering excitedly. Though they’d been awful to him, he couldn’t help a flicker of fear at their absence. At least with the pirates, he knew they’d avoid causing permanent damage. He knew they’d want to sell him for the highest price possible. Now, he had no idea what to expect. This stranger could have any number of sinister plans in mind; Zuko had certainly heard the horror stories. All young mer were warned about the brutality of humans, and now he was at the mercy of someone who really wanted him. This was bad.

The stranger let him go, and the world tilted as Zuko crumpled. He was very dizzy. And angry. And he really wanted to sink his fangs into human flesh.

But when he turned (against his better judgment) to snap at his new captor, a firm hand was already pushing down the back of his neck. The same way one might handle an unruly pup. Zuko was too tired to be insulted by the gesture. He wasn’t a pup anymore, but a move like that with the human’s advantage was enough to subdue even a full-grown mer.

“Watch out with that one!” The pirate’s faint voice called back. “Quite a monster at full strength. He killed two of my men when we—”

“Get out.”

The heavy thud of the door confirmed their absence, though the human didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. He ducked another snap of Zuko’s teeth, and ignored his crackly snarl, and slid his arms beneath scratchy scales. The world tilted again. Zuko would consider puking if he wasn’t so close to blacking out. The human was carrying him. Impressive. Zuko was heavy outside the water. His fins trailed the floor as they moved, but he was very much in the air, solidly in the man’s grip. Almost cradled, even if he was too big for the pup-hold to have effect a second time. The use of such familiar techniques should have rung a bell in his mind. Zuko’s headache and exhaustion wouldn’t let him dwell on it.

After a dizzying stretch, something wonderful happened. Zuko heard water. The noise was still muffled, and it faltered clarity with every stray tilt of his head, but Zuko knew what water sounded like. He’d been fantasizing about it for the past few days.

There was a splash, and with distant elation, he felt his fins trail. He wasn’t lucid enough to hold back the happy trill.

“I know.” The man huffed, and it rumbled through his chest. “I know—those bastards.”

The water rushed up around him, deliciously cool, salty, clean. It took Zuko up to his gills to realize he’d been lowered into a pool of some kind. It was shallow, but not cramped. He drew a deep breath. That felt very nice. The hands were gone. 

He didn’t bother confirming he was alone before passing out soundly.

<~><><~>

Zuko was alone when he came to, and his headache had finally retreated to the realm of faint discomfort. Incredible what a good long sleep in water could do for one’s health. The pirates hadn’t put him in a tank. They were mad about what a fuss he caused the first time they brought him aboard, and they’d rightly concluded he’d be easier to handle if he was dehydrated and exhausted and dizzy. They’d doused him with lukewarm buckets every few hours, just to keep him from dying. Zuko was relieved to be back in water now. Even if trepidation about the uncertainty of his new circumstances wouldn’t let him relax.

The pool he’d been placed in was shallow; he couldn’t move without some part of his tail skimming the surface. It was still comfortable in spite of that. The edges spanned a decent length, so he could turn with ease, and the basin interior was cut from smooth, white stone. His fins shone stark against it. The pool itself seemed to be laid into the ground, flush.

Zuko scanned his surroundings while he waited for something to happen. He still seemed to be indoors. The walls here weren’t as high as the one from before—from the sale pitch—and most of them were made of a clear material. It shone with sunlight from outside. The rest of the space was occupied by greenery. The taller ones reaching the ceiling had been planted in beds in the ground, surrounded at the base with bushy, leafy shrubs, and brilliant flowers, and crawling vines. The faint sound of water also trickled through the maze, but Zuko couldn’t see the source of it from where he was. It was peaceful. Uncle would love this place.

But Zuko hadn’t forgotten how he ended up here, and he had no illusions about being treated fairly, even if he’d been left undisturbed in such a pleasant area. He had to keep his guard up. He was being held against his will. He was trapped on land with no way to escape or get home. He didn’t have much experience with humans, but so far they’d only beaten him, used him, or treated him like a pretty ornamental object, and he had no reason to believe this behavior would change soon. He had to be prepared for the worst.

In truth, he really wanted to murder someone. The urge had become so intense during his captivity with the pirates, and he hadn’t had a real outlet, being close to dying of dehydration. Now that he was rested, his jaw nearly ached to bite through bone.

He spent the time waiting for an opportunity by pacing around the pool. The space didn’t allow for much more than tight circles. Still, it was better than sitting around stewing in all his problems. 

Mother was probably worried by now. Him being an adult with a life of his own didn’t stop her from worrying that he wasn’t home every day. Azula didn’t feel the same. Azula would kill for him though; she’d done it before.

Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of thinking to himself and going crazy for it, the faintest vibrations thrummed through the water, and Zuko froze. Footsteps. Someone was approaching. 

He lifted his head above the surface. The sound drew closer, brushing through the plants with a practiced gait. Zuko coiled his body. There was deliberation in the person’s movement. They knew he was here. They were coming to see him. The likelihood that he’d be attacking an innocent servant or something alike was low, and that brought him a hint of reassurance.

When the human came into view, bathed in green filtered sunlight, stepping out to the pool’s edge, Zuko took an entire second to appraise the figure. Tall. Male. Dark hair, luxurious silk robes in green and pale yellow. When he spoke, it was the same smooth voice from the shadowy stranger that paid for him.

“Hello.”

Zuko didn’t wait any longer. He launched himself at the human with a vicious snarl. His vision was red. His heart was pounding. How dare they treat him with such contempt? He wasn’t some prized bounty. He wasn’t an ornament for some rich knave’s garden. He wouldn’t take this insult and abuse lying down, and if these humans continued to assume so, they were in for a shock.

To some degree of satisfaction, the man did seem shocked to be bowled over. The air left his lungs in a massive wheeze, and his eyes went very wide. He was also—however—quick. He reflexively shoved Zuko’s head away when Zuko tried to bite, and he managed to lurch free enough to dodge an elbow to the face. 

“Wait!” The man yelped.

But Zuko had a size advantage, and the man was on his back, and Zuko really wanted him dead. He slammed his shoulders into the grass, pinned his legs with his tail, made another attempt to remove the throat with his teeth. This time, the man brought his arm up in a hasty block. Zuko was too busy biting down to be upset he’d missed his target. Blood and the creak of bone filled his mouth.

There was a shout of pain. “Wait wait—Zuko, stop!”

The words pierced his hazy red anger like ice through fresh snow. Zuko froze. Even being slightly feral at the taste of blood and festered indignation, he rapidly came to his senses and dropped the arm. His mind spun. 

How did this man know his name? The pirates didn’t know. The pretty girl in blue didn’t know. And he wouldn’t be able to tell them if he wanted to (which he very much had not). It wasn’t a lucky guess. No one shared his name that he’d ever met. So why—how could a random human—

“Get off!” The human fumbled to shove Zuko’s face away. His sleeve was ruined, and rapidly turning red.

Zuko slowly obliged. The man didn’t seem angry. He only seemed annoyed, even as he bled profusely from an arm that might be broken. There was something unnervingly familiar about the twist of his scowl. He shuffled sideways and sat up.

“Spirits, kid, you’ve got a strong jaw.”

“I’m not—” Zuko cut himself off before he could complete the retort. The human wouldn’t understand him. The human knew he wasn’t a kid. Zuko was very obviously a full grown mer. 

“You could have let me explain myself before trying to kill me.” Why did his scowl look so familiar? The man untied a sash of his fancy outfit and wrapped his arm with clinical efficiency. Then he looked up to meet Zuko’s eye, and his scowl faltered. “Are you okay?”

What.

Zuko stared. Was he seriously… asking if Zuko was okay? There was blood in the grass and in his robes and he might have a concussion and his ribs might be bruised and Zuko would at worst have a sore jaw. He shifted back warily. In his experience, crazy men often did cruel things. 

When he made no move to respond, the man sighed roughly and looked away. “Guess I should have waited on that tea. Zaheera will be by with some shortly.”

“What?”

What on earth was he talking about? Tea? Of all things? How did he know Zuko’s name and why was he so relaxed about the bite on his arm and why did the slope of his nose look so familiar and why was he talking about tea in the blood and the grass?

“You were always more civil with it around.”

Okay, now Zuko was thoroughly weirded out. He wished he had an exit. An escape route. He was stuck on land in an unfamiliar house and the closest thing he had to sanctuary was a fake pool of water barely deep enough to sleep in. This was freaking him out just the slightest.

“You’re nuts.” He said. Just to say it. The man wouldn’t understand the words or the insult in them, but Zuko was sick of just sitting around not saying anything, waiting for stupid humans to come to the right conclusions.

For his effort, he was rewarded with the faintest thaw of the man’s grumpy expression. It looked amused somehow. “And why is that?” He asked.

What.

A trace of alarm made Zuko flinch. “...Because you’re… talking to me.” He probed. Just to see. Humans weren’t supposed to understand.

“Why would that make me crazy? You’re real, aren’t you?” He glanced at his sleeve, now mostly red. “I’m pretty sure you are.”

Zuko blanched. He considered backing away, back into the pool. The safety it offered was purely psychological, but it would be something at least. It’d be better than lying vulnerable on the ground next to a crazy person. His fins twitched.

“What—but—you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“But humans aren’t supposed to understand.” From what he’d heard, humans interpreted mer speech as primitive and animalistic: nothing more than a series of harsh vocalizations strung together. Zuko had demanded an explanation for the phenomenon when he was younger. After all, mer understood human speech just fine. No one was able to give him a satisfactory answer.

“Well, I’m not human.” The human said. “Technically.”

“Then what are you?” Possibly a witch? Zuko had heard of their strange abilities. Or maybe he was a spirit. In which case Zuko was screwed. He probably couldn’t get away with attempted murder on a spirit; he’d totally be cursed or something. It could also be a shapeshifter of sorts, from the myths.

But the man quickly dispelled any outlandish theories. For the first time that Zuko had seen, a flicker of hurt crossed his features. It made him look older than he likely was. Haunted.

“Wow Zuzu, you don’t remember your favorite cousin?”

No.

No, he definitely didn’t mean that. Zuko didn’t have any cousins. Not for eleven years. And there’d only been—one. Just one. Now there weren’t any.

But looking closer, Zuko could see why the scowl looked so familiar. He saw the same face in the mirror. And this man wasn’t human, clearly, even if he had legs in place of a red streaming tail. In place of the gold ribbon fins their family shared—that he must have recognized when he first saw Zuko. 

He knew Zuko’s name. Zuzu. Azula tried to call him that—maybe out of nostalgia—but it belonged to them both, and Zuko hated to hear her say it because there was only one person who tried to bring them together like that, and hearing her say it reminded him of… of… a dead man.

Except he couldn’t be dead. He was right here. His blood tasted very real.

“Lu Ten?”

He looked so much like his father when he smiled. “Yeah.”

Zuko gaped. That felt like the only appropriate thing to do. Maybe the dehydration actually got to him, and this whole series of events was an elaborate hallucination. Maybe Azula spiked his tea with a psychedelic for her weird sense of humor, and he was hallucinating. It was too strange. This didn’t make any sense. Zuko’s cousin was dead, and if he wasn’t, wouldn’t Uncle know? Would Uncle have cried so hard so many private times if this was real? It felt so real.

“How did you get that scar?”

“How are you not dead?” Zuko’s head was spinning, though thankfully not from dehydration. He wasn’t sure if this was worse, actually. “Uncle thinks you’re dead.”

The comment earned him a flinch. “There’s actually a good explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“I’m cursed.” Lu Ten squinted into the middle distance, looking uncomfortably close to being emotional. “To live as a human. And I can’t… go near the sea. I tried. It almost turned me into sea foam.”

Zuko dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

#zutara #katara x zuko #avatar: the last airbender #atla au #zutara mermaid au #atla mermaid au #katara #prince zuko #princess azula #sokka #aang #the gaang #lu ten #lu ten lives au #rip him tho he's not having a great time #I want to be normal so bad but being weird and doing stuff like this is so much fun #zutara art #atla fanfiction #atla art #momo atla #singswan-springswan art

[ohdeerfully]

hello there!

was wondering if I could request Alastor and reader having a debate over whether radio or the newspaper is better than the other (reader was a journalist in 1930’s New York in their past life). Heated debate that ends with fluff.

thank you!❤️❤️

hi thanks for the request!! honestly it doesnt really end with fluff, more just alastor being confused and also confusing, and im super sorry for that :sob: but i hope u enjoy it anyway!!! kiss kiss

What Would the Papers Say

Alastor x Reader (not explicitly romantic)

TW: none! join my discord!

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Alastor stood in front of you, a tight smile and narrowed brows decorating his face as he stood ominously over you. You swallowed, hard, as you had to crane your neck significantly to look him in the eyes. He waited impatiently for your words, his smile inching to become larger and more sinister by the second.

You took a deep breath and steadied your gaze against his, staring into his maliciously red eyes.

“Why can’t you just admit your wrong,” You said snidely, “The newspaper reached so many more people. And gave more people jobs. And was just better in general, really.”

Alastor laughed at you with closed eyes, something he would tend to do in arguments. He liked to make the other person feel ridiculous. 

“How wrong that is!” He snapped back, eyes settling on you again. “My dear, the radio had much more value. Could your rolls of paper play music? Speak to people? All I see is a boring, colorless, dry wad of useless writing.”

You balled your fists in anger, restraining yourself from getting physical. You wouldn’t be able to land anything, anyway, so there was no point in trying. 

“That ‘useless writing’ was my life’s work, you dick!” You spat, heart clenching slightly at the thought of him considering something so important to you useless. “Some people don’t like to listen to an annoying asshole yap in their ear for forty minutes!”

Alastor waved his hand dismissively at your attempt at an insult, his smile never faltering in the slightest. If anything, it grew wider when he saw your growing frustration. “But more people like listening to the asshole’s stories than reading the drab paper, no? News travels so much faster verbally! Why else do you think the paper lost popularity after the radio was introduced?”

You lost any response you had, eyes falling to the floor in defeat. Your stomach churned with unease, hating that you were losing an argument to Alastor. Yeah, it was hard to win against him in the first place, but it still pissed you off.

“At least we had fun comics to read…” You muttered in a weak attempt at a retort, folding your arms.

Alastor only barked a laugh in response, stepping forward and grabbing your chin with his sharp claws to tilt your eyes back up to him. He wanted to see your eyes glimmer with defeat, it was something he loved to see when he beat somebody in an argument—especially over something they were so passionate about.

However, his smile weakened by a hair when he saw your eyes, slightly shining with held back tears. You still had a look of frustration and you were confidently staring right back at him, but for once… he didn’t really like the look of miserable defeat. Not on you. 

Alastor’s grip on your chin dropped so fast, as if you burned him, and his eyes darted away from yours. His brows were furrowed in what you perceived as confusion, but the expression vanished nearly as soon as you recognized it. 

“Agree to disagree, then,” He said finally, looking back down at you through slitted eyes. He turned with a dramatic flourish, briskly walking away. He turned his head slightly towards you as he spoke one last time, “though, the radio’s never been used for fire kindling.”

Alastor did not like the way you made him feel. He didn't like that your grief made his own emotions go haywire. He was going to find out what it was about you that made him feel... weak, was it? He wasn't sure, but he just needed to get out of there.

You cursed at him, though he paid your words no mind. You could tell by the way his ear flicked in your direction that he had at least heard your frustrations. You finally let your confident face fall, and with a pout you traveled towards the hotel lobby. You needed a drink.

“Bold to argue with Alastor like that,” Husk gruffly commented as you sat down, slumping your shoulders. His arms were folded over his chest, and you awkwardly rubbed your arm.

“You heard all that?”

“You aren’t exactly the quietest.”

You sighed, resting your head against your palm and drumming your free hand against the bartop. “That’s embarrassing,” You said simply, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t uncommon for racket in the hotel, but you typically held yourself to a higher standard than being the cause of said racket.

Even though you were upset about the argument, you couldn’t help but visualize that expression on his face when he looked at you earlier. What was that? Concern? Regret? Or were you just reading too much into it? And why did he leave the room so quickly?

You pondered over this as Husk slid a drink over towards you, the glass leaving a watery trail from building condensation. You gave him a small smile and silently sipped at it for a few minutes.

You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care one way or another what those emotions Alastor displayed were. He was a jerk. He put you down for what you were passionate about, and what you had dedicated your life too. What a dick. You didn’t care. Nope.

With a groan, you tilted your head back to finish the glass and nodded a thanks to Husk again before you made your way up the hotel stairs. Without realizing it, your legs seemed to take you to a particular floor and to a particular room that you would’ve rather avoided. You briefly wondered how strong that drink was that Husk gave you.

You held your fist up, paused for a few seconds, and then knocked. Why were you even here in the first place? You weren’t going to apologize. You opened the door yourself when you heard a faint ‘come in,’ slowly pushing it forwards and cracking it open just enough to peek your head through. Your eyes trailed around the room before you finally saw the demon in a bayou-like setting. 

Alastor was sitting leisurely on a metal chair, one leg thrown over the other as he sipped on a mug. His eyes were barely open as he relaxed, and you could only slightly tell that he was looking at you.

“It’s rather impolite to interrupt somebody’s alone time,” He quipped as you walked the rest of your body into the room. “Especially somebody you pestered and yelled at only an hour ago.”

You bit back an angry comment, and kept your breathing level. You shouldn’t let him get under your skin like this. You clenched your fists, but otherwise maintained a cool attitude. You walked towards the corner of the room, examining the scenery before you. You wondered if the forest was actually that big, or if the wall was just an extremely well illustrated illusion. It wouldn’t surprise you if Alastor was eccentric enough to manifest a whole bayou in his own room.

Alastor looked up at you from his seated position, though he still seemed incredibly tall even as he sat. He had a grin spread across his face, and his head tilted slightly at you.

“Need something?” He tried prompting a word out of you. You hadn’t said anything since coming in, and curiosity began gnawing at his thoughts. He was frustrated, truthfully, about the earlier experience he had with his own confused, jumbled thoughts.

You honestly didn’t know why you came to his room. You didn’t really know what to say. You weren’t going to apologize or grovel for forgiveness, and you knew he would never ever admit he was wrong, either.

“You know,” You started slowly, voice just above a mutter. “The newspaper and radio could’ve worked together… one doesn’t have to be better than the other.”

Both grin and eyes widened at your comment. A wave of Alastor’s hand materialized an identical chair across the table, and you sat yourself neatly—and, a bit awkwardly—when he gestured for you to join him.

“What a thought,” He replied, bringing the mug to his lips again. His comment didn’t really give you any insight to what he actually thought about your statement. Though, you should’ve guessed. He has a superiority complex so big he would never admit to anything being on an equal level to him.

Still, you smiled weakly at him. You watched as his gaze studied you, maybe a bit too intently, and you momentarily saw that strange expression shift across his features. Just as before, you barely had time to consider it before it vanished.

“Tell me,” Alastor said, leaning back into his chair. A mug manifested in front of you as he spoke, and with a smell you could tell it was your favorite tea. You wondered if he actually knew, or if it was just something he could do magically. “If you are so keen on the radio and paper working together…”

He paused dramatically, and you clenched your jaw in response. How aggravating his knack for showmanship could be.

“Would you care to make a deal?” There was a sinister look in his eyes as he said the words, his grin twisting up his face with his sharp teeth bared at you. You felt a prickling at your neck, a bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t really… want you to have my soul, dude,” You responded, fiddling your fingers around the rim of the mug in front of you. 

That sinister expression lightened, and he cheerfully waved a hand at you. “No, no, no,” He laughed, leaning forward and letting his elbows rest against the table. “No soul contract. Just… say, a mutually beneficial partnership. Radio Demon and Newspaper Demon. Interesting, right?”

“I… guess,” You replied slowly, considering it. Hey, if your soul wasn’t involved, what was the big deal? How much power could Alastor hold over you if he didn’t have your soul?

A lot, probably.

You shrugged. “Sure, deal.” 

Immediately after your response, a shining sheet of paper and an outdated quill appeared in front of you. You eyed Alastor warily as you took the sheet, reading over the terms of your deal. Honestly, it didn’t seem that bad. It only really iterated your loyalty to him, and in return he’d give you the same. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a weird attempt at courting you. Weird.

Your eyes moved back to Alastor, who was watching you intensely. He had that strange expression once again, and it was starting to frustrate you. Why did he keep looking at you like that? And what did it mean? The room was silent for a few moments, save for the flickering noise of the ever-present radio frequency that followed the demon in front of you.

You took the quill, signed, and after a dramatic flash of light the paper was gone and you saw Alastor sitting with his eyes closed in an overly pleased smile. He clapped his hands together for a moment, before settling his sharp gaze on you once again.

“Well, my dear,” He leaned his chin on top of his hands, which were clasped together. He had a dangerous glint in his eye. “Mind if I take you for lunch to celebrate our new partnership?”

#ohdeerfully #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #deals with alastor r always fun

[daisies-daydreams]

task force 141 + konig where they gangbang y/n (they corner them in the lockerroom/barracks-- y/n accidentally goes into the wrong room, or is it really the wrong room??) OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT and they each take their turn :DD AAAA im so sorry if its difficult i just really love ur writing :") please take ur time and if u ever do consider this THANK U :")

Pairing: 141 + König x F!Reader Category: Smut (18+) Warnings: Consensual Gangbanging, Multiple (and I mean multiple) Orgasms, Clit Play, Oral Sex (69), Penis in Vagina Sex, Thigh Fucking, Anal Sex, Spanking, Vaginal/Anal Fingering, Reader is Going to be Sore 💀 Word Count: 4.1k+

Author’s Note: Hi there! Thank you very much for your request. There were so many different scenarios but I was able to eventually dwindle it down to Y/N walking into the wrong locker room (whoopsie daisy). Also, König is included in the fic, I just couldn’t find a picture with all of them. I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You yawned as you stretched your arms above your head. The sound of the water spraying from the showers was music to your ears-your body worn and grimy from the recent mission. You pushed open the door and padded inside, your steps heavy with exhaustion. All you had on your mind was taking a quick shower and slipping beneath your covers. Billows of steam rushed towards you as you opened the double doors. You headed towards your locker and paid no mind to the other bodies wandering about the room. You furrowed your brows when the combination didn’t work. You frowned as you tried again. Nothing. You flinched when a distinctly male voice cleared his throat behind you.

“Think you’re in the wrong room, lovie”.

Your eyes widened as you slowly turned around. Your blood ran cold. Your lieutenant, Ghost, was standing in front of you with crossed arms, his bulging muscles still dripping with hot water. You blushed when you realized he wasn’t wearing his mask. His face was rugged and littered with scars, an obvious sign of him living through years of combat. Your heart began to race as he took one step closer. You couldn’t tear your eyes away when they wandered down to see his girthy cock hanging between his legs. You bit your lip when you caught a glimpse of it twitching to life. Ghost was only a few feet in front of you as his arms fell to his sides.

“What’re you doin’ in ‘ere, hm, Sergeant?” he mused with a raised brow. His shadow swallowed you whole as you tried to look away. You swallowed a lump in your throat, gripping the towel you held in your arms.

“I-I’m sorry. It was an accident-truly,” you stammered as you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Your eyes flicked around the room to look anywhere but at him, only to lock eyes with the other men. Your knees felt weak as they all stood there staring at you and your flimsy cover-up. You felt your breath punched out of your lungs when you realized they were just as stark naked as Ghost. Your lips parted as your mind began to buzz with a whirlwind of emotions.

You were embarrassed beyond belief…and yet, you couldn’t help but feel the intoxication of pure lust coursing through you. Your blood ran cold when you saw your very own Captain in the same room: his stormy, sea green eyes piercing into you as he gave a wry grin. You felt dizzy as you tried to brace yourself against the lockers, clenching your legs together. Ghost chuckled as he slid his hand beneath your chin, tilting it up so you could meet his gaze.

“You sure it was an accident? Cause the way you're shifting your cute little thighs together tells me otherwise,” he muttered, his hot breath fanning over your neck. A small moan left your lips as his lips raked across your skin. He looked back up at you, his mahogany eyes dripping with pure desire. “Tell us what you want, love,” Ghost murmured, his hands falling to delicately brush over your hips.

Us?

Your eyes were as wide as saucers as you looked around the room. All of the 141's cock’s seemed to twitch and throb to life. Your mouth nearly snapped open when you saw a towering man, who you assumed to be König, pawing at his massive length. Was this really happening? You whined when Ghost peppered your neck with open mouth kisses. A rush of heat struck through your core as he suckled over your pulse, then licked across the blooming hickey. You swallowed thickly before parting your lips.

“I-I want you…all of you,” you squealed when Ghost suckled another hickey onto your neck. He parted from your neck and nipped at the shell of your ear. Your body trembled at the prospect of having every one of your holes stretched and pumped full of cum while you jerked two other men off with your smaller hands. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as Ghost sank his teeth into your neck. You gasped as he flattened his tongue over the throbbing bite mark.

“Gonna take our sweet time with you-right lads?” he rumbled before kissing up your jaw. You heard the men grunt in agreement, their voices falling onto your ears like a melody. You felt lost in your own emotions as they tumbled and crashed together. You squeezed your legs even tighter as Ghost pulled his head up and gave you a soft smile. Your heart cracked at the sight-you were so used to seeing his macabre visage that his expressions seemed lost to you.

“Can’t wait to see how good that pussy feels,” he said before stealing a slow, tender kiss from your lips. The distinguished sound of a door locking felt numb to your ears as the taste of your lieutenant flooded your mouth. It was slightly minty with a hint of tobacco, the flavors blending together as both of you slung your tongues together. You sighed into the kiss as his hands worked to peel your towel off of your trembling body. You felt goosebumps bloom across your body as the fabric fell to the floor.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Ghost breathed, admiring your body. You blushed furiously before he dove back in, his hands gently massaging your hips. Your eyes shot open when another rugged body came up behind you and sandwiched you together. You turned to see Soap beaming at you with his usual, cheeky grin.

“Mind if I have the first go?” he whispered as he licked your jawline. You keened at the feeling of his hot member twitching against your ass.

“P-Please,” you sighed while nodding your head. Ghost remained still for a moment, though decided to step back, admiring the view before him as he gripped his own girthy cock. A deep rumble rose from Soap’s chest as his hands slowly came up your sides. You gasped as they landed on your breasts.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he murmured. You felt arousal start to leak between your legs as he slowly tweaked your sensitive nipples between his rough fingers. You arched your back, pushing your butt further into his hips. The movement caused his dick to slip between your thighs, his head just barely poking out from the front of them.

“Please, Johnny,” you mewled. Soap moaned at the sound of his real name as his hands spread over your tits. You went to spread your legs. A whimper left you as you felt him harshly squeeze your breasts.

“Keep your legs together,” Soap ordered with a husky growl. You nodded before throwing your head back, letting it fall on his sturdy shoulder. Soap pressed kisses up your neck as he began to slowly push and pull his cock between your thighs. He groaned as your cunt coated his thick length with your juices.

“Mm, that’s it,” the man groaned as he kneaded your breasts. Your mind became more fuzzy as he added another bite mark to your shoulder. “That’s my good lass,” he lilted. You felt your walls clench as the head of his cock continuously breached through your slick folds. Soap grunted as his thumbs flicked your hard nipples, his hot mouth enveloped over your shoulder in a wet kiss.

“Christ, Soap-hurry up,” Gaz whined. You gazed up at the man with half-lidded eyes. Gaz stared at you with a similar expression, his nostrils flaring as he squeezed his leaking dick in his hand. Your eyes squeezed shut when Soap’s hand fell down and began to rub meticulous circles around your swollen nub.

“Ah, don’t stop,” you whined. Your knees buckled when you felt Soap pinch your clit. He wrapped his arm around your torso, pressing your back flush against his broad chest. You felt like you were being rocked by an ocean of bliss as he started to buck into you at a hungry pace.

“‘M not gonna stop-not when you feel this fuckin’ good,” Soap groaned. The sound of your slick movements stoked the fire growing in the pit of your belly. You mewled as Soap drew faster circles around your clit. “C’mon-cum with me, bonnie,” he moaned with a sharp snap of his hips. You gasped as the cord inside of you snapped violently. You arched your back as a white-hot wave of ecstasy washed over you.

The feeling of Soap’s cock twitching beneath you only prolonged your blissful contractions. He coated your thighs with rope after rope of his cum, the warmth dribbling down to your knees as you writhed in pleasure. Soap kissed your cheek as his cock began to soften between your legs. You panted as your high dissipated.

“Look so cute when you cum over my cock, hen,” Soap praised as he still held you close. He kissed your temple before slowly backing away from you, his hands protectively placed on your hips. You stared into his deep blue eyes before you felt a new pair of warm hands . You gazed behind you, meeting a pair of chocolate brown eyes.

“‘Scuse me, love,” Gaz gave a wry grin as he laid himself down on the hard surface. You mirrored his expression as you sat on top of him, angling yourself to take his cock. He clicked his tongue.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Gaz said as he grabbed your hips. You gasped as he spun you around, your dripping cunt hovering just above his mouth. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of his thick cock twitching right in front of your face. Your breath stuttered as you heard Gaz smack his lips, his hot breath cascaded over your folds.

“H-Holy shit,” you whispered. Your hands flew up to brace Gaz’s thighs as he slipped his mouth over your cunt. You moaned, a jolt of electricity shooting through your core. You took several deep breaths as he moved his tongue back and forth, writing out his name across your slit. You took a few deep breaths before slowly sinking your mouth around his shaft.

Gaz groaned as he swiped at your folds while you bobbed your head up and down his length. He was thicker than you imagined-his girth stretching out your jaw more than any other man you’ve been with. The taste of his salty-bitter precum danced over your tongue as you swirled your wet muscle around his head each time you came back up.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” he murmured into your pussy before taking your clit between his lips. Your hands clenched around his thighs as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub.

“Gaz, fuck,” you whined, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. The sergeant chuckled before thrusting his tongue inside of your quivering hole. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose before angling your head to take him in deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Both of you moaned and panted as you ate each other like starved wolves. The vibrations from Gaz’s voice sent ripples of arousal straight into your core. You released a breathy sigh around his dick as he slipped his tongue out and slid one of his digits inside of you. You shifted your hips over Gaz’s face as he stroked you tenderly, his finger reaching and caressing your g-spot. You heard him emit a low growl as his cock twitched inside of your wet cavern.

You moaned his name as he gave a harsh suck to your clit, your second high tearing you in half. Your whole body grew tense as his cock was lodged deep in your throat. You gasped as you felt something warm spill into your mouth, his cum draining down your esophagus. His brows furrowed as your walls clenched around his finger, sucking him in eagerly.

As your high began to fade, you slowly pulled your lips off of his length. You made sure to keep your lips tightly wound together, carefully holding his seed inside your mouth. He smoothed his hands over your hips, raising them before he gasped out for air. It made you wonder if he wanted to suffocate as he devoured your cunt. The thought made a small shiver course through you.

“Fuck me, (Y/N). That was incredible,” Gaz gasped between heavy breaths. You smiled sheepishly before turning so he could see your slightly swollen cheeks. His lips parted as you audibly swallowed his cum. You grinned as you stuck out your tongue. No trace of white was left. “Bloody hell,” he shuddered.

You smiled as the man guided you to rest on his chest. You closed your eyes and caught your breath, the afterglow of your orgasm warming you from head to toe. Just as you felt your heart rate steady, a shadow crossed over you. You cracked an eye open to see your Captain looming above you, his thick hand pumping at his red-hot length.

“Believe I should’ve gone first-bein’ your Captain and all,” Price muttered. Gaz huffed as he helped you off of him, guiding you to sit up while he slid off the bench. You gazed up at Price with the biggest doe-eyes you could pull, though it seemed futile when you were shoved onto your stomach. You winced as his calloused hands kneaded at the flesh of your hips. You turned your head slightly to see your Captain leaning on the bench with one knee, his other leg balancing himself on the tiled floor. He raised a thick brow as he continued to jerk himself off.

“Think you should be disciplined, Sergeant. You’ve walked into the men’s locker room like a naughty girl,” Price grunted. You cried out as he laid a smack against your ass. He groaned as he watched it jiggle, a red mark staining your bum. You felt your heart race when he grabbed your asscheeks in his hands, spreading them apart.

The man shoved two of his fingers into his mouth before releasing them with a wet “pop”. You moaned as he circled your puckering asshole with his digits. Your hands flew in front of you to grab the edges of the bench as he moved to massage your ass with one hand, the other slowly dipping into your hole.

“Say it-say what a naughty girl you’ve been,” Price commanded as he pumped his fingers into you. You gurgled incoherently, your mind intoxicated from two mind-shattering orgasms and the feeling of him stretching your hole wide open. You lunged forward as he smacked your bum again, this time leaving another red mark.

“I-I’m a naughty girl,” you keened, shaking your ass as he thrusted his digits inside with a sudden squelch. “A-And I need to be disciplined,” you batted your lashes. Price growled before curling his fingers inside of you.

“Damn right, you do,” he huffed with a small smirk. You jolted forward as he suddenly shoved his length into your asshole, molding your insides the shape of his cock. Your mouth snapped into a tight “o” as you felt yourself being stretched out by your Captain, inch by delicious inch.

“So fuckin’ tight-Christ,” he grunted as his hips became flush with your raw ass. You moaned at the tightness before he slid himself out, leaving his head inside. Your fingers curled around the bench as he pistoned into you, his hands bruisingly gripping your waist. “Love how your hole stretches around me,” Price rumbled. You felt tears prick at your eyes, the sensations overwhelming you from head to toe. You yelped as he laid another slap to your ass.

“Fuck-I want to see you, love-but this arse just feels too fuckin’ good,” he hissed between gritted teeth. You arched your back as he grabbed your hair, pulling on it while he shoved a few fingers into your mouth. You instinctively suckled on them, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. You jolted when his other hand laid a sudden smack to your cunt, your slick spraying across his hand.

“I’m so close,” he grunted. Your head rolled to the side as your third orgasm washed over you, sending a shockwave through your core. Price growled as he slammed his hips into you. Your entire body lit on fire as he filled up your insides. It was an entirely new sensation-though it was one you could certainly get used to. He patted your thighs before slipping off of you, his rough palms lingering on your waist. Your limbs felt like they were full of lead as you tried to stand up, only to remain prone on the bench.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Price-I think you broke her,” Soap gaped. You blinked lazily before being pulled into two strong arms. You looked up to see an unfamiliar face above you. You gave a small smile as you recognized the pair of icy blue eyes that gazed down at you softly. The tip of a water bottle was pressed to your lips and you greedily slurped up the cold liquid.

“Ah, the little Maus just needed a break,” König cooed. You tapped his wrist, letting him know you were done with your drink. You smacked your lips when he pulled it away from you. You sighed and nuzzled your face into his rugged stomach as he gently rocked you in his arms, your naked body resting on his sturdy lap. His hand caressed your red cheek as he leaned down, kissing your forehead.

“Do you think you can handle any more, Schatz?” the Austrian murmured. You stared at him, eyes half-lidded and body shaking with overstimulation.

“Y-Yes,” you rasped out. König’s brows knitted together.

“If you’re feeling too tired, we don’t have-” He gasped when you straddled his hips, legs clumsily wrapping around his back. He moaned as you kissed him deeply, your pussy lips gliding over his massive length.

“I want to,” you said resolutely. König beamed before pressing his forehead to yours.

“Turn around for me then, Kätzchen,” he commanded gently with a pat on your waist. You smiled as you spun around, making sure to rake your ass against his abs. You could feel the rumble in his chest as you spread your limp legs over his. He muttered sweet phrases in German as he slipped his hand down towards your heat. You shivered against him as he spread your labia apart with his thick fingers. Your cunt was a mess of slick and cum that dribbled down from your asshole. He groaned as he felt around your puffy folds and swollen clit.

“Gonna take it nice and slow, ja?” König soothed. You nodded and relaxed as he slipped a finger into your hole. You gasped at how just one finger filled you up, your walls mush around the ridges of his digit. König grunted as he began to slowly pump his finger inside of you, his other hand massaging your bundle of nerves. You moaned as he played with your pussy, his movements calm and gentle. You gasped when the pad of his finger brushed against your g-spot. “Are you alright, Kätzchen?” he asked. You nodded, curling your hands around his wrists.

“Yes-you feel so good, Kö. Making me feel so good,” you praised. König grinned before he added another finger into your cunt, stretching you out wonderfully. His movements grew a bit faster as his thumb flicked and stroked at your clit. You gasped when his fingers were replaced with his cock. Your eyes nearly crossed as you felt his immensely thick shaft split you down the middle.

“Meine,” was all he could rasp out before he gently bucked into your heat. You moaned when you saw his head bulge beneath your stomach. You could feel your body melting in his touch. He continued to swirl his finger around your nub as he bounced you on his cock, his voice cracking with every moan and pant that left him. Despite his gargantuan size, he was handling you like you were made of porcelain. Your eyes glazed over as you felt yourself tense again. König whined as your walls constricted around him.

“König-I’m gonna cum,” you mewled. He rumbled before pistoning his hips up into your heat.

“Fuck-me too,” he gasped out. Both of you moaned at the same time as your walls contracted around him. He stilled inside you, your cunt milking his cock dry. You whined as you felt his cum gush out of your pussy, flooding his lap. The rush of liquid never seemed to end as he slowly pulled you off his length. He peppered your face with soft kisses before giving you another sip of water.

“You did so well for me, meine Schatz,” he praised while stroking your cheek with his thumb. You smiled at him sleepily before he receded back. You glanced above you to find Ghost standing tensely, his cock cherry red and ready to burst. He grabbed a towel lying on the floor and helped you up. You sighed as you were laid back down on the soft fabric, his palms stroking over your shaking legs.

“How you feelin’, lovie?” Ghost asked softly. You felt your voice die in your throat as he gazed at you with his gentle, brown eyes. Eyes you’ve seen full of a quiet rage countless times in combat.

“I think…I can do one more,” you puffed out. Ghost hummed as he adjusted his hips.

“Atta girl,” he praised. You smiled up at him as he slid his cock inside, pushing some of König’s cum out of your hole. You melted as he thrusted into you, gently massaging your tender breasts. “Been wantin’ you for so long-fuck-you feel better than I could ever imagine,” Ghost grunted. You bit your lip, taking in slow, deep breaths as he bottomed out inside of you.

Your limbs felt like putty in his hands as he raised one of your legs to fall over his shoulder. Both of you locked eyes and you nodded. He exhaled through his nose as he pumped his cock through your plush walls. You could feel your mind starting to grow fuzzy as he rocked his hips into you.

“Simon,” you murmured. Ghost’s hips stuttered as his name softly fell from your swollen lips. His movements became a little more hungry, his balls slapping against your cum-coated ass as he snapped his hips.

“So perfect f’me,” he groaned. You barely had time to brace yourself before your fifth orgasm shook you to your core, electricity trickling down to your fingers and toes.

“Christ, how many is that? Five?” he groaned. You nodded your head, letting your eyes close as you were rocked by his strong thrusts. Ghost rumbled as he crashed his lips onto yours. The sound of your sloppy, cum-filled cunt fluttering around his dick made your mind completely melt. “You’ve taken all so well, love,” Ghost praised as he bullied his cock into your hole. Your brows knitted together as he kissed you again.

“Gonna fill this pussy up, stuff you with my cum,” he moaned as his balls twitched against your folds. “You’d like that, love?” Ghost huffed. You nodded.

“Please, please fucking fill me,” you gasped. He chuckled as he sped up his thrusts, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing throughout the tiled space. You moaned and raked your nails down his shoulders as he slammed his cock into you, stilling inside and shooting his load into your tight hole. Your jaw went slack as you felt your pussy warm, only to feel exhaustion wash over you once more.

“(Y/N)? Are you with me?” Ghost’s muffled voice called. You only managed to make a small mumbling noise before sleep finally overtook you.

+++

You gasped as you shot up beneath a cozy comforter. You looked down, seeing you were wearing a fresh pair of clothes. Your hair was still wet and smelled of shampoo. Your eyes scanned the dark room. You finally recognized that you were back in your quarters when your vision adjusted. You puffed out a breath of air as you sank your head down onto your pillow.

Was all of that just a dream?

Your face turned a deep shade of red at the many lewd acts that transpired. You yawned before shifting in your bed, gasping when you felt a dull ache blooming in all of your holes.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

#call of duty #cod #cod smut #call of duty modern warfare 2 #smut #ghost cod #soap cod #gaz cod #price cod #könig cod #cod x y/n #cod x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x you #soap x reader #john price x y/n #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick #könig x y/n #könig x reader #könig x you #call of duty smut

[entitled-fangirl]

Two idiots in love (P2)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: the three survivors try to find the supplies they left behind. The two lovebirds bond over the reader passing out.

Words: 2,135

Warnings: anemia, cursing, passing out, lots of bickering

Part 1 and Part 3

Masterlist <3

............................................................

She woke up long after Joel had gotten up. 

So, she didn't see the way he held her in their sleep. Or the slight smile on his face as he slumbered.

But Ellie did.

Now, the three were packed up, and ready to continue their journey.

They walked along a gravel road, gravel crunching under their feet being the only sound they could hear in the forest. 

"Have you gone this way a lot? No infected?" Ellie asked.

Joel was in a much calmer mood today, his voice soft, but his body still very much tense, his eyes scanning the area constantly, "Not a lot, no."

"What are you looking for?"

"People."

More silence. 

Joel started to notice Y/N taking smaller, slower steps. Her lungs expanded more than his. It was hard to keep up with his long strides, regardless of her illness. Joel was very long-legged, and the two girls were very much not.

But Joel's head turned to see her slowly fall behind. 

He looked forward once more, his steps naturally slowing until she was next to him again.

"Oh.... thank you, Joel."

He turned, "…You doing alright?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I feel okay."

He rests a hand on her shoulder, "Then don't thank me."

More silence.

The silence could be nice, if you made it so. Y/N certainly enjoyed it. It meant she could focus on her breathing and not the constant bickering of the teen and her partner.

Her smuggling partner.

But, as usual, Ellie broke the silence again.

"Are Bill and Frank nice?"

Y/N nodded her head, Joel answering, "Frank is."

"How'd you get that scar on your head?"

Joel let out a sigh, causing Ellie to smile.

"What? Is it something lame? Like you feel down the stairs or something?"

Y/N looked over Joel, "Ellie…"

"I didn't fall down any stairs."

"Okay, so what then?"

"Someone shot at me and missed."

"See, that's cool. You shoot back?"

"Yeah."

"You get him?"

Another sigh comes from Joel, "No, I missed, too. It happens more often than you think."

"'Cause you suck at shooting or, like, in general?"

Y/N stepped in again, "Hey…"

Joel looked over to Ellie with a glare, "…in general."

More silence.

Y/N got a smirk on her face, "Be glad that they both missed."

Ellie immediately moved to walk by Y/N instead, interested in her story, "…what? What do you mean?"

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the other hand kept on his gun holster. 

Y/N leaned in towards Ellie, "…why do YOU think, Ellie? You're a smart girl."

Ellie thought for a while before a huge grin appeared on her face. She pointed back and forth between Y/N and Joel, "You mean… you two… and that…?"

Y/N let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, we did."

"That's so fucking cool! See, Joel? That's not lame, that's cool as fuck!"

Joel grunted, his voice dropping slightly, "I'm glad me almost fucking killing her is cool to you, kid."

Y/N grabbed Ellie's arm, giving her a small wink.

Ellie noticed the two different guns in Joel's holsters. "With it just being us, I was thinking I should pro-"

"No."

Y/N let out a breath, holding back a laugh. Laughing would slow her down- slow them all down. She was the weak link. She couldn't let things get the best of her. 

More silence.

…

"Cumberland Farms."

The three approached an old convenience store, the building covered in vines and broken cement.

Joel turned around to look at Ellie, "Hang back a minute. I gotta grab some stuff I stashed."

Ellie's head tilted, "Stashed? Why do you have stuff stashed here?"

"You ask a lot of goddamn questions."

"Yes, yes I do."

Joel opened the door, poking his head in to check for people.

"…so…. Are you gonna answer me or what?"

Joel sighs again, "We hide supplies on routes in case we find ourselves short on gear, which I currently am 'cause-"

"-No way!"

Ellie immediately runs in, approaching a mortal combat arcade machine. "You ever play this one? I had a friend who knew everything about this game."

Joel tugged at Y/N, pulling her to one of the tables, pushing on it to ensure it was strong, "Sit. You need to rest."

She huffed, pulling her self up to sit on the table, her legs swinging as she watched the girl.

"…there's this one character named Mileena who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth and then she swallows you whole and barfs out your bones! Oh, man."

The two girls turn their head when Joel kicks at a rack.

Ellie sighs, "You forgot where you put your stuff."

Joel looked up, "No, I'm just zeroing in on it. It's been a couple of years."

"Okay, well… I'm gonna take a look around, see if there's anything good."

"Trust me, it's all been picked over already."

Ellie's feet crunch over the glass on the ground, "Maybe, maybe not."

Joel pushes on one of the aisles against the wall.

Ellie moves further away from the two, "Is there anything bad in here?"

"Just you."

"Getting funnier."

Ellie then goes to the back part of the store, away from Joel and Y/N.

Joel mutters a quiet, "Fuck."

Y/N pushes herself off the table, moving towards him to help.

He looks up, "No. No, you go back. I'm fine."

She sighs, "I don't think you are."

He stands straight, his hands on his hips, "Alright, then, sweet girl, tell me where the fuck we left it?"

"I don't know, Joel. Ju-"

Ellie zones out on their bickering as she starts to get further and further away from them. She pushes on a door, opening it with a loud creak. She kicks at the stuff on the ground, inspecting it with her shoe. Eventually, she finds a trap door. She moves everything off it, opening it slowly.

She hears Joel's voice from the front of the store, "You all right back there?"

She jumps, "Uh, yep!"

She hears the two begin to bicker quietly again, prompting her to continue.

Y/N let out a light sigh, "Listen, Joel. It's been years. The odds that no one has taken our stuff isn't realistic. Let's just forget about it, yeah?"

He shakes his head, not even looking at her, "no. That's not an option."

"Not an option? Joel, everything we're doing now is a fucking option! It's not gonna be here!"

"IT HAS TO BE!"

She steps back from him slightly, an involuntary breath leaving her throat. Her breathing picks up, hurting her lungs. 

His eyes soften at her reaction, his voice dropping again, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I… Fuck."

She puts some distance between them, giving them both room to breathe. "I… what…. What's so important about what you left here, Joel?"

He looks up towards the ceiling, his hands moving back to his hips as he slowed his breathing. His voice became a low whisper, "…it's…. It's for you… your medication…"

Her face became one of surprise, "…what?"

"When… when we left stuff here… I left some of your medication because I knew… fuck, I KNEW something like this would happen and you'd need it."

She was speechless. He came here for her. To get her more medication. "…uh… thank you…"

He nodded, "Don't thank me, honey. Don't thank me yet."

But that moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of an infected's scratchy growl.

The two turned their head towards the noise. 

Ellie.

Joel immediately turned to Y/N, "You're gonna stay here."

She grimaced, but listened anyway.

He pulled out his knife, walking toward where he last saw the girl go. "Ellie…?"

She quickly came through the doorway, "Picked over, my ass."

A breath of relief came from both adults.

…

"Holy shit!"

The two turned to the hill Ellie was looking at, a plane crash's remains laid there, scattered over the land.

"You fly in one of those?"

Joel shrugged, "Few time, sure."

"So lucky."

"Didn't feel like it at the time. Get shoved into a middle seat, pay 12 bucks for a sandwich."

Y/N let out a laugh, Joel turning to her, "What, sweetheart? You find that funny?"

"Fuck yeah, I do."

He felt a smile grow on his face, "Jesus, you're something else."

Ellie jumped back in, "Dude, you got to go up in the sky."

Joel turned back to the crash, "Yeah, well, so did they."

A silence fell over them before Joel grabbed Y/N's wrist, pulling her with him. And they began the grueling walk again.

…

A little while later, Joel puts a hand out in front of both girls, stopping them, "We'll cut across the woods here."

Ellie tilted her head, "Isn't the road easier?"

"Yeah, it's just- There's stuff up there you shouldn't see."

"Well, now I want to."

"I don't want you to."

Ellie began to walk forward, Joel following, "Serious. Ellie."

"You're too honest, man."

Y/N sighed, starting to walk behind them, "Jesus, you two…"

Then she stopped. 

She was losing her vision, "Oh, fuck."

Joel turned immediately, "Hey. Ellie, stop. Sweetheart?"

Y/N brought a hand up to her head, as if it could stop the black clouding her vision.

Joel watched with a worried look in his eye, "You alright?"

She looked up, "I… I don't know…"

She fell to her knees.

"Oh Fuck!" Joel ran to her quickly, squatting down next to her.

Ellie watched the two from afar, not sure how to help.

"Sweetheart. You gotta lay down. C'mon. Lay down."

Y/N let out a groan, not wanting to move in fear of making things worse.

Ellie began to walk towards them, "what's going on? Is she gonna die?"

Joel's voice turned to stone, "SHE'S NOT GONNA FUCKING DIE!"

Ellie stopped walking, deciding to give them privacy.

Joel let out a sigh, his focus entirely on Y/N, "You gotta lay down, Sweetheart."

She sighed, "….help me… please."

Joel didn't need to be asked twice. 

He immediately shrugged off his jacket, getting his plan in motion.

He moved behind her, pushing her torso backwards towards him. He played his jacket on the ground in front of him, right where her back would meet the ground. 

He pulled her hair to the side, letting her head rest on his leg. 

"Alright, honey. How do you feel?"

"I… can't see… anything…"

He sighed, "that's alright. You need to sleep?"

She shook her head, but stopped seeing as it made things worse, "No… I….I'm…. Fine..." She was slowly losing consciousness.

"Shit. Shh…. Just.... Let it happen…."

He held her face with one hand, the other still resting on the gun on his hip in case of an emergency.

…

Half an hour later, her eyes opened to see Joel hadn't moved since she had passed out. One hand still held her jaw, his thumb brushing her skin lightly, but his other had moved to her hair, lightly playing with it. 

She saw Joel give a relieved look before his hands disappeared from her completely. "Oh, thank god. How you feeling, Sweetheart?"

She let out a groan, "achy."

He smiled, "Well, do we need to stop?"

She shook her head, "No. I can do this."

She sat up slowly, letting her body adjust to the feeling. Joel stood up, moving in front of her. He then held out a hand, offering to help her up.

She took it, of course. His other arm snaked around her waist for stability. When he decided she was stable enough, his moved his hands back, letting her adjust the rest of the way herself. 

She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "…thank you."

He felt a little color come to his cheeks, "Don't thank-"

"Take my fucking gratitude for once, Joel."

He laughed, "Alright. Just this once. You're welcome."

Her head immediately looked around, trying to find Ellie.

She was not too far, her famous shit eating grin on her face. 

Joel knew he wouldn't hear the end of it. "Alright. Get up, Ellie. We go at Y/N's speed, got that?"

Ellie nodded, mumbling under her breath, "Yeah, you do everything her way, don'tcha?"

His head turned, "What the fuck did you just say?"

Her eyes shuffled between the two, "Nothing, sir."

He huffed, beginning to let Y/N take the lead on their walk. 

Ellie caught up with Y/N, "Say… you think you can tell me that story?"

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed, "…what story?"

"The one where you almost shot Joel."

She laughed, "Yeah… yeah, I can do that."

They heard Joel's voice behind them, "Hey. Watch it."

They giggled, continuing their journey with a smile.

..........................................................

part 3

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

[mikanotes]

happy sweet home season 2 release everyone!!! i just watched the final ep and started screaming. here’s something quick! greetings from, lee eunhyuk x gn!reader, warning sweet home season 2 spoilers possibly ooc eunhyuk im trying to decide how different he shld be, mentions of scars. cheers

“Took you long enough.”

Eunhyuk scoffs silently, hands buttoning up a white shirt over his figure. Unharmed. Clean. Possibly unstoppable, now. His gaze is on his own reflection but his focus is on you, sitting nearby with your back towards him.

“Mm.” he hums, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Did you miss me?” he asks, something like a teasing tone to his voice.

You turn to look at him through the mirror and he raises his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and turn back. “No.”

Eunhyuk smirks a little at that. He tugs at his collar to make sure his shirt looks fine, out of habit, then heaves a deep sigh and turns around. He walks over to the couch you’re sitting on and sits at your side, eyes on the book in your hands.

“Is that why you kept things for me?”

Clothes. A pair of glasses. Books he used to read during your time at Green Home.

“Who said they were for you?”

Eunhyuk is dead. Anyone from Green Home would have agreed with this statement. This fact. But you refused to believe it. Parting ways with the rest of the survivors you knew (as well as the only other person who shared your feelings on this matter), avoiding the military and living in isolation, you had decided to try and make living bearable. Settling in an old apartment in a small building near the river. With enough practice from before, you had traps settled around the place and at least one or two weapons.

You used to stay at the shelter at the stadium, but hated all about it. It was much too many people and too much change all at once. No matter how organized it was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay. So you left, and made your own home.

Maybe it was luck that you came back to check on Green Home a day after Eunhyuk came back.

(Maybe it was meant to be.)

“How long have you been living here?” he asks quietly. He watches your eyes scan the page on your book, watches the twitch of your lips when you hum in thought, watches every detail that he missed during this time. Time passes weirdly in the state he was in, and a lot changes. A lot doesn’t. Like feelings. “I missed you.”

You turn to look at him and he tilts his head. His expression is serious and his voice is as steady as it always is.

“Thank god, you survived.”

You stare at him for a while, silent, before looking away. “You didn’t even give me time to answer.” you sigh. “It’s been ten months here. I spent two at a shelter before I got sick of it.”

“Was it bad?”

“Terrible.” you say, “I’m sorry I left Eunyu there. She can handle herself well enough, though.”

Eunhyuk sighs at that. That’s a whole other problem. At least she’s alright. “I’ll find her eventually.” he nods to himself, gaze on the floor. “I have a lot of people to find, anyways.”

“You’re so strange.” you comment, suddenly closing your book and shifting your whole attention to him. Eunhyuk does the same in turn, gaze focused on yours.

“As in?”

“You’ve changed.”

Eunhyuk blinks slowly, before narrowing his eyes. You’re not wrong. But not right either.

“You too.”

You reach your hand to his face and hold the side of it gently. He tilts his head slightly into your palm, not breaking eye contact. It was worth waiting, even if just to see you again. Your eyes are colder and your skin gained a few more scars. He’s mildly annoyed he couldn’t keep away anything that hurt you, though he knows it simply wasn’t possible. He could direct his anger towards the other people that were with you.

But humans are just so… weak. How could anyone ever count on them?

“In any case, you don’t have to worry anymore.” he says, sounding almost cold. “Not even a little bit.”

He’s here, now, and he intends to make sure you won’t have to change more than you already have because of this hellish world.

#eunhyeok x reader #lee eunhyeok x reader #eunhyuk x reader #lee eunhyuk x reader #lee eun hyuk x reader #lee eun hyeok x reader #sweet home x reader #x reader

[moralesluvr]

thinkin about a cheerleader reader who’s the opposite of earth 42 miles…she’s super sensitive and sunshine-y and one day she has a bad practice and she comes home to miles and he pulls her into his lap and comforts her :(

cheerleader!gf ft. miles morales

♡ pairings & aus: miles morales x cheerleader!black!fem!reader, college au. ♡ summary: after having a bad day at cheer practice, you land into the arms of your boyfriend to comfort you ♡ warnings: miles and reader being total opposites, miles teasing the reader, my bad spanish...i think thats it? ♡ a/n: i'm totally projecting bc i had cheer camp this week and im so dead (i sprained my thumb...yikes.) ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

↳ translations: "Dime qué está mal, mi amor." - Tell me what's wrong, my love.

TODAY WAS NOT YOUR DAY, to say the least.

This morning had already started off...not the greatest. Your bow had a stain on it and you almost lost your favorite pair of shorts, not to mention you accidentally showed up to practice wearing the wrong shirt.

But things really started to deescalate when a girl's foot had accidentally collided with your nose, leaving it severely red and irritated as fat tears trickled down your cheeks, a red swelling blossoming against your skin as your coach sat you out of practice. You swore it was broken by the way all your pain was leveraged onto one side of your nose over the other, but the trainer insisted that it was probably just severely irritated and bruised.

As practice ended, you made your way into your car as your short, manicured nails grasped around the gear shift in utter pain. You put your vehicle into drive and flew down to your shared apartment that you and your boyfriend resided in, the courtesy of going to colleges that weren't too far from each other.

When you walked into your home, you made your way to your bedroom as you knocked twice.

"Come in, baby." You heard your boyfriend announce, the rhythm of your knock letting him know that it was you. You pushed the door open and sighed, leaning against the doorframe as your cheer bag slung over your shoulders. Miles is sitting propped up on the couch in your room, controller nudged in between both hands with a headset on. He turns to you and starts to ask you how your day has been, but when he takes note of the tears pooling in your puffy eyes and the ice pack that rests on your nose, he slowly takes off his headset, "Yo, I'mma have to hit y'all later. I need to talk to my girl."

He motions for you to come here, and you drag over to him, standing in between his sweatpant clad thighs. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks up at you with glossy eyes, "What's the matter with you, ma? Why you got that ice pack on your nose?"

You start your sentence, but Miles places his thick hands on your upper thighs, pulling you onto his lap. He licks his lips intensively before cocking his head to the side, maintaining sincere eye contact with you.

"Dime qué está mal, mi amor."

Sniffling, you gave him a weak shrug, "Got hit 'n bruised my nose...look at it!" You exclaimed with an element of downheartedness laced in your voice, taking the ice pack off of your nose to let your lover see. "This freaking girl kicked me in my face and now my nose is like, on the other side of my face. And my coach didn't even ask me if I was okay, he just sat me out! Do you now how discouraging that is? I-"

"Shh, mami." Miles cooed, one of his hands coming up to lightly feel your nose. He brushed the sides of it with the padding of his gentle fingers, his brown irises widening when he feels a bump on the side of your nostril. "It's swollen as hell- I won't hold you, but it'll go away soon, I promise. But I'm sorry you had a bad day, princess."

He places his lips on your neck, peppering kisses there as you sniffle a laugh at him, your sensitive skin tickling at his touch. He then tilted his head to the side, "You gon be okay? You still pretty, even with a broken nose."

You feel your eyes water at his statement, worry coursing through your veins as you pouted at him, "It's broken?"

"No, mama," Miles chuckled, lightly pecking you on your pretty lips, "It's perfect. Just perfect."

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @enj4i // @chrissytalia // @chaoticevilbakugo // @motheroffae

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 //@sukunas-slutty-bitch // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @my3tumbles // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @kopiivie // @ellatienesuscosas // @venuswash3re // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @wisepoetrycheesecake // @clearskiiiess // @d3atht3hek1d // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @caulifloweron // @aizawassimpblog // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @ishqani // @mookiebut

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✎: @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @mhadnirb // @mmst4rz // @iris-theflower // @fleurrieerecs // @kenlani // @kala2022 // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @evacowan // @popeheywardssecretgf

#spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales fluff #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales earth 42 x reader #miles x reader #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #atsv miles morales #miles morales x black reader #‧₊˚✩ — 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒! #‧₊˚✩ — 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒!

[ilyhaitanii]

allow me ft. wriothesley

sfw. there's so much going on in your life that sometimes you just want wriothesley to do the thinking for you

there's an odd anxiety brewing in your stomach as you sit across from wriothesley. the air in the room feels stuffy, your clothes just don't feel right, your body gets flashes of hot and cold. something just is not right. wriothesley immediately picks up on it the moment he sees your strained smile when you walk through the door.

he tilts his head slightly, watching the way you dust his bookshelf, reorganizing all the books by author. he notices the slight drag of your feet when you walk, the slouching of your shoulders, the furrow of your brows. he takes another sip of his tea. he's probably overthinking it.

however, he can't help but look up at you again. you inhale deeply, a sigh draining your energy. wriothesley's voice echos in the dark room, scaring you out of your daydreams. you look over your shoulder at him, eyes big and wide.

"come here," he says gently, a soft smile appears on his lips. you place one foot in front of the other, walking towards his desk. you stand in front of his desk, forcing a smile.

"what's wrong?" you ask him, peering over the edge. you look around his table. his mug is full, the tea is still hot, there's still biscuts on his plate, his work is neatly stacked. what could be the issue?

"i should be asking you that. what's going on with you?" he stands up from his desk, circling around the table before taking you into his arms. you let out a shaky breath in his hold. you look up at him with these big, glossy eyes and wriothesley can't help but kiss your cheeks.

"im so tired, wrio." you mumble against the fur of his coat. he hums casually, placing his chin on top of your head. gently, he rocks your body side to side as his large hands rub up and down your back and rubbing circles with his thumbs against your waist and hips. you hold back a wave of tears, trying not to cry. but you can't help it. something about wriothesley makes you so weak.

maybe it's his tall stature, the natural dominance he has, or maybe it's his gentle hands that rub and cup your body perfectly? there's so many things about him that just make your brain turn to mush when he speaks to you. his teasing words, demeanor, voice, everything about him just makes your eyes go blank.

the ever observant man wriothesley is, he is very much aware of this. he feels how you go slack in his arms whenever he holds you, or how your ears and cheeks heat up whenever he whispers something to you. he also watches the way your eyes twinkle up at him whenever he orders others around.

"i know, baby. i know." he scoops you into his arms, legs under your knees as he presses you against his chest, "come, rest for a little bit, okay?" by that wriothesley means: allow him to take care of you and don't bother using that pretty little head of yours. he can do it all for you while your body recharges, dont worry.

© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #genshin x reader #genshin fluff