#the clear white clouds and the sunglasses

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 5

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

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Chapter 5: Strobe Lights and a Strong Drink

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Oof, what do you guys think? Thanks for reading and all the support guys!

Word Count: 6k+

Shit.

She kissed you.

She didn’t know why she kissed you.

Her fingers trembled even when you were gone minutes later. She brought the shaky fingers up to touch her burning lips, ignoring her sisters’ amused yet quizzical stares.

This whole week with you at her parents house has been nothing short of blissful. It was almost like domestic how you two acted around her family. Unspoken touches and longing stares.

She doesn’t know what to make of it.

All she knows is when she turned to wish you luck, her stomach churned at how delicately you were looking at her.

But before Jenna can think on it some more, her sisters are pulling her away to find a good spot for your performance; Mia, asking passersby which stage people had flocked to.

You didn’t tell her who you were performing with so they didn’t know where to go. Jenna had forgotten to ask.

“Do you know what time she’s going on stage?” Aliyah asks, holding the actress's hand firmly.

“No…” Jenna replied.

“Okay, do you at least know which stage?” Mia asked.

“No.”

“Do you guys ever talk or do you just share silent looks all day?” Mia sighs, fishing for her phone.

Jenna blushes. “I’ll text Link and ask.”

—

She’s buzzing with excitement but she’s impatient. It’s been two hours since you left her.

Jenna keeps sending texts asking when you are coming out to perform but of course, all you do is tease.

You: Stop being impatient, you’ll see soon ;)

Jenna isn’t sure if her suspicions are true but people around her are talking about a surprise guest for Metro Boomin’s set but she doesn’t remember having heard if you had worked with the producer before.

This could be the song you were working tirelessly over this last week.

“Do you think it’s Y/N?” Aliyah asks, peeking her head past the others in the crowd.

They can practically feel the excitement as the music pumps loudly through the gigantic stage.

“I’m not sure.” Jenna shouts, “This is a good set though!”

“Yeah!” Her sister agreed, pulling her to dance. 

The cheers get louder when the song finishes, setting up to transition to the next one; the crowd is amped with anticipation. 

“Everyone, give it up for The Weeknd!”

The crowd explodes as he comes out in an all-white jumpsuit and blacked-out sunglasses.

“Give it up  for Metro Boomin, Coachella!” He praises as he comes out; talking to the crowd as they cheer audibly.

Jenna feels disappointed that it wasn’t you but is still excited when she sees the familiar face. Her sister Mia is practically jumping in her spot, he's one of her favourite artists.

“Jen, come on!” Mia laughs, tugging her closer to the stage, smiling largely.

She fights the urge to pull out her phone and text you again.

10 minutes go by of The Weeknd performing and Jenna’s enjoying herself; forgetting about you for a moment as she dances with her sisters; taking pictures and videos; allowing the music to consume her.

The Weeknd performs well and the crowd is evidently loving him.

Eventually, the music quiets down and the singer starts speaking.

“Can we play some new shit for a second, Coachella?” The crowd screams, excited to be the first to hear a new song. “Alright… then make some noise for Y/N motherfucking L/N.”

A synthesized deep reverberating beat drops and strobe lights flash blindingly in Jenna's eyes making her squint as you ascend through a cloud of thick fog from backstage.

Her jaw drops.

When Jenna gets clear sight of you, she knew you were a sight to behold. "Wow..."

The outfit you are wearing hung off your figure so well and so tight that Jenna wouldn’t be surprised if she was drooling. The heeled boots paired with it give you height accentuating the rest of your clothes well. You changed your hair and makeup and suddenly she understands why everyone she has spoken to has been enamoured by you.

“Woah…” Aliyah trails off, in awe and then turns to her sister with an amused smirk watching her sister's comically enormous round eyes as she continued to stare at you.

You looked like a superstar on that stage.

At first, she thought Link called you that as a joke but as she watched you walk to centre stage, she understood why.

You start singing and Jenna thinks she can pass away now. She can barely hear you as the crowd starts freaking out when seeing you. A sea of phones are immediately pulled out to capture the rare moment of you on stage. Jenna feels like the ground is shaking as the crowd gets ridiculously noisier the longer you sang the unfamiliar words along with the melody.

The beat drops again and Jenna watches as you bounce around on stage with the largest smile plastered on your face as you expertly performed with the other singer.

That's when Jenna felt it.

She knew it then.

Fuck.

She’s so screwed.

—

“Thank you so much for having me Coachella! It's been such a blast!” The crowd screamed thunderously prompting you to painfully clutch your in-ears when you hear just how deafening the audience was now that the backing track wasn't playing.

“Oh shit,” You wince.

You feel loved as you look at the vast and far ocean of blinding lights. This feeling never gets old. It’s been a while since you’ve been on stage; taking a step back to focus on film. When your good friend asked you to do a surprise performance, there was no way you were going to say no.

“You killed it!” Abel laughs in your ear, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks!” You say bashfully, leaning into the embrace.

“Everyone, give it up for the King of Coachella and Metro Boomin!” You praise, pulling away to yell into the mic, smiling wide and large. 

For a hopeful moment, you scan the crowd, trying to find Jenna knowing she’s watching you somewhere.

Somehow, you spot her past the masses immediately. 

Like a moth to a flame, you find her through the faceless crowd. Jenna had her hands cupped around her mouth as she cheered for you, trying to peek her head above the others.  She drops her hands, landing back on the balls of her feet when you make eye contact and just smiled at you proudly.

As if time stops; you and her just stare at each other for a couple of seconds.

Longer than usual.

Longer than necessary for this PR relationship.

You have no doubts that videos of you and Jenna’s stare-off will be trending by tonight when you see people swinging their arms to pan between you and the other actress when they see your line of sight.

Briefly, you hear mutterings of people in the front row saying Jenna’s name and pointing; getting louder.

You blink, realizing where you were and wave goodbye one last time, steadily springing off stage — itching to get all the eyes off of you.

“That was great Y/N!” Link smiles, hugging you immediately. “Did you hear how loud the crowd was? Holy shit!”

“Thanks, Link… and yeah that was crazy.” You laughed appreciatively, the high of performing and having tens of thousands of eyes on you was starting its comedown. “Come on, I’m dying to get these boots off… no matter how pretty they are.”

“Don’t let your stylist hear that. She was excited about the boots — talked my ear off for 10 minutes.” He rolled his eyes, leading you to a tent backstage.

You follow him, ducking and nodding your head in appreciation as people cheer and compliment your performance.

“Yeah, she does that.” You chuckle.

“So what was that?” He asks lowly.

“What?”

“That kiss.” He looks at you sternly.

“Oh. I’m not sure. She just pulled me in.” You answer honestly, not really having the words to describe it yet.

You’ve been pulled left and right as you got ready for the performance.

“Can you sound anymore like a guy? Give me details how was it?” He leans in.

“I—I don’t know.”

“What do you mean I don’t know. She kissed you! That has to mean something! Maybe you two can finally say goodbye to all that weird silent pining you guys have going on.” He wrinkled his nose in memory of how often he caught the two of you staring into each other’s eyes or swinging hands as you walked in tandem.

The two of you are the very definition of oblivious.

“It’s not pining.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

You sigh, “I don’t really know what it means, Link. It’s just a kiss, it might not mean anything to her..”

“To her?” He takes special note.

You roll your eyes, swinging open the flap of the tent. “Yes for her.”

“What did it mean for you, then?” He turns his back to face the wall as you rapidly change.

“Why do you care so much? When was the last time you were on a date?” You huff; tugging the leather boots off your feet. “Did you try that dating app I told you about? I promise it won’t be like last time.”

“Don’t change the subject.” He growled deeply.

You’re no longer allowed to set him up on dates after that experience.

Huffing, you give in, “I’m not really sure what it meant to me, yet. It all happened so fast but… I don’t think I hated it.”

“Mhm.” You were like a toddler learning to walk. He had to slowly coax you as you learn to do things; like talk about your feelings. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“Do? Nothing, why would I do something?”

“God, you’re dense.”

“Dude!” You throw your hands up.

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, you should do something! Did you not see the way she was looking at you?” He asks confused. 

How did you not see how you two looked at each other?

“I–I, maybe. But I don’t wanna read into it.” You admit. 

“That look from her seemed like it meant something, I don’t know.”

“What? No way.” You wave off, despite your heart darting wildly in your chest at his words.

You don't want to get your hopes up.

“Dude, I’m this close to knocking you out. I don’t care who you are.” You hear his loud puff echo in the room. “Why is the thought of being with Jenna so bad to you? You guys are practically acting like you’re together – you’ve been sharing a bed with the girl when there’s a whole mansion here in the Valley for you. You even started doing chores around her parent’s house Y/N... In all my years of knowing you, you have never even turned on the dishwasher at home. Be honest with yourself for once, really.”

“How do you know about the chores?” You peek your head out the divider, sending him a confused look.

“Jenna… who else. We talk, you know.” He says, back still facing you.

“What do you guys talk about?” 

“None of your concern.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing out long and tired.

“We’re both so busy all the time, there’s no way it’ll work. Do you remember the last person I tried to date? I don’t want that with Jenna. ” Link shudders; he‘s had his fair share of close calls with filing a restraining order… given your history of flings and relationships.

“They’re all either psycho or it just ends up crashing in flames. I don’t want to have to show up at an award show and awkwardly smile at Jenna, pretending like I don’t know her. Or have a song or movie made about me.. again. I knew this PR stunt was bad news.” You shove your head in the t-shirt, feeling much more comfortable in the soft, loose fabric.

“Okay, you don't mean that. Don’t you think you’re –I don’t know–overthinking this a little? Also, I don’t see Jenna as the songwriting type. Maybe an essay about you?”

“Are you done?” You scoffed at the timing of his joke, stepping out from the wall divider. “Also, I think what I said was very reasonable.”

“I’m just saying, maybe she’s different.”

“I doubt it.” Much like your lyrics; you were just as much a pessimist.

But you know you’re lying — you felt instantly just how different she is from anyone you’ve ever met before.

You just didn’t know it could develop into… this.

Even through thousands of people, you managed to find her from that stage. 

Jenna has an omnipotent pull on you that was getting harder to evade.

Something tells you the harder you try to yank away, the tighter the leash will start to feel.

You hated feeling suffocated.

“Y/N.” He says disapprovingly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t know, maybe I do.” You try to appear indifferent; looking away from your best friend to find the matching sweater to your pants.

“Hey. I’m serious. Don’t shut yourself out from the potential of something good just because you’re a little scared.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, Link.” You grow annoyed.

When were you going to get some time for yourself? Without someone questioning you or bombarding you?

"Really? Cause it sounds to me like you're a little scared. I mean, think about it. How different would it be if you two actually dated? Everyone already thinks you're together and you've already been travelling apart for work. Not to mention... you two already act like a couple. It's crazy that you don't see it."

"What?" You look at him bewildered. "No, we don't. It's all for the cameras."

"Dude, it's me. Who are you trying to bullshit? Even Enrique won't stop talking about you two. And you know that guy’s around Jenna all the time.”

You scoff, "That—that doesn't mean anything."

"Please, " He holds a hand up, "I can't handle this today, I'm clocking out. Jenna can deal with you now." Then turns and walks out of the tent.

You huff, not wanting to think about his words.

You could play the fool and say that you have no idea what he's talking about. But you see the longing glances from the other actress.

You pretended not to notice her stares when you were around her family this past week. When her dad was complaining about his car not starting so you offered to look at it for him; a chance for you to get to know her dad a little more (if people asked you, his constant silence still kinda scared you). Or when you were the only one who could get her niece to calm down after fussing that one afternoon. Or when you played basketball with her brother Markus – trying desperately not to trash-talk and cuss out the young, competitive teen.

You get the point, she was always watching and you’re not dumb. You definitely see it; the little hairs on the back of your neck always stand when she’s near. Like your own version of Spidey-senses but with… Jenna. But that doesn't mean anything? 

The two of you are at her parent’s house – she’s bound to be around.

Maybe she was drunk? You did order some cocktails throughout the night and she’d begged you for a couple of sips — even offering to hold it for you when you saw some friendly faces amidst the crowd. You may have indulged her. Hey, she's drank before, you know she can handle her alcohol.

Yeah, that has to be it right? Just the high of the crowd and the buzz of a strong drink.

You certainly felt like you needed one if you had to face Jenna soon.

Walking over to the bottle of tequila gifted to you by the producer’s team, you pop the top off and grab a shot glass. You pour yourself a generous shot and immediately down it, wincing at the burn it leaves in your throat.

You pour another one and another one before you feel like you've had enough — you're taking too long in here.

"Hey, there you are!" Jenna's voice exclaimed behind you after the sound of a tarp being pulled open.

You turn, surprised, still holding the shot glass and bottle of Don Julio 1942.

She perks a brow up, amused. "Celebrating alone?"

"We live alone—"

"We die alone. Orson Welles. Somebody to Love." She cuts in.

"Snob." You laugh then turned and grabbed another glass. "Want one? I won't tell."

"Yes." Jenna grinned and walked closer. "Why does no one ever talk about the second part of that quote?"

"There's a second part?" You wrinkled your nose in confusion.

"Yeah, only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." Jenna quotes, grabbing the shot you held out for her.

"Oh... that's sweet I guess." You place the bottle down, turning to her; ignoring the added meaning behind her words.

"Yeah, it's one of my favourite quotes." Jenna clinks glasses with you.

"Salud." You raise the glass, tap the table and then take the shot heartily.

"You're a dork." Jenna coughs out, wincing at the burn.

"It's customary, darling." You reply teasingly, pulling out a posh English accent.

Jenna laughs a little too hard at your joke, crinkling her nose. "Is that the Little Women accent?"

You blink, taken aback. "You've seen my movie?"

Jenna reddens. "Yeah..." coughing, "like five times. It got you an Oscar nomination."

"That's cute." You grin, heart practically leaping out of your chest.

"I thought I was supposed to find you?" You remembered.

“You were taking too long… and there’s a steady crowd waiting to congratulate you outside but... I wanted to be the first one.” She looks down, kicking the carpet with her booted toe. 

You grinned, “You liked it?”

She glanced up, laughing, “Liked it? You were amazing! The crowd was so loud, I definitely lost some of my hearing… I think my Mia and Aliyah might even want you as a sister instead.”

You laugh, shrugging. “Thank you, Jenna… but nah, I think the one they got is pretty cool too. They’re lucky to have you.”

She smiles up at you. And like earlier, you find yourself getting lost in her soft, kind eyes. You two have come a long way since that first meeting…

A part of you thinks, how it feels nice to have someone waiting for you backstage after a performance. Someone that doesn't work for you.

"Hey, so um— are we gonna talk about it?" You gain the courage to ask. Usually, you'd beat around the bush, hating confrontation. You're probably the first person to take a hike at the sign of an inconvenience. But this is Jenna.

Your Jenna.

She had kissed you.

Somethings you can brush off and forget, but not this. You find yourself not wanting to do so, so easily either. Something tells you that it's a memory that'll stick with you for a while, if not forever.

You could probably get Alzheimer's and you still won't forget you and Jenna under the strobe lights and rip-roaring crowd.

A tiny part of you held onto the hope that she’d say she meant it but you would never say that out loud.

"Yeah, I guess we should. Um— did you hate it?" She bit her lip in question.

"Did you?" You cowardly cop-out.

She rolls her eyes, smiling a bit but taking the bait and stepping closer to you. "Not really no..."

"Me too." You blurted and Jenna looks pleased.

"Good." Stepping closer. "Do you think, we can, I don’t know maybe do it again?" She whispers, looking up at you.

"Maybe..." You breathe out; arms stiff by your sides as she leans into your personal space.

"Maybe?" She cocks a coy brow, smirking. "You gonna make me work for it?"

She runs her fingers up your hands to your arm to your shoulder before resting them on your neck. A trail of goosebumps litters your skin.

You bit your lip, not missing how her eyes followed your movements. "I—uh,"

"What? Did I finally make you speechless?" She scrapes her nails against the back of your neck as her other hand rested on your stomach anchoring herself. "If I knew all it had to take was kissing you to shut you up I would've done it a long ti—"

You cut her gloating off, pushing your lips firmly to hers; tightly gripping her sheer button-down shirt. You pray a thousand blessings come to whoever bought this shirt for her because the way her skin burned through the fabric had you clutching her tighter than ever.

She groans against the sudden pressure but melts against you; pulling you down by the hand on your neck; kissing you back. Jenna tilts her head to the side, allowing you to slip your tongue past her lips and into her mouth.

When you traced your hand down her back relishing the way she shuddered under the touch — you made sure to stop and toy with the hook of her bra, just teasing before shamelessly moving your hand on her waist; lower than what should be considered modest for a second kiss.

But you don't care because Jenna is in your arms, kissing you back with the same intensity and for the first time, you feel all the tension between you and her fizzle away.

Like two teenagers who finally managed to find some time alone —she's slotting her leg in between yours making you flinch back.

"Mhmm. Jen not here." You mumble against her lips.

"Sorry, sorry. I got carried away." She blinks, unwrapping herself from you.

You laugh, tugging her closer. "I didn't say move."

Jenna gulps at your tone, feeling flushed. "Okay..."

"We should definitely talk about this though, right?" You sighed, leaning your head on top of hers. Jenna leans into your chest.

"Yeah probably. But this is nice too." She wraps her arms around your waist. She decides she likes the way the curves of your waist made a perfect mould for her arms to rest on.

She looks up, chin on your chest to link eyes. "Maybe it can wait until we're home? My sisters are still waiting outside..."

You look down at her, gently smiling. "Yeah, at home."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Okay." She pulls herself away; linking hands to tug you outside.

But she stops walking just before she can open the flap, promptly spinning on her toes and pulling you down to kiss you again. You only hear her satisfied sighs fanning against your skin.

Then she's pulling away too fast for your liking. "Now we can go."

You can't help but grin ear to ear at that.

—

“The Weeknd, really? I guessed him.” She grumbles from beside you as you two walk back to her sisters.

"I told you, he's a friend. We’re working on some of the soundtrack for his new HBO show." You chuckle, swinging your arm over her shoulder to link hands and tugging her close; wanting to feel closer to the young actress.

"The Idol?" She perks up, having heard about the show.

"Mhmm. Just the music." You hum and Jenna wants to laugh at how nonchalant you sound. How did you have time to do music, act and play your part in this PR relationship? "I composed the arrangement of the song."

"What? That's so cool, I actually want to get into composing." She mentions excitedly.

"You're gonna have to come by the studio sometime then, maybe I can show you a couple of things." You grin, eyes tinged with interest.

"Maybe... but don't change the subject, I guessed The Weeknd." She squeezes your hand, mulling over the idea.

"What do you want? A reward?" You chuckle.

"Yes." She mutters.

"Okay. What would you like? I have a lot to offer?" You say teasingly as you approach her sisters.

But Jenna doesn’t say anything, just takes her free hand and wraps it around your neck to pull you down; connecting your lips in another sensible kiss. You couldn’t fight the sigh that leaves your nose when you feel her tilt her head to the side; deepening the kiss.

Multiple bright flashes breaks your moment.

"Mia! Aliyah!" Jenna glares as they keep smiling.

"What?" Mia asks pretending to sound confused, "Oh shit, these are kinda cute, Jenna you might want this."

Jenna grumbles under her breath, embarrassed and tugged you along to stand a fair distance away from her sisters and closer to the stage.

"Send me those!" You manage to yell before she pulls you out of earshot.

"You two are a match made in heaven." She stands in front of you, leaning against your chest with your arms wrapped around her waist— like before you were pulled away from her to perform.

"Is that jealousy I hear, Ortega? I already told you, there's only one that I care enough to impress. You place your head over her shoulder tugging her close.

Not even the humid desert heat can keep you from wanting to feel closer to the other actress. Jenna seems to be just as comfortable as you so you don't pull away.

"Mhmm. Just checking." She traces a finger over the arm steadily wrapped around her midsection; sending shivers down your spine.

—

“A wedding dress?” You perk up, scanning yourself in the mirror. The Prada x Thom Browne custom gown made just for you made you feel like a Disney princess; hints of gothic design and golden tassels hung haphazardly on the train of dress as it’s still in its work-in-progress stage.

“Mhmm.” Your stylist mumbles, watching the fabric flow down your figure. “With its own flair, this is just the base of the dress. We’ll be adding more details to match the theme.”

“It’s stunning but why this?” You ask, twirling on the podium making the seamstress and tailor scowl beside you.

“To match Jenna, darling, what else for?” She says like you’re stupid — which in hindsight, you might be. But hey, it’s been a long week.

"What is she wearing?" You couldn't help but ask.

She snorts an obnoxious laugh, "Nice try sweetie. You'll see what she wears on the day. Thom would also kill me.”

"I thought you worked for me." You grumbled.

“Not for the Met — I don’t. I’ve seen that tiny girl’s wrath. I’ll deal with you over her.”

After Coachella weekend, there was no 'going home' and 'talking about it' with Jenna because you were already being pulled by Link in the other direction by the end of the night. Telling you about how you need to drive back to L.A. to pack for New York, once again.

Sometimes you felt like you were living most of your life on planes.

This meant you had to leave Jenna (and your dog with her) behind in California as you prepare for the annual fashion gala — where this year, you were tasked with the honour of co-hosting among a panel of other stars and Anna Wintour.

Jenna made sure to send you daily updates on their daily walks. You might have saved a couple of those photos… but as of the last few days, you hadn’t heard from the other actress.

"Now go, Link wants you back in your hotel room to go over your duties for the Met." She holds your hand as you step off the podium. The rest of your fashion team scattered off to their own respective corners; taking notes.

"Thank you, darling. It's always a pleasure to work with you." You say appreciatively.

"The pleasure is all mine." She kisses both of your cheeks before ushering you to a room to change.

—

“Hey, you gotta see this.” Link says as soon as you walk into your hotel suite.

“What is it now?” You ask, sliding in to see what he was looking at.

‘Y/N caught with cocaine? Rumours of a possible arrest. Will this be the end of this young star’s career?’

“How did they find out about the coke?” You grabbed the phone out of his hands, re-reading the article for a possible source.

“Not sure. But Liv has her suspicions. She said she’s looking into it and not to worry. Lawyers are saying they don’t have basis to charge you. Some people don’t believe it but you know, people love to stir shit up.” He watches your creased forward. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“How can I not worry about it? They’re drug allegations, lawyers are involved. Jake said that part wouldn’t get out to the press because they weren’t mine. He promised.” You give the phone back to him and start pacing the room.

“Hey, hey. Jake and Liv are handling it and Sarah is already in talks of tracking down whoever the possible source is.”

“Sarah… Sarah’s involved.” You mutter.

“Yeah? This kinda affects Jenna too.” He shrugs.

“Fuck. Fuck Jenna knows…” Your eyes widen in realization. Is this why she hasn’t reached out?

The two of you haven’t had time to talk these last few days. She’s been busy with her family and her Dior event while you’ve been on the East Coast prepping for the MET.

Does she know?

“I’m not sure. But if Sarah is involved. Good chances are… Jenna’s heard about it ‘cause she’s been warned.”

“Fuck.” You groan into your hands.

“Does Jenna not know?” Link asks confused.

“I don’t know what she knows, to be honest. I think she might have heard about the coke in the beginning but Jake and Liv made sure to keep that part under wraps. Only my drunken disorderly got out to the press. I–I’m not sure if Jenna ever knew it was true…”

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s Jenna. I’m sure she’ll understand once you two get a chance to talk.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about that night, Jake. Especially not with her. It’s not exactly my best moment…”

“Well… I feel like she’s gonna have questions, regardless.” He walks off to the kitchen.

You head to your room to nap away the bad news you just got.

Met Gala duties can wait.

—

“You'll look great beside Jenna."

“Where is she, Enrique?” You tugged on the base of the dress.

“In her room.” He plainly answers, brushing down any wrinkles.

“Can I see her? I need to talk to her.”

His eyes flicker up to you, stopping his fretting. You don’t miss the slight judgment in his eyes. “No can do. She’s still getting ready.”

“I thought we were walking the carpet together?"

“You are. But you’ll see her when she’s done getting ready.”

“Are you mad at me or something?” You couldn’t help but ask, making your makeup artist stop for a moment.

He flicks a brow up, “It’s not my place to be mad at you. You should talk to Jenna.”

“What does that mean?” You furrow your brows.

“Like I said, just talk to her. She’ll be ready in a bit. Meet us on her floor.” Then he walks off

You sighed.

“You’re good to go, hun.” Your glam team confirms.

Eventually, your team trickles out one by one leaving you with a moment to yourself. Closing your eyes, you lean back against your chair and let out a heavy sigh.

You really wanted to talk to Jenna before tonight’s gala.

The news of your ‘possible arrest’ and ‘charges’ is abuzz all over the internet and social media.

It seems like whoever leaked that you were caught with coke made you public enemy number one on certain news outlets, once again.

But people on the internet have differing opinions. Some make fun of the situation, some defend you, and some are outright bashing you.

You’ve deactivated various social media’s, only keeping your Instagram to check on Jenna and her family’s posts from Coachella weekend, but your comments are limited.

The slew of hate you've been hit with from randoms is overwhelming despite you not caring about their thoughts on your life and the way you chose to live it.

There's only so much you can take when the first thing you read when you open social media is your name.

But, you’ve been so swamped with rehearsals and duties as a host that you couldn’t even greet the other actress when she landed. By the time you made it back to your hotel room in the dead of night, you didn’t feel you should disturb Jenna’s much-needed rest — knowing she’s a bit of an insomniac.

“Hey, I just got the okay. We’re good to go. We can meet Jenna.” Link pops his head through the door breaking you out of your thoughts.

You open your eyes, and sighed, taking your time to get up making Link raise his brow. “Hey, it’ll be okay.”

He reassures you once you stepped out of the door, holding the lavish train of your dress behind you.

“Yeah…” You mutter distantly, bunching your dress up with one hand to walk to the elevator.

When you make it to Jenna’s floor your hands begin to perspire. Enrique’s words from earlier ringing loudly in your ears, he definitely made it sound like Jenna was mad at you.

She was right, you do jump to conclusions.

You force yourself to take a calm, deep breath as you wait for her door to open; nervously tapping your high-heeled foot on the carpet.

When the door creaks open, your eyes are snapping to it immediately.

“Wow…” You do a double-take, with a wide-eyed goggle — taking a step back to admire her custom tuxedo dress.

“Thanks…” She tucks a hair behind her ear, glancing down shyly.

“Jenna… I mean it, you look— wow. I mean—“ You stutter embarrassingly. 

In all your ears as a performer, you have never been so tongue-tied. What is this girl doing to you?

Even Enrique couldn’t help but laugh behind her, easing the tension as Jenna just flicks an amused brow at you, despite her reddening cheeks.

Clearing your throat, attempting to hide your unabashed staring, “Sorry, I just mean— you look beautiful.”

“Thank you… so do you.” She muttered gingerly.

“You like it? It’s a little on the nose.” It was your turn to blush as you glanced between your outfit and hers — a bride and groom. You try not to put too much meaning on the implication.

“It was my idea, actually.” She admitted.

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” She steps out, walking ahead of you. “It’ll be great for the press.”

That word was starting to grind your gears whenever it left her mouth.

You frowned as she walked further away.

"Can we talk? I need to tell you something." You slide in next to her.

Damn her and those heels.

"Not now, Y/N," Jenna whispers coldly, sparing you a warning look.

"It's important Jenn—"

"Y/N. I'm serious. Don't make things worse." She says with certainty that made you slightly afraid but knowing when to keep your mouth shut has never been your strong suit.

"You know... about the article." You trail off, unsure how you feel.

"Of course. I know, Y/N. God." She rolls her eyes and walks into the elevator.

You keep your head down and shove yourself into the opposite corner of the metal box; not wanting to be close to the other actress as you attempt to cool down.

She really believed a gossip article?

When the door opens, you couldn’t help but slide in beside her. “And you really believe it? Over me?”

She sighed, pulling you aside to a secluded corner and let both of your teams walk ahead; ignoring their prying eyes.

“I don’t know what to believe Y/N.”

You scoff, brows furrowing, “Me… believe me, Jenna.”

“How?” She says bluntly and you feel your heart drop at her tone and how sure she sounded about her accusations. 

You know you’re the farthest from a saint. Did what you do warrant this reaction from her? 

Maybe. 

But you felt like you should still be able to explain your side.

She takes your stunned silence as a prompt to keep talking.

“This is what you do. You run away from things until it catches up to you. We’ve spent the last few months by each other sides and you never brought up the—“She takes a deep breath, glancing around wearily, “Coke… so you tell me Y/N, what should I believe? ‘Cause it feels like you haven’t been upfront with me.”

“Upfront with you–” You laugh resentfully.

“Guys, we gotta go!” Link yells before you can give in to your rising anger.

I guess you know where you stand with her. 

“We—We’ll talk about it later,” Jenna sighs, hanging her head low as if she were tired.

Deep breath...

“Don’t bother. Point made."

“What was that?” Link asks, holding his elbow out for you to take as you walked away from the other actress.

“My answer.” You mumbled, bitterly.

Maybe she is just like the rest of them.

–

not even sorry about it…

(fun fact: my @ is a play-off of House of Balloons by The Weeknd)🫢

-

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-

#legally binded #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

[takumifujiwarastan]

dandelions

pairings: teen!satoru gojo x reader genre: fluff warnings: bad grammar and not thoroughly read through, so lmk if there r mistakes :3

based on the song Dandelions by Ruth B

a/n: gojo was voted for the next fic to be written, so here ya go!!

maybe its the way you say my name

"y/n~!" you hear the sing-songy voice of your classmate satoru as he runs up behind you, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

maybe its the way you play your game

you laugh at his eagerness, turning your head to meet his crystaline eyes. a tingling sensation fills your body, a warm feeling gracing your cheeks so slightly as you notice how close you are to him. his voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "it seems as though a gift from the heavens has been bestowed upon you..." he says in a playful tone as his hold his arm out in front of you, a can of your favourite drink in his hand.

"and who's that for?" you inquire, a teasing tone in your voice. "you, pretty." he replies slyly, a playful smirk on his face. you feel the warmth increase in your cheeks upon hearing the nickname, your heart swelling at the thoughtful gesture and his casual use of the term of endearment he used. his actions made your eyes shine and heart flutter.

but its so good, ive never known anybody like you

"lets go for a walk or something, im tired~" satoru whines, leaning more and more of his body weight on you in a dramatic fashion. you giggle at his antics, shifting your feet to stabilize yourself to support him as he continued to practically fall on you. by now he was leaning over your smaller frame, and he loops an arm around your waist so you dont fall under him. his eyes locked with yours and his face was just inches away.

his lips curl into a sly smirk as he eyes you over the rims of his circular sunglasses. "y'know, i wouldn't mind staying like this..." he remarks with a teasing tone in his voice. you push him away from you, straightening yourself up before starting to walk ahead of him. "oh, knock it off. c'mon, lets go for a walk then." you say, quickly dismissing his suggestive actions in an annoyed way but your rosy complexion did not aid your argument.

despite only being classmates, good friends even, you wish his actions meant more. that there was real emotion behind the terms of endearment he bestowed upon you. reciprocated feelings behind his soft touches and little gifts. you wanted this relationship to be more.

but its so good, ive never dreamed of nobody like you

he caught up to you was you began to walk, falling in step with you was you walked down a pedestrian path to a nearby park. the afternoon sun was high in the sky, small fluffy clouds dotted the otherwise clear blue sky, and a cool breeze pushed them along in the sea above.

you were sipping on your canned drink as you walked down the path in comfortable silence, listening as the tree's leaves rustled together when their branches were swayed by the wind, as sacadas sang and birds chirped to each other in their leafy lofts.

you disposed of your empty can in the nearby trash can, returning to the path and seeing as the path went further, winding past patches of trees and a wide expanse of field.

"satoru, look!" you called out behind you as you started to run down the path, darting to the wide green that awaited. you hear him call out to you from behind you and his footsteps increasing in pace as he starts to sprint after you.

ive heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

you laugh as you look behind you, seeing the white-haired man hot on your tail and you pick up pace, the green expanse widening in your view as you approached it faster.

the path now turns at this point to continue along a row of houses and trees, but you stray off and run into the field, where thousands and thousands of yellow and white flowers dot the vast and endless green. by now satoru has caught up to you, tapping you on the shoulder as he runs past you and further into the field. you laugh and run after him.

and im pretty sure that you are that love of mine

he slows to a stop, leaning down and picking something up but you cant quite see what it is. panting, you catch up to him, tapping him on the shoulder as he did to you, your head tilting slightly in confusion. he turns around tentatively, revealing a full, white dandelion. he extends his arm out, presenting the flower to you like a proud third-grader. you chuckle as he does this, meeting his eyes as if to ask what his intentions were.

"make a wish, y/n." he says, gesturing to the dandelion, a soft tone in his voice as he waits for your response. you giggle softly, leaning towards it and closing your eyes, going through with this childish act. in your mind, these words echo around...

"i wish, satoru... that you'd love me the same."

im in a field of dandelions

you open your eyes, exhaling and blowing air toward the flower, the seeds beginning to waver and detatch from their stem, spreading into the air as the breeze carries them into the sky.

"whatcha wish for~?" satoru asks in a playful slyness. "not telling~" you respond in the same tone. "your turn now!" you say eagerly, leaning down and plucking a tall stem of the fluffy flower wand.

wishing on every one that you'd be mine

you carefully lean back up, flower in hand, turning to face satoru again, when you feel a pair of lips on yours, and a hand softly cupping the side of your face. you freeze in place, stunned, your heart bursting as you slowly melt into his touch.

he pulls back, clasps your hand with the flower between his. "i wish, y/n. you'd love me the same." he says softly, then blowing onto the fluffy flower, its seeds floating through the air and mingling in the sky with the ones from before.

you look at him, stunned, as he watches the pieces of the wishing flower drift away into the bright sky. he turns back to you, his eyes locking with yours.

i see forever in your eyes

he smiles, his thumb softly brushing over your cheekbone as his eyes stay locked on yours. "i hope my wish comes true" he breathes out, before slowly reconnecting his lips with yours again. this time its slower, more sure. you melt into his touch, your heart swells and your cheeks warm up.

he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he stares so lovingly into your eyes. "y/n, you have no idea how much i love you." he says breathlessly, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "and how many times ive been wishing you loved me the same-" "i do, satoru." you cut him off, causing him to open his eyes, a slightly surprised look on his features.

"i love you more then you'll ever know."

i feel okay when i see you smile

a bright smile spreads across his lips, his eyes brightening in turn as a breathless laugh falls from his lips. its like all my doubts and inhibitions melted away at his confession, and now just his smile made my heart flutter in turn. "will you let me continue loving you... as my significant other?" he asks, your eyes meeting with his again.

"yes... yes i will, satoru gojo." you breathe out, a smile spreading across your features as you look up at him, and he kisses you again. you spend the afternoon in each others arms, in the field of dandelions.

a/n: gAH HOW'D I DO?!?? NEVER WRITTEN FOR GOJO BEFORE!!

requests r open :3

#jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #teen gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #young gojo #fluff #trending

[chronicdisasterwrites]

for you, i would

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru (gojo’s past arc)

genre + warnings: - JJK S2 SPOILERSSS !! deaths (obvi), panic attack, funeral mentioned, smoking, just major pain. everybody's just hella depressed, swears are said, shifts between past and present (italics is past, normal is present moment), the slow burn is KILLING ME

ANGST but then it's FLUFFY :') bittersweet fluff tho (i'm sorry)

word count: 3,953

authors note: okay you asked, i hope i delivered omg :') this is the part 2 of my fic "death is pretty but his eyes are prettier". this might just be a series, because I have some ideas.

enjoyyy <3

Suguru’s gone. He’s now exiled from Jujutsu High and a certified criminal. Shoko’s putting on a nonchalant show and Satoru is lost. And you are not quite sure how to process so much information all at once. 

---

It's been a few days since your encounter with the special grade curse. A few days since you and Satoru had that moment in the hall. Days have passed since then, but your mind still seems to be stuck there, wondering why it felt so different. Since then, every time you've been near Satoru felt different. His looks looked different, his voice sounded different, his aura felt different. You felt different, and you're not sure what changed. Now you were being sent off to another assignment and Satoru was being sent off on a different assignment, and this distance could either make things a good different or a bad different. Now, what you think would be a good different is a thought you don't even want to ponder.

“Hey, you.”

Satoru moves his eyes from the window to acknowledge you. You're leaning against the classroom door with a backpack slung over your shoulder and a smile on your face. A smile that Satoru returns tenfold.

“Hey there. You start missin’ me already?”

You snort with a laugh and walk toward him. Leaning on the desk next to where he was sitting, you lightly shove his head, “Absolutely not.”

He laughs heartily and leans forward on his chair, resting his head on the palm of his hand. He's looking at you through his ever-present dark sunglasses with a dopey smile, and this is exactly what makes your stupid heart flutter, and you just don't understand why. You smile back but it doesn't stay on your face for long enough. Satoru notices of course and similarly his smile is also wiped from his face and replaced with a quizzical quirk of his brows.

“You’re worried. Question is, why?”

You shrug and bring your hand up to bite the skin around your nails, a bad habit you've had since you were a child. Something you've always done to avoid answering unwanted questions or just to avoid the storm in your mind. Satoru sighs and lightly holds your wrist to move it away from your face. He holds your hand and assesses every finger, slowly tracing the lines on your palm with his slender fingers, then your bitten nails, then the veins on your inner wrist. You blush.

“I don't know, this mission just feels different, I guess. I mean…” You look out the window and observe the blue sky with its fluffy white clouds. There's a black rogue cloud creeping up on the clear ones, and you sense a storm coming. You know Satoru and Suguru are strong and they're perfect for this job. But of course you’ll worry, and your voice does nothing to hide that, not that you could even if you tried. Not with Satoru, anyways.

“It’s just a lot for anyone, y’know?”

Satoru looks up from your hand and with soft eyes and an even softer smile he says, “Sure, but nothing we can't handle. And anyways,” His smile gets cheekier and cheeks get warmer, “I gotta come back soon, right? Can't have you bein’ all sad and mopey without me.”

You laugh and shove your hands in your pockets, turning to leave the room when Satoru calls your name.

“Be careful on your mission. I'll see you soon, yeah?”

You look back and smile, “Yeah, you too.”

—-

“So I heard you losers are tasked with babysitting the star plasma vessel? Amanai, was it?” You find Suguru smoking on the balcony near the courtyard on campus. He cranes his neck to look back at you and gives you a small smile.

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Suguru offers you his half-smoked cigarette. You accept it and bring it to your lips as you take your place next to him. 

“Yeah. Riko Amanai. I thought you had a mission outside Tokyo?” Suguru asks head tilted as he leans against the wooden railing. 

“Yeah in a bit. Wanted to catch you before I leave. I already met Satoru,” you reply as you blow out smoke through your nose and return the remaining cigarette to him. He hums and holds the cig between his index finger and thumb as he puffs it twice before stubbing it out in the ashtray half filled with cigarette butts. 

You both stare ahead at the courtyard, basking in the shared silence. You think about the responsibility on their shoulders and how heavy it must be; considering the star plasma vessel is just a few years younger than the four of you. Being raised with only one obligation; to be preserved and grow in isolation for the rest of her years. It isn’t something anyone would want. But that’s Riko Amanai’s life. 

“Stop worrying,” Suguru looks at you with an easygoing smile. 

You are always amazed at how well he could read you. So you just laugh and pat his back twice before turning to leave. 

“Just be careful, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

---

You’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling; paralyzed. Things went to shit so fast. Riko had been killed by a man called Toji Zenin or Fushiguro; at this point, you’re not sure. You’ve heard him be called both Zenin and Fushiguro. But nothing had been the same. Suguru was different. Satoru was now the strongest and being sent on more and more solo missions overseas, and back then, you felt in your bones that something was wrong. Everything was wrong anyways. Riko Amanai didn’t deserve the life she got. She didn’t deserve to die like that. And you know Satoru and Suguru. They were headstrong and stubborn; doing things their own way regardless of what anyone said. They were the strongest, after all. So you knew things were worse than they seemed because you know for a fact that if Riko chose to live, they would do whatever it took to make her wish come true. And you were right. 

---

Your mission was more or less a success. A dead curse and a few bruises here and there is the best outcome any Jujutsu sorcerer can hope for. But the air in Jujutsu High felt different. Thicker, darker, and not at all the way it was when you left it. Figuring Satoru and Suguru’s mission regarding the star plasma vessel should be complete, you head out to look for them. Heading towards the guy's dorms, it doesn’t take long before you find the hunched-over figure with jet-black hair sitting on the benches near the vending machines. 

You approach him with a soft call of his name. Suguru lifts his head to look at you as he mutters your name with a greeting. He looks awful. He looks skinnier and his hair is mostly wet as if he didn’t even bother to dry it off completely after taking a shower. Dark eyebags and half-lidded eyes make him look so much older than he is. Ironically, he looks smaller too. As if the life had been sucked right out of him.

You move forward slowly taking a seat next to him. You lean back and stretch out your legs and wait for him to say something, anything. Preferably about the mission and why he looks so fucked up. But he just asks about your mission.

You reply with a shrug, “It was fine.”

He nods his head as you wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.

“Suguru…what happened?”

He looks detached, lost. He purses his lips and fiddles with his thumbs. “Riko was killed.”

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything at all. 

“You know, she wanted to live. Satoru and I decided that we’d support any decision she’d make. She wanted to live longer with her friends, and her family. But then-“ he chokes up. Trying to mask it with a cough he just shrugs and exhales. He lets his head hang low.

“They were clapping,” he clenches his fists and you feel his cursed energy spike. 

You don’t know what he means by that. You’re in shock and you have no idea what to say. What can you possibly say to make any of this better? Apologizing seems ridiculous. Saying “she deserved better” is even stupider. Of course, he knows she deserved better. You reach out your hand to touch him before he speaks again.

“I was wrong. These people. These monkeys… they don’t deserve to be protected.”

He looks at your outreached hand and gives a half smile. He unclenches his fists to hold your hand in his larger ones. He caresses your knuckles as you say the only thing that you feel.

“You’re right. They don’t deserve to be protected.”

Suguru looks at you with eyes filled with curiosity and surprise as if he expected you to say the opposite.

You look at his hands holding yours, squeezing his hand once as you continue. 

“But then, there are also people like Riko, who do deserve to be protected, right?”

His eyes widen and his hand slacks as he stares at you. Right when he opens his mouth to say something, Haibara’s boisterous voice fills the room. He greets the both of you and you smile back as you retract your hand from Suguru’s and stand to leave. 

Suguru calls your name and you look at him. You feel so bad for him, you can’t express it. It’s tearing your heart out seeing him look so depressed, so utterly destroyed. You reach out and brush your knuckles against his cheek. He closes his eyes and releases a sigh. Leaving featherlight touches against the darkness under his eyes, you say softly, “It wasn’t your fault, Suguru. I hope you know that.”

His eyes shut and you can almost hear the torrential thoughts flooding his brain. Your voice is hushed. You want to be as gentle as possible with the way you speak to him now. He’s like a glass bottle filled with a corrosive, bubbling liquid. It must be handled with the utmost care because the only thing containing the liquid is the bottle. If the bottle breaks, the liquid will spill everywhere. Even if it’s collected from the ground and stored in a tougher container, the microscopic glass shards will be near impossible to separate from the liquid itself. Geto Suguru, is a strong man. But even the strongest material is bound to break; if a stronger force acts upon it, continuously, without giving it time to heal and repair. And once broken, Geto Suguru will always have those shards lodged inside his soul.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

He looks at you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. You drop your hand as you turn to leave him with Haibara. “I’ll see you, Suguru. Best of luck on your mission, Haibara.” 

Haibara gives you a bright smile with eyes turned into little moons. “Thank you senpai! I’ll bring back souvenirs for you all!” 

You return his smile and send him a thanks and a wave as you look at Suguru, gaze not being reciprocated. You only see his dark ebony hair covering his face as he stares at the ground, unmoving; distant.

The moment your back turns to them, the smile drops from your face and your eyes fill with tears.

---

You found out about Suguru from Yaga-sensei. Apparently, he had killed his parents and 112 non-sorcerers. Geto Suguru was now a criminal and exiled from the Jujutsu community. The Suguru you last met near the vending machines before he embarked on his new path; before Haibara’s death. 

Now you’re lying in bed, marinading in your sadness, thinking about how everything went to shit so fast. Haibara died and Suguru was as good as dead. Nanami was broken. You don't know where Satoru is but wherever he is, he's definitely not okay.

You’d heard Satoru had met Suguru from Shoko, considering she met him before Satoru did. And Shoko. Shoko shut herself off, acting as if everything was fine. She keeps conversations short and drowns herself in her studies and her work. Things will never be the same again. 

You feel conflicted. Did my words tick him off? Could I have said something better? Am I a terrible friend? Maybe if I find him now I can talk to him and be by his side, but he’s not the same Suguru I once knew. He didn’t seek me out. Why didn’t he come to meet me? Does he hate me? Does Satoru know I spoke to him before he did what he did? Does Satoru hate me? Will Shoko ever be the same again? No, of course, she won’t. None of us will ever be the same again. It’s all broken. Everything went to shit. 

There’s knocking on your door. You glance at the alarm clock on your side table. 2:30 am it blinks, in an angry red light that hurts your eyes. You sit up on your bed as you contemplate whether to open the door or ignore it. You can feel the cursed energy of the person pulsing behind the door. They knock again. You get up and open the door to see one Gojo Satoru leaning against the doorframe with his sunglasses on and shoulders drooped. His stance is unguarded, tired, and face sullen. 

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” he looks apologetic as he opens his sunglasses and puts them in his pocket. His once crystal blue eyes are now a muted blue with dark purple circles underneath them. 

You silently shake your head, opening the door further and walking deeper into the room hoping he’d follow. He does, as he shuts the door behind him. You sit on the foot of your bed as he drags his feet next to you and falls on his back with his long legs dangling off the edge. 

He closes his eyes and opens them, then closes them again. You look at him wondering what to say. As nothing comes to your mind you simply decide to lie down next to him and stare up at the ceiling. You both stay like that for what seems like a long time, soaking in each other’s presence as if it might be stolen from you both within moments.

“You know…I met him. We spoke and he told me I should kill him if I wanted to. I was about to but then I couldn’t do it,” his voice is so small, almost trembling. He’s breathing heavily, the silence in the room when he’s not speaking is so loud you can almost hear his heart beating.

You turn your head to see him staring up at the ceiling. He breathes your name.

“I just… couldn’t do it,” he releases a shaky breath, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Maybe I should have. Maybe because I didn’t kill him, a lot more people will-” he chokes.

Your heart hurts seeing him like this. The pain you were trying to control floods your senses and nothing feels real anymore. You wish it was a nightmare, that once you wake up everything would be fine. Suguru would still be here, his parents still alive, Satoru being his usual childlike self, Shoko with her hilarious little remarks, Haibara filling the room with his larger-than-life presence and laugh, Nanami emo as ever but still with you all. Riko still alive. But the more you try to force yourself to wake up you realize you’re fully awake already. This isn’t a nightmare; it’s real. This is your life.

“Of course you couldn’t, Satoru. I mean it’s Su-“ you cut yourself off with a shaky exhale. “All of this is just so-“ your voice breaks as you try to contain the tears. You take a deep breath trying to hold in your hurt. You have to be strong because right now Satoru isn’t. He needs you now more than ever.

“It’s just so unfair,” you say under your breath. 

“I’m supposed to be the strongest. I’m supposed to be the “honored one”. I mean- it was a moment of weakness. I can’t-“ he puts both his hands on his face as he breathes heavily and mutters incoherently. 

“I can’t be weak,” he spits the word as if it’s venom. Poison, tainting his pristine lips. 

“I just- I can’t.”

He mutters your name as he starts heaving and trembling. You immediately sit up and lean over him; your face over his own. 

His eyes blink rapidly as he gulps and tries to take a full breath, ultimately failing. 

You hold his face and look into his eyes. “Satoru, you’re having a panic attack. Look at me, okay? Focus on me.”

He shakes his head, and sniffles, clutching his chest as he continues spiraling. “I can’t- I can’t breathe.”

You grab his clenched hand and hold it against your chest. “Feel me breathe, okay? Look look. Inhale, and exhale. Okay? It’s just us here, alright? Forget everything else.”

Your chest rises and falls in a steady motion as Satoru’s eyes lock onto yours. Trying to match his breathing with yours, his eyes slowly regain focus as his chest stops heaving. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes deeper breaths. Soon enough, your hearts beat in the same rhythm. 

“There you go. Deep breaths,” you give him a small smile as one hand still holds his against your chest and the other holding the side of his face; thumb caressing his cheek. 

Mouth open and eyes blurry, he gulps as he brings up his free hand to touch your face. His fingers brush over the scar on your right cheek. No one else has ever touched your scar like this. Even you've never traced it with so much love and tenderness. Only Satoru has, and you realize you like that very much. You like the feeling of his fingers on your skin, especially on the part of your body that makes you feel like a complete failure. It scares you, but you can't even think about it now because his fingers are everywhere. They graze your jaw, run through your hair, and trace your nose, before finding their rightful place back over your cheek. His voice is strained and so, so small. “You’re real, right?”

A stubborn stray tear escapes your eye as you give him a watery smile. “Yeah, I’m real, Satoru. I’m real.”

He leans up to rest his forehead against yours as he closes his eyes. Your breaths mix as you feel his silver eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. His wispy bangs tickle your face and you notice his hair has gotten longer. You also notice how he has two indents on each side of the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses spend all their time. He also has the clearest skin you have ever seen anyone have. Your eyes map his face like it's the first time you're seeing him but not the first time you realize that he is so, so beautiful. And your heart almost stops at the realization that you might just be in love with Gojo Satoru.

This is the most intimate you’ve ever been with anyone. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him be and the most vulnerable you’ll ever let yourself be. Your tears don’t seem to stop now, flowing freely, falling onto his rosy cheeks and shirt. He gently wipes them away with his thumb as your foreheads stay pressed together. Hands still intertwined against your heart and thoughts flowing together. 

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here. I just- I had to see you,” his voice was low, almost a whisper.

Your voice is quiet too and you feel your face getting warm. “Always.”

You both stay like that for a couple minutes, breathing each other in, feeling each other’s heart beat. You feel so guilty for wanting to tell him you love him. You can't do that now. He's upset and lost and you won't put something like this on him right now. So you bury it and just bask in the sound of his breathing.

Once he’s calmed down, you both lie down next to each other, shoulders touching, back to staring at the ceiling. You sniffle and wipe your eyes, feeling the weight on your chest significantly lighten. After a few minutes, his raspy voice breaks the silence.

“He has a son,” He looks at you, “Toji Fushiguro. He has a son. Said his name was Megumi Fushiguro.”

His eyes shift between yours and then travels all over your face. He nibbles on his lips and continues, “Apparently, the kid’s been sold to the Zenin’s, ‘cause of the Ten Shadows Technique he inherited.”

You turn your head to look at him and you know what he's thinking.

“You’re gonna stop the sale?”

Satoru grins, “I'm gonna stop the sale,” He looks up at the ceiling and stretches his arms up. “And, anyways. He’ll be much better off here. Not to mention, his technique is the best thing to come out of his shit family, so win-win.”

“How old is he?”

Satoru shrugs, “6? 7, I guess?”

You look up at the ceiling and wonder. When Satoru speaks again, somehow reading your thoughts, you look at him.

“Will you help me?” He looks at you so longingly, and you don't even need to think about the answer. Your worries are forgotten. All you know is that you both will figure it out.

“Of course, Satoru.”

He releases a small exhale and smiles at you. You return it. You open your mouth to say something but Satoru beats you to it.

“You know, sometimes I wish I was just any regular person. Not the strongest, not a sorcerer. Just some random normie.”

You wish you could give him that. Sometimes you also have thoughts like this. What if you were just a regular person? No powers, no clue about curses, no idea about weapons or cursed techniques. A regular life, a regular family. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Satoru hums as he brushes his knuckles against yours. You let your wishful thinking get the better of you. 

“Hey. What if we run away?”

Satoru looks at you with wide eyes and a slacked jaw. You look back at him with a half smile, because you know you would. You would run away with him if he wanted to. Of course, you’d ask Shoko to join the both of you as well. But you imagine going somewhere tropical maybe. Somewhere small, a place with a beach preferably so you could watch Satoru prance around in the water and build sandcastles, only for you or Shoko to go and stomp all over it. And then you’d watch him throw a hissy fit and pout about it for the rest of his life. You’d watch the sun set over the ocean every single day without a worry in the world. Maybe you could be there till you’re old and wrinkled. Living to 80, dying in your bed wrapped in blankets and the people you love - a dream. A place where you’re nobodies. A place where Satoru could finally be free. You’d leave everything behind to have that with him. Not like you have much to leave behind anyways. But you would. 

Satoru laughs softly, almost under his breath.

“You know what?”

Your eyes are observing his every expression; you stare at his porcelain skin and sharp jaw, eyes staring up at the ceiling and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He looks at you with his glittering sapphire eyes and bitten-bloodied pink lips stretched into a real smile. You look at the small dimple on the side of his right cheek and you think, just for tonight, maybe the weight on his chest feels lighter too. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

------------------------------------------------------------

part 3

a/n: HAH YOU THOUGHT THEY'D KISS? nope, still hopelessly pining lolol. but we’ll get there, bear with me :’)

tagged: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x f!reader #jjk fluff #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk imagine #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru #suguru geto #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #yu haibara #nanami kento #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #satoru gojo x fem!reader #satoru gojo x you

[valeriianz]

yeah, okay. how about a Parent Trap dreamling AU?

------------------

“I was hoping I’d find you out here.”

Hob only speaks once he’s mere feet from Dream, at the end of the pier. Dream surely had heard him approach, the damp, squeaky wood of the dock giving him away. But Dream hadn’t looked back. 

He looks at Hob now, twisting his head just enough to watch as Hob carefully sits next to him with a grunt, unfolding his legs to let them drape over the edge and his shoes inches away from the surface of the water.

They say nothing for a while, staring straight ahead, out past the lake, the murky waters gentle and reflecting the clouds above, moving just enough in the soft breeze to reveal rays of the setting sun here and there.

This whole trip had been… interesting, to say the least. A weekend vacation at a resort gone completely haywire. Hob certainly hadn’t expected to see his ex-husband getting necked in the elevator by some well-dressed blond wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

The look on Dream’s face, as he and Hob made eye contact across the lobby, just before the elevator doors closed, had been hilarious though.

“Our sons.” Dream finally says with a hint of astonishment, his low voice barely disturbing the quiet.

Hob huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes and leaning back on his hands.

“Can’t believe they did this.”

Hob can sense Dream looking at him, and cracks an eye open to catch his gaze. 

“No?”

Hob laughs again, shaking his head. Clearing it. From the deep blue of Dream’s eyes. Still as striking as ever, even weathered from age. Twelve years.

“He gets it from you, I hope you are aware.” Dream continues, affection in his tone.

Hob chuckles. “Perhaps the idea was Robyn. But the logistics?” Hob peeks over, side-eyeing Dream. “That’s all from you. That’s Orpheus”

A tiny smirk tugs on Dream’s lips and Hob finds his gaze fixed to the sight. It had been a long time since he’d seen Dream smile. 

“You,” Hob starts again. “And your particularities.”

“You used to find them charming, I remember.” Dream looks down into the water, kicking his legs slightly. “Not as off-putting as my personality.”

“You were very prickly, back then.” Hob agrees with a laugh, feeling bold and bumping their shoulders. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Dream goes quiet, as does Hob. Sitting in silence. Listening to the sounds of nature around them. The rustle of leaves, the sounds of birds singing, the lapping of the waves. 

“They’re watching us, you know.” Dream speaks again.

Hob smiles. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Dream gives a long sigh, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. Hob watches him, openly. Takes in the long form of Dream, the rolled up sleeves of his black button down, revealing creamy white forearms against equally black jeans, cuffed around the ankles. His shoes and socks are tucked next to him, and Hob wonders how often Dream lets his guard down like this now.

And Dream’s aged infuriatingly well, in his physical appearance. A little more filled out, still thin though. Like Hob could still wrap his entire body around him, embrace Dream and fit him against his chest, where he would fit best. He’s got maybe some lines on his forehead but otherwise…

“You look good, Dream.”

Dream looks sideways up at Hob before sitting up properly.

After an agonising silence, Dream sighs, his eyes moving, studying Hob.

“As do you.”

Hob licks his lips and tears his gaze away just as his eyes settle on Dream’s mouth. He clears his throat and speaks forward, forcing his thoughts out of the past.

“Robyn misses you.”

Dream laughs sadly. “He doesn’t even know me.”

He could know you, Hob thinks. “He talks about you though. He wonders… what you’re like.”

Dream sighs again, rolling his eyes upward.

“He’s been a handful this past week, pretending to be Orpheus. A menace.”

Hob laughs, pulling a hand through his hair.

“Sorry about that. 

“He doesn’t like Cori.”

Hob feels a nerve twitch. Neither do I.

“Ah, Cori. That the bloke you were mackin’ on in the lift?”

Dream shoots him a pointed look and Hob smirks and winks. “Nice looking fellow– I’m assuming. Couldn’t see his face with those sunglasses.”

“He’s just a fling.”

“Ah.”

The silence between them is heavy now, turning awkward. Hob takes a sharp breath through his teeth, changing his tone to be playful.

“At your age?”

“Shut up.” Dream shoves Hob and his smile is blinding. 

Hob laughs and it catches Dream, who is giggling now behind his hand and something in Hob’s chest lurches. Lodges in his throat. He looks at Dream, just them, alone and his heart is suddenly screaming with regret.

There’s an ache to touch. To feel Dream’s hands on him again, to hear his laugh, to earn his hard-won smiles. Hob wonders how much Dream had changed, if he still likes the same things. If he still takes his tea with far too much cream and sugar. If he’s still enamoured by thunderstorms, dragging Hob outside to feel the rain on his skin, laughing hysterically as a bolt of lightning would crackle and shake the earth and getting pulled back inside by Hob, who would kiss him stupid afterwards, wet and smiling.

They had both been so young when they’d married. The fights had been small but constant. Little things that bubbled up into nonsense. And they hadn’t been ready for kids. But it felt like the natural next step. Their surrogate having twins was a shock for both of them.

But they had loved Orpheus and Robyn. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to keep them together.

Funny how, now that the boys had found each other, they were the ones pushing them back together.

[part two!]

#dreamling #hob x dream #oh no another one #somebody hold me back lmao #this came out of nowhere #i was browsing the 90s films selection on hulu tho #and this idea slammed into my brain #absolutely surprised i havent seen this yet #has it been done?? #my writing #unedited this is just an idea... #like my devil wears prada au lol #dreamling parent trap au

[htchnr]

01 ★ heartless love crime ❥ ch: his and his alone.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ rough sex ⋆ Aaron uses you for your body ⋆ Hotch is not nice!! ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ creampie ⋆ heavy use of whore at one point ⋆ possessive sex ⋆ ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 2,8k. SONG ➥ look back , diplo.

CHAPTER SUMMARY ➥ It'd been a long week on its own. He hadn't called you. Every day, your leg bounced anxiously, your eyes flicking over to the phone you kept near you. You couldn't handle the wait. He always made you wait. It was never when you wanted it, only if he felt like it. You were just a toy for him. And yet, you still had a strong attachment to him.

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ hi 😁 this is not a nice series! i want to make that clear!! Hotch is toxic, rude and awful in this. (yet so hot at the same time uhg)

on another note, i have no clue how frequently i'll update this story 😅 i'll try my absolute best though! the next chapter is already almost finished 🤭

★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★

➻❥ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫. ➻❥ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

A cold winter had set in. Days were shorter, the sun barely shone through dismal clouds. Your mood shifted to the worst in the past month. Work became less bearable and you loathed roaming the streets in the dark when it was just six pm.

It'd been a long week on its own. He hadn't called you. Every day, your leg bounced anxiously, your eyes flicking over to the phone you kept near you. You couldn't handle the wait. He always made you wait. It was never when you wanted it, only if he felt like it.

You were just a toy for him.

And yet, you still had a strong attachment to him.

No one made you feel the way he made you feel. Since the first time you met him at the bar, since he charmed his way into your apartment, into your pants, you couldn't get him out of your mind. You gave him your number after the sex that day, hastily scrawling the numbers onto a scrap of paper from your nightstand as he jumped into his slacks, buttoning them with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

While you stood naked before him, holding the paper out, under his nonchalant gaze as he contemplated taking it, you wanted so desperately for him to take it. You'd gnawed at your lip, which he watched with mild interest before he took the paper impassively, telling you he'll probably call you and he was out the door.

Only for him to call you the next day. For him to call you each day, show up at your apartment leaned against the doorframe with sunglasses on and a cigarette hanging between slightly parted lips, unlit. For him to leave you a sobbing mess in bed and sore all over, just to see you again the next day.

For him to take you to a high you'd never experienced before, taking away all other senses and just overflowing your mind and body with him. His teeth. His lips. His dick. His filthy words in your ears that broke your heart while simultaneously leaving you spasming on him.

He made you his, and you let him.

So, the one day you decided to let yourself have fun, to join your friends after having not seen them in weeks, you tried to get him off your mind. You forced yourself to leave your phone in your pocket as you had a glass of wine in hand and a canvas in front of you. Painting relaxed you. The mix of blues and whites and greys on your blank slate, creating art, you let your mind melt into the process. For the first time in two months, you had gone longer than ten minutes without thinking of him. After twitching your hands all week to call him, to beg him to see you, you felt at peace.

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze in your chair, listening to the buzzing. When your friends looked at you, when you feared this was your only chance to have him, you excused yourself to the bathroom and pulled your phone out of your pocket. The familiar caller ID almost had your knees buckle, heart fluttering, so you put the toilet seat down and sat on it, putting your phone to your ear.

"Took you long enough to answer."

You let out an unsteady breath, relieved and tense to hear his voice again. Your thighs pressed together and you cleared your throat. "Sorry, I'm out with friends."

"Not available?" His dismissive tone made you lurch forward as if you could physically grab him and pull him to you. You shook your head, not that he could see.

"No, I can be available. When do you want to meet?"

"I'm on my way to your apartment. Be there in ten."

The line clicked after that. You laid the phone on your lap, hand pressed to your mouth. God, you were such a terrible friend for what you were about to do. Slowly, you came out of the bathroom, walked to your friends as they laughed over some joke, and shyly told them you had to leave. You received concerned and confused looks, but you just told them it was a work thing. You grabbed your coat and apologized. Their goodbyes sat in the back of your mind the second the door closed behind you and you hastily walked away.

You were so easy. Your schedule cleared up whenever he called. You really abandoned your friends for a fuck.

Nine minutes later, your building's elevator opened onto your floor. There he was, leaned against the wall with his shoulder, eyes on you. His face was blank, even as you came up to the door with your keys in hand. No sunglasses, for it was already evening and the sun was long gone. His judging half-lidded gaze was in full view, your hand shaking and you bit your cheek as you opened the door.

Your heart raced in your chest, walking into the apartment first with him following you in. He closed the door behind him. You turned to him to ask if he wanted anything to drink out of obligation, but he walked straight to your bedroom, shedding his jacket and throwing it onto your sofa as he did. Like an obedient dog, you trailed after him.

He kicked off his shoes and you followed suit as you made your way to his side.

Your heart raced when he stopped at the foot of your bed, turning to you. His hands already reached out before you could completely stop in front of him, pulling your coat off of you. You raised your hands and your shirt followed next. He grabbed your ass and you leaped into his hold, letting him bring you down onto the bed before he crawled over you. His hands expertly unbuttoned your pants, pulling down both your pants and underwear. Left in just your bra, your chest heaved from the sudden squeeze to your thighs.

He placed a kiss on your collarbone, sliding his hands up the back of your thighs before pulling them apart. His kisses trailed down the valley of your breasts, biting gently at the mound as his fingers spread your cunt to the cool air. You whined, thighs threatening to close, but unable to with his body keeping them from completely shutting. He still gave you a look from your attempt.

You shuddered, maintaining eye contact as he rubbed circles on your clit. One finger teased at your opening, the sound of your juices coating his finger and rubbing back against you filled the silence. His eyes narrowed just the slightest, judging you.

"Do you want me to stop?" You shook your head. "Then, keep your legs open."

You muttered a "yes, sir," prompting him to rub your clit faster, coating your opening with your juices. A finger would teasingly slip into your entrance, rub against your wall, only to pull back out and wipe your slick on you. His lips pulled down slightly.

"You're already so wet. I'm barely touching you." He pressed the flat of his palm against you, digging the heel of his palm on your clit. You bucked uselessly against it, his other hand quick to hold your hips down, to keep you under his control. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," voice breathy, you nodded.

He brought his face close to yours, face a blank slate once more. "Then, beg."

So, you did. You begged for his cock, begged for him to fuck you completely and with no restraint. You were his. Please, please. With each pitiful plea that fell from your lips, he rubbed your clit faster. He pushed two fingers into you and fucked you hard just like that. You writhed, unable to buck into his touch, head falling into the pillow and back arching.

He didn't stop, not until you came around his fingers. And you did. He knew just how to vary the pace and intensity with just his fingers, thumb rubbing hard circles into you, to get you to your climax in record time. Aaron Hotchner knew your body. He kept it up while you spasmed around his fingers, while you cried out with quivering lips.

You stilled limply, catching your breath as he pulled his fingers out of you. He stood on his knees, pulling his shirt over his shoulders, toned stomach flexing with the movement. You propped yourself on your elbows, covered in slick sweat, watching him shimmy his pants down and toss them off the bed with his boxers following suit. Like usual, your mouth watered at the full sight of his naked body.

"On your knees."

It was a struggle, but you did as told. You knew the routine. Your hands reached for the headboard, arching your back into the bed as your ass rose higher. He smacked your ass, making you wince from the rough play, but your breath hitched as he splayed his hands over your back. You felt him lean over you, unclasping your bra. The straps slid down to your elbows, your boobs bouncing freely without its binding.

He roughly squeezed your boobs, chest pressed to your back as he lazily rubbed himself against you. His long shaft rubbed electricity against your cunt, the friction on your clit mesmerizing. Face next to your ear, his hot breaths hit your ear, all these sensations made your head loll back, his breathing much more clear to you.

"Aaron," you breathily said.

He squeezed your boobs one more time before one hand dropped between you to line his dick up to your cunt. No warning was given when he bottomed out, your back arching as your shoulders pressed into his collarbone, a sharp cry leaving your lips. He didn't wait on you, a sharp exhale from his mouth as he started to thrust.

You gripped the headboard tightly, biting your lips to muffle the filthy moans that tried to escape you. The headboard slammed against the wall, the mattress squeaking as unholy obscenities spilled out of you. Only Aaron could do this to you.

He didn't like you biting down your moans. Aaron pinched your nipple, twisting it hard and your mouth fell open in a pained moan. His lips right next to your ear, he hissed, "Don't you dare fucking hold back. Fucking scream."

He wrapped one hand around your throat, pulling you up into his chest. Your bra completely slipped off your arms, falling listlessly at your knees. He fucked up into you, one hand between your folds to roughly rub at your clit. His hand was hot against your neck. You bounced in his hold, moans climbing higher and higher.

You came around him, the second orgasm of the night. Reaching behind you, you buried your fingers into his hair, his moans right in your ear and mixing with the sick sounds of sex the two of you made. Your walls spasmed around him, tears coming down your cheeks from the intensity of it all.

He pushed his mouth against your ear. "Is this what you want?"

You nodded.

"Say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you senseless."

"I want you-" you shuddered from the overstimulation, earning a squeeze of your throat and a pinch to your clit. You squirmed, forcing yourself to say it all in one, short breath. "I want you to fuck me senseless. I want you Hotchner."

"Atta girl," he smacked your cunt. "That's right."

You continued to stroke his ego. "I'm yours. I'm all yours."

"Yes. Yes." He groaned, perfectly pleased to hear that. "You belong to me."

"Aaron-" You felt another coil building. He was so rough with you, you couldn't help but become putty in his hands. At the sound of his name, he rose one finger from your throat, tilting your head back, feeling you swallow nothing. "I'm gonna-"

"Cum," he ordered. He licked a stripe up your neck. "Cum on my dick, again, you stupid slut."

You shivered, back arching as you came. The third time and he still had yet to come. You really were as easy as he said you were. Aaron knew your body. He knew what made you belong to him.

He moaned out a breathy laugh in your ear. "You little whore. You're so fucking horny." He nosed your cheek, nibbling at your ear. "You're my whore. Got it?"

You nodded, well-spent but he didn't stop inside you. Tears poured down your face, your body sweaty and you were so unbearably hot. Your slick back rubbed his slick chest. Every thrust was wet and sloppy, your juices making a mess on your thighs.

Lip quivering, you repeated what he said with confidence. "I'm your whore."

"Yeah, you are." His thrusts grew wilder, more erratic. "Yeah, you fucking are. Mine."

"Aaron-"

"My fucking dirty whore." His hand squeezed at your throat, leaving you gasping in his hold. "You fucking belong to me."

Your hands fell from his, wrapping around the wrist that squeezed your life out of you. You didn't try to pull him off of you, feeling another orgasm coming. Dots spotted along your vision, it was getting harder to breathe. He fucked into you hard.

"Your body is mine to fuck." He rubbed your clit hard with two fingers, not even in circles anymore. Just rough rubbing in a straight line. Your clit tinged in pain from overstimulation, you choked for air. "Nobody else can fuck you like I do."

You nodded as best as you could in agreement. He was right. Aaron knew your body, knew what to make you tick and squirm and cry and moan. He knew how to make you keel, how to beg for him. He knew what exactly made you the whore that you were. And it was all by his hand, for him, and only for him.

His hand squeezed impossibly tighter around you. Together, you came for the fourth time as Aaron fucking Hotchner fucked his seed into you. Warm, white liquid spilled into your walls, your cunt milking him with each spasm. He fucked you through your high, through his, with wild thrusts.

As he came, his grasp on your throat loosened to a mere hold, and your orgasm heightened from the sudden influx of oxygen into your lungs. You slumped against him, his dick no longer spilling his cum into you. He softened in you, still fucking for another moment before he completely let you go.

You flopped forward onto the bed, letting the sheets cool your body off. He pulled out of you, his cum spilling out of you. You shivered as the air kissed against your wet body, blanketing you in a chill. Weakly, you turned over onto your back.

You wanted Aaron Hotchner to kiss you.

You wanted him to hold you close and massage your thighs and praise you. For him to whisper sweet nothings about you--to you.

He sat at the edge of your bed, pants in hand as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket. You didn't have it in you to ask him not to smoke in here, not as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. His back muscles flexed as he reached down and grabbed his clothes, as he stuffed his dick into his boxers and shimmied into his pants. Covered in sweat, but not as much as you were, he zipped the front of his pants.

Your eyes lit with hope, as they always did when he turned to you and held his cigarette out of his mouth between pinched fingers. His face was blank, with no emotion whatsoever. Like always, you gulped, chest heaving and trying to catch your breath as he looked you over. Kept his eyes on your spread legs where his seed spilled out of you.

He took another long drag, turning away from you. "You should get yourself cleaned up."

And like all the other times, he left you a mess on the bed. The apartment door clicked shut in the distance and your gaze drifted to the ceiling. He made you wait a week, just to fuck you and leave, again.

And, like all the other times, you'd wait for his call the next day. And the next.

Aaron knew you. He knew you were addicted. Nobody else would ever get the chance to fill your heart, not like he did.

You were his.

#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #hotch smut #hotch x reader

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

model!choi chanhee x fem!assistant!reader

you were just supposed to be his assistant, but at some point, you'd come to mean a lot more to him.

6.4k words (WHOOPS my hand slipped), technically s2l, fluff, angst if u squint, slight pining?, kissing, model stuff and first world problems 😔✨, like one curse word, barely proofread

a/n: istg it wasn't supposed to be like this ;-; it would have been longer but i got impatient </3

Choi Chanhee once made a girl cry because she had forgotten his phone in the car. In his defense, he hadn't gotten much shuteye the night prior, but Kevin liked to always remind him of that instance.

They said that was the first, true moment the tabloids began painting him in a new light.

'Choi Chanhee, Model-zilla, Hits the Streets of Paris for Fashion Week Once Again'. 'Choi Chanhee's Ex-assistants Come Forward with Shocking Experiences'. 'Satin or Silk: the Truth Behind New's Refusal to Wear Alexander McQueen'.

The last one didn't even make sense; Alexander McQueen only used silk, anyway, and Chanhee had walked in one of his shows a few years ago. Chanhee simply hadn't the time to pen the designer into his schedule since.

The one about assistants? Well, they were all entitled to free speech, but that didn't mean that he would spare them any mercy if they decided to blatantly lie about him. He could always trust Lee Sangyeon, his personal attorney, to take care of business, if and when any of his ex-employees decided that a good payout was comparable to spewing filth.

Then there was you.

Chanhee hadn't needed a new assistant in a little over half a year since you came along. Fresh out of university with a bachelor's in communication and punctuality, you waltzed into his life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You'd sat across from him, no-nonsense; he hired you right there. (He had not regretted it since. This was the last time he would let anyone but himself do the interview process.)

The best part about you was not that you always had his schedule memorized before he did, or that you appeared at his apartment before the car picked you both up with his favorite coffee order, or that you actually had decent taste in perfume—not… that he paid attention to what perfume you wore—but it was the fact that you could look him in the eye when he spoke to you, and you to him.

"—and you have a fitting with Chanel at five o'clock this evening right after that meeting with Maison Margiela about the perfume line. We'll have just enough time to—"

Wow, your eyes were pretty in this lighting, he thought. The two of you sat before the massive, floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse apartment. The entire city laid sprawling at your feet while you sat across from each other at his breakfast table, eating blueberry muffins and drinking lattes.

And for some reason, all he could think about was how nice your hair looked again today, how brilliantly the shine in your eyes was from the sunlight, how impeccable your fashion sense was—even if it wasn't perfect, but that could easily be remedied. Chanhee would have to remind you to remind him to—

"Chanhee. Chanhee, are you listening to me?"

He snapped out with a flutter of his long eyelashes. He reached for his cup of coffee, delicately bringing it to his lips. "Hm? Of course, Maison and then Chanel. Did Changmin cancel our dinner or are we still on?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips when he saw how your expression lightened knowing that he was paying attention. You idly stirred your latte around with a little silver spoon. "He says he's still good to go for tonight. Same place, same time."

A nod. "Good."

He nudged up the Prada sunglasses on his nose as he turned his head slightly to gaze out the open window. It was an awfully beautiful day out today. The sunlight was gentle, the skies were an azure wave of silk, sewn with clouds of white. "Yn, dearest, are we clear until the Maison meeting?"

You blinked. "Yes," you answered, checking your watch for the hour, "it's 10:32 right now."

"Mm, that gives us about five hours to refresh your wardrobe."

Your lips parted, and he smiled in amusement. There was something so adorable about your flustered state. "Excuse me?"

"Call it a little token of my appreciation," he sang, standing up from the table to deposit his empty plate and cup into the kitchen sink. "Could you call the driver to round the front?"

"Oh, uh, sure—"

"Thanks, love. I'll be back in a few," he called to you just as he disappeared into his bedroom to freshen up. You were left at the breakfast table, dumbfounded. You'd only ever gone shopping with Chanhee for him or for someone else. Not you. You were always on the clock when you were with him, and you figured he would probably take everything you bought today out of your paycheck, but…

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your chest like the wings of a butterfly. This could either be the best thing that happened to you… or a complete shitshow.

There was something odd about walking into one of Chanhee's go-to leisure shopping stores—Dior—with the mindset that you were supposed to be shopping for yourself. Chanhee had asked the driver to pull up to the Dior storefront even as the regular paparazzi camped outside.

Your eyes gazed longingly at the Macy's across the mall.

Chanhee followed your gaze with a little scrunch of his nose. "Absolutely not," he clicked his tongue, dragging you out of the vehicle and to the sidewalk.

The press already dubbed you a "miracle" for being in his employ for longer than a day. But when they got shots of him literally hauling you into the Dior… you could imagine what they would all claim now. This was going to be a whole lot of cleanup, but you had learned after months of working with Chanhee that he was way tougher than he looked. He also didn't mind biting back.

When the two of you were safely stowed away within the guarded interior of Dior, you breathed easier.

Straightening, you greeted the staff members with a shallow bow, who did the same to both you and your boss.

Chanhee wiggled his fingers in silent greeting, then beelined for a white, quilted blazer on a mannequin. A worker scrambled after him to talk about the piece while another stuck by your side to make small conversation.

"How was your morning?" They asked you pleasantly.

"Oh, it was quite nice! How was yours?"

"Pretty quiet," they smiled. They were about to say something else when both of you were interrupted with Chanhee calling your name.

His eyes were pinned to you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Draped over his arm was a tapered coat of some sort, a dress, and… oh, god no. "Yn, come here."

You could already hear your wallet crying. "Chanhee, I literally cannot afford a single thing in here—"

He pressed a palm between your shoulder blades and steered you in the direction of the dressing rooms. "That's besides the point because I can afford them; that's what matters."

Surprise made your footing falter. "Huh?"

"Silly Yn-ie," he teased, "did you think I was gonna bring you all the way out here to not treat you?" Before you could say anything else, he was shoving the items into your arms, and your body into the grandiose space of the Dior dressing room. He winked over his glasses. "Now hurry and put them on. I wanna see!"

He ripped the curtain closed, and you stood there for a moment.

In your hands were the jacket, the dress, and a pair of shoes that probably cost you more than your entire bank account combined. You blew out a puff of air, just as you heard a staff member offer him a glass of champagne on the other side of the curtain.

"No getting out of this, Yn," you muttered to yourself, then began hanging everything up."

Chanhee was no stranger to the effect he had on people. In fact, he wielded it like a dagger. It was how he had gotten so far in this industry in the first place other than his immaculate good looks, of course. The face of an angel and an attitude of the devil—at least, that was what one article had said about him. He quite liked it, actually.

There was something wholly different about his effect on you as you stood beneath his scrutinizing, heated gaze, as you tried on piece upon piece. He loved being able to unabashedly stare at you, to take in your flustered expression as you did little spins for him in the outfit of choice. For once, you couldn't look him in the eye, and when you had done so once, it had been when his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

It wasn't just the champagne he was tasting.

It was the next morning when you appeared in his home at 7 o'clock sharp, as usual, but with a new accessory hanging off your arm. It was one of the more low-key purses he had bought you yesterday—and to be honest, it was actually one of his personal favorites. It was a Chanel one, of course, and it complimented your pant suit quite nicely.

"Morning," you chirped, handing him his cup of coffee as he stumbled out of his room in a silk robe and with a yawn widening his mouth.

Chanhee smiled at the sight of you, graciously accepting the coffee from you. He leaned against the countertop next to you. "Good morning," he murmured lowly, peering at you over the rim of the cup, taking a languid sip.

He sighed as the caffeine began working its magic. "How are you this morning, dearest? Have a good night?"

You had set your purse down on the island, then moved away from him only to go check his refrigerator to see if he needed anything restocked. Always so attentive. "I had a good night. How was dinner with Changmin?"

"Lovely," he said fondly. "I see you are putting my gifts to use." His fingers danced along the gold chain draped along one end of the quilted leather.

He swore your cheeks flushed, but then again, his eyes had never tricked him for a second. "Ah, yes. Thank you so much for yesterday, by the way." The fridge closed softly, and you grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter to wash and munch on. "I really don't know how I can repay you—"

Chanhee dismissed you immediately, his wrist flicking outward. "Pfft, none of that. I told you it was all a token of my affection," he grinned, propping his chin onto his palm across the island counter from you. "And gratitude," he added. "I don't say this to just anyone, Yn, and I don't buy just anyone all that stuff—but I did it because I appreciate you."

Your chewing slowed and you swallowed. "Oh."

He said it so easily. God, was he lucky to have met you.

Knowing he had successfully rendered you speechless once more, he laughed lightly, deciding to change the subject. "What's today's schedule like?"

You immediately straightened; this was something you knew like the back of your hand. It was much more up your alley.

As you ran him through his activities today, you failed to notice the difference in his posture, the softer smile on his face, and the way his eyes could not leave you for a moment, not even to drink his coffee.

Grueling was an understatement. Today had been one of the worst days of your working existence under Chanhee's employ. You'd endured rough days and nights before, but today, it seemed to have been hassle after hassle after hassle. You probably got around thirty-thousand steps by how much you ran around trying to find emergency kits and emergency outfits and running to the emergency dry cleaner's.

As much as the fashion world enthralled you, sometimes you wondered how anyone could survive it.

Chanhee was just as maxed out as you were by the end. It was maybe three in the morning by the time the two of you collapsed into the backseat of his driver's car. Streets were barren at this time in the ungodly hours of morning, and your joints ached every time you breathed.

Chanhee was quiet as well as he leaned his head back against the headrest to allow his body some rest. He just barely managed to get through that last shoot—clearly the directors had no clue what they were doing, he thought with a dead look in his eyes. That was how he felt—dead. If it hadn't been for you swooping in with a creative direction…

You were brilliant; that much he was certain of. Without you, that shoot might have dragged on for another couple of hours, or Chanhee would have just walked out. Usually, he had a good sense and eye for things, but with everything that happened today, for once, he didn't have the energy to yell or direct.

He needed to treat you to brunch tomorrow, if he was even able to wake up in time—

His inner thoughts halted when he felt a sudden weight fall upon his left shoulder. He froze up.

Your head had slumped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and no doubt deep asleep. Your bangs had fallen out from the bounds of your ponytail and draped across your face as you slept. He could smell the Miss Dior on you with this proximity.

Chanhee smiled to himself, taking his other hand and brushing the hair from your face and gently caressing your cheek. "Cute," he murmured.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of his complex, Chanhee had made a couple of executive decisions.

He lightly roused you from your sleep, cooing into your ear, "Come on, Yn-ie. Let's get you to bed, hm?"

You hummed, lifting your head from his shoulder with a yawn. You rubbed your eye with no care for the makeup smudging. "Chanhee? Why're you still here?"

Normally, the driver would drop Chanhee off first and then you, especially when it came to late nights like this. But… what… was happening?

Chanhee helped you out of the car, thanking the driver while mustering up a kind smile for him. "You're too tired, love. I'm taking you upstairs to my place."

"Wait, I can't—" but you weren't physically protesting; your body ached and ached and ached. But this was your boss, your employer. This wasn't professional.

"Yn, you're exhausted," he countered, buzzing into the building and helping you inside.

You couldn't argue with him anymore. You just wanted your face to hit a pillow and be out for the night. "Okay," you mumbled, letting him press your face into his shoulder on the ride up the elevator.

"Good girl," he sighed. He tilted his head back against the elevator wall, one arm wrapped around your middle and the other cradling the back of your head. Just a little longer, then the both of you could finally get some well-deserved rest.

You would argue you had seen Choi Chanhee at some of his best and worst moments. He was one of the most beautiful human beings on this planet, and yet, none of the prior moments could even compare to when you stumbled out of his bedroom to the sight of his back to you as he fried eggs and ladled waffle batter into the maker in the kitchen. He had a big T-shirt hanging from his lean frame, as well as a pair of loose pajama pants on, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for everything to cook.

Even at ten in the morning, the light pink waves of his hair looked immaculately styled. You almost forgot he hadn't gotten a perm in awhile.

The panic of waking up in his sheets instead of yours had faded when you recalled your conversation with him just seven hours prior. He had managed to wrestle you into an extra set of sleepwear he just had lying around (Gucci, nonetheless), before he deposited you onto his bed, then promptly curled up outside on the living room couch.

You swallowed. Now what?

It was then that Chanhee turned around with an innocent look on his face. You watched as it melted into something softer at the sight of you. "Good morning, dearest," he beamed, "sleep well?"

Drowsiness lingered at the corners of your eyes, but you somehow managed a nod. "Yeah, how about you?" You asked him quietly. Actually, that had been some of the best sleep you'd ever had. Something about his sheets with high thread count and the smell of Chanhee lingering on everything. But you weren't just about to say that to him.

"Well enough," he replied. He waved you over. "Come sit; breakfast is almost ready."

Your eyes widened a smidge. That was for you? Now you really needed to go home. "Ah, I appreciate it, but I've practically overstayed my welcome—"

He sent you a look. "Yn, come have breakfast with me."

You caved. Because at this point, you'd already screwed yourself over. And breakfast really did smell nice; what was the difference between Chanhee making you breakfast and you bringing him breakfast from the café down the street?

(You didn't even want to go home, as much as your logical brain was trying to urge you towards.)

So the two of you breakfasted, and for a moment, you could forget, for once, that you were just supposed to be his assistant.

Some things changed after that morning, and Chanhee found himself getting you to stay over more and more often. Even if he had to come up with something stupid like "You haven't watched the 2001 New York Fashion Week rerun?" For some reason, you bought into all his excuses, and even though he knew it was probably because you were always attentive to his needs, a part of him liked to fantasize that you felt it, too.

The pull.

Something had shifted after that morning when he made you breakfast and the two of you ate together at the breakfast table. Sleep had lingered in your eyes, and your hair was a mess, but it was soft and beautiful and… he'd never been so in awe at someone's "I woke up like this" look.

His heart had leapt at the sight of you in those pajamas with that subtle pout to your lips.

God, he thought he might sweep you into his arms and kiss y—

"New. Chanhee. Choi Chanhee—"

He blinked, lifting his eyes from his menu to meet Changmin's. "Hm?"

Changmin wrinkled his nose at him, adjusting the sunglasses seated atop his head to hang from the collar of his dress shirt. (How it managed to hang with two buttons popped open, Chanhee chalked it up to fashion magic.) "You're awfully quiet today. What, tabloids finally shut you up?" He joked.

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "One of these days, I swear, they will render me speechless with their ridiculous delusions," he muttered airily, half-heartedly skimming the menu again.

He and Changmin were seated at their usual booth in their usual restaurant at their usual time. It was their weekly dinner together, something they had kept up since their university days in order to keep themselves grounded. They, of course, touched base with all of their university friends often, but the two of them were two peas in a pod. They even refused to let Sunwoo in on these weekly dinners specifically (something the younger friend was undoubtedly salty about).

Changmin could figure out when Chanhee was occupied with something other than the present. Usually, he was all up and out of his seat dealing out gossip or what torture he and you had been… oh.

Changmin cocked his head to the side, nostrils flaring slightly as he tried and failed to suppress a sly smile. "How's Yn these days?" He asked nonchalantly, lowering his eyes to the menu in front of him even though he always got the same thing every time.

To his credit, Chanhee didn't even react. "She's lovely as always. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," Changmin drawled, "you haven't gushed about her like you usually do. I feel like you hang out with her more than me."

Chanhee raised a brow at his friend. "She's my assistant; of course I'm going to spend more time with her."

"Yeah, but—"

"And she's a lot more agreeable most of the time."

"Hey!"

Chanhee grinned in impish delight. "You asked."

Changmin sent him a stink eye, huffing as he raised his hand up to summon a waiter. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, but you literally refused to go out with me the other night, and when I texted Yn if you had a schedule, she said that you two were at home!"

That got his attention. Chanhee pursed his lips together, sheepishness peering through his smile. "In my defense, she hadn't seen New York Fashion Week in 2001."

"You hated that year, Chanhee."

"Exactly."

Changmin sighed to himself, and just as he was about to add on, a waiter came by to take their order. Once that was done, Changmin laced his fingers over the table and leveled his friend with a pointed look.

"Just admit that you like her."

Oh, Changmin. If only you could hear the rapid palpitations of his heart when you called him out like that. Chanhee blinked innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he swallowed.

It wasn't even two days later that Chanhee had you staying a little later at his place, once again. There was something jazzy and vibey playing in the background, while Chanhee finished up plating dinner and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. You were over at the small table by the window pouring wine into twin glasses, your hair pulled haphazardly out of your face (for the most part) with a pearl-studded claw clip from Chanhee's personal PR box.

(You blatantly refused, but he then reminded you that he couldn't even use the clip himself.)

Chanhee didn't often think about sharing his life with someone, but it was moments like these—moments when he heard you hum under your breath, moments when the two of you could laugh about the day over dinner, moments when you weren't just his assistant but someone closer—that he could indulge himself. He wasn't a very domestic person; since childhood, he dreamed of places far away from home, seeing sights and experiencing cultures… but if he could come home to you? And experience this every time?

Suddenly dinner was over, and you were collecting dirty dishware and glasses to bring to the sink to wash.

"Yn-ie, hey, I can wash those—"

"No, no! You made dinner; I am washing dishes," you asserted, pushing him away from the sink when he tried to come up to you.

Chanhee broke into a laugh, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders and rub the upper parts of your arms. "Okay, okay. Thanks, love," he said. He didn't even think before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and walked off to go to the bathroom.

Your cheek tingled where his lips had been, and you turned the faucet on to drown out the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears. What was happening?

You felt like you were floating on air as you hummed to the music and washed the dishes, with the ghost of Chanhee's lips left lingering on your cheek. It served as a reminder of your growing affections for him. This was dangerous, dangerous territory, and yet… it was thrilling. It was new, bold, and delectable. It was Chanhee, for goodness sake.

He was the man you saw crying drunkenly over a cat video on TikTok, the man who lended you Gucci pajamas and his bed for the night. He was on the face of every magazine cover, always excited when you could read his mind about a certain piece of clothing. Everyone in the world wanted to be him or be with him. He was so out of reach, yet right in front of you.

Maybe it was the wine making your head buzz with this wave of unmitigated sentimentality.

You finished up with the dishes, drying off your hands with the towel hanging on the oven door. Chanhee sang your name out from somewhere deep inside his bedroom, and you followed his voice to his location.

He was seated on the rug in the middle of his walk-in closet, the white LEDs washing you with light. It was a far cry from the darkness of his bedroom and the warmth from the kitchen. Chanhee patted the spot next to him on the carpet, where he had a smattering of PR gifts littering the floor around him.

Curious, you lowered yourself next to him. "Are we sorting through PR stuff?" You asked, already making a mental catalog of all the things he'd probably want to keep and the things he'd want to donate.

Chanhee hummed his dissent, rising onto his knees and shuffling over to you. Your eyes widened as he stopped close to you and you held your breath. He raised a pair of twin diamond drop earrings from Tiffany and Co to your earlobes, eyes narrowed in consideration.

"No," he muttered, dumping the earrings into their box, then digging out another.

You scrambled to delicately put the earrings back into their proper holdings. "Chanhee, what are we doing?"

"You—" Chanhee returned with a pair of sapphire earrings this time, performing the same ritual as before, but this time smiling, "—are going to sit still and look pretty for me. I am going through the PR stuff for anything nice."

"Anything nice?" You parroted in disbelief. It wasn't like he just threw a pair of diamond earrings into a box like it wasn't nice, or anything.

"I've never seen you in pearls before," he said offhandedly. From a black velvet bag, he withdrew a string of pearls clasped at the end in gold. His mouth parted in awe, and you suddenly thought of how cute he looked. Chanhee, oftentimes, was attractive and elegant and spellbinding—but this Chanhee was adorable.

He eyeballed it around your neck, then moved to clasp the collar onto you. He brushed the stray strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, gently grazing the pads of his fingers along the warm skin there. The action sent a shudder down your spine, and you were reminded of the cheek kiss from earlier.

"There," he murmured, coming back around to inspect you from the front. "Looks much better on you than it would on me."

You scoffed, reaching up to touch the cool pearls seated on your collarbone. "I disagree wholeheartedly."

He had turned around to go digging again, but the grin he threw over his shoulder at you was a certified heart stopper. "Then we'll just have to go get me a matching one."

"This is the last time I'm letting a company get me lunch," Chanhee grimaced as both you and he feverishly dabbed at the sauce splattered on his cream silk blouse.

One of the interns working on today's interview and shoot had come to deliver him his lunch when you noticed that the sauce lid on top was a dark red and not the usual light mayo Chanhee always requested beforehand. That, as well as the fact that the lid wasn't fastened all the way. Suffice to say that when you were about to point it out, said intern became flustered at Chanhee's side profile and spilled his lunch onto him.

You made sure to send the intern away before Chanhee could react.

"This was the Burberry one Haknyeonie got me," he whimpered in devastation as he took in the mess of dark brownish-red on his chest.

"Hey, it's okay. The cleaner I usually go to can fix it up," you said, biting your lip and assessing the situation. You gave a sigh, straightening, then swiping at the dampness on your forehead. "For now, you'll have to change into something else."

Chanhee pouted. "I promised I would wear this one for the interview…" He glanced back over at the clothing rack in the far corner of the dressing room at the dozens of options he had, as well as the backups you had brought, when all he wanted was to wear the shirt Haknyeon had given to him.

You wondered how long you had until the interview. You wondered how fast you could run to the dry cleaners and how fast they could fix this, if only to make that pout on Chanhee's face go away.

He pursed his lips. "I'll change into the YSL one," he resolved, standing from his vanity chair to go grab the YSL blouse from its garment bag. "Y'know," he said to you as he disappeared behind the changing divider, "we'll probably see something about this in the tabloids sometime tomorrow, depending on how bored the press people are."

You leaned back against the vanity counter, mentally noting the time. Hair and makeup would be here soon since the interview was set for half past noon. Chanhee would have to wait until afterwards before he could eat lunch. You frowned, "It wasn't your fault, Chanhee."

"I know." You saw him drape the dirtied Burberry blouse over the top of the divider and you walked over to take it down and inspect the damage yourself. "But it doesn't have to be my fault."

Unfortunately, he was right. The press would do anything for a juicy story, even if that meant twisting the facts just a little. You abhorred those stories; you always saw Chanhee's eyes glaze over like a shield at the "model-zilla" headlines, when in fact, it had little to do with Chanhee's "attitude". You wondered if someone would blow up his reaction to this out of proportion—he hadn't said anything to the intern before they ran out of the room in tears, but you supposed if you had spilled coffee on someone with as much name power as Chanhee, then you would also freak out.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, leaning slightly against the divider. A weight sank into the pit of your gut; you felt pathetic. These were one of the few things you couldn't just fix for him.

You thought you felt him lean back against the divider on the other side. "Nothing to be sorry for, dearest. It's just a shirt."

It wasn't just a shirt. It wasn't just the tabloids.

Chanhee, being the professional he was, carried on through the interview and subsequent photoshoot with elegance and grace. He wasn't in a bad mood, save for the slight melancholy in his smile when the intern's superior came by to apologize profusely and offer to have the blouse dry-cleaned for him. Chanhee politely declined—he only trusted one person with his items.

When you and Chanhee finally made it back to his penthouse suite, the sun had disappeared into the seams of the horizon, hoisting a bejeweled night into the sky. Chanhee collapsed onto the couch face-first while you dropped everything on the floor by the door and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

"I'm making tea," you declared.

Chanhee raised his head slightly. "Me too please."

You got the electric kettle started and brought out two porcelain mugs. While you waited for the water to finish boiling, you fished your phone out of your pocket to check your messages to see if the dry cleaners had alerted you yet as to the status of the blouse. On the way back, you had swung by to get the shirt to the dry cleaners. Hopefully it would be done by tomorrow morning so you could go pick it up.

Chanhee shifted and adjusted his positioning on the couch. He sat upright, leaning his cheek against his fist. "Yn-ie."

"Hm?"

"I'm lonely over here."

You huffed air out of your nostrils in a silent chuckle, but obliged him and went over to the couch. He raised his arms up toward you, making grabby hands and pouting. "You're lonely?" You repeated in amusement, slotting yourself next to him and allowing him to curl into your side.

"Well, not anymore," he said into your shoulder.

The apartment filled with the sound of water bubbling on the stove and the muffled sounds of the city outside the window.

With nothing said, you could imagine for a second that this was not your job, but your life instead.

You felt him move a little, his arms wrapping around your stomach. "Thank you," he murmured, "for everything."

Your chest tightened. "Of course," you replied simply. Because doing all of this for him was as easy as breathing air now. Taking care of him had become as easy as breathing air. It was just that simple.

He was quiet again, fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of your blazer. Something lingered in his mind.

"Yn…" He slowly brought himself to sit up straight, one hand braced on the cushion space between your bodies and the other on the back of the couch. His face was so close—you could see the baby pink hairs falling in his eyes, the bits of glitter on his eyelids, the length of his lashes brushing his cheeks. But there was something wobbling, shimmering in his irises like the ripples in a pool of water. "I think we need to talk."

Your voice was trapped in your throat. He was going to fire you. He was going to tell you that all of it had been a lie. He was going to—stop. Stop freaking out. You knew him. You knew him better than what the people on the outside only claimed to know about him. You gulped. "Okay."

Chanhee brought his hand up toward your face, but instead stopped short, his hand dropping. He wet his lip, head ducking for a second before meeting your eyes again. "You know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, right?"

Oh no.

You nodded shallowly, hands clasped in your lap. "Mhm."

"And you know that I would rather hurt myself before ever hurting you?"

You didn't like where this was going. "Chanhee—"

His eyes shuddered. "Just—just listen for a second. I promise I'll let you speak, just… I just need to get this out."

"I can't really think straight," you croaked. His cologne—god his cologne. You would die suffocating in his cologne, but he was so close and yet so out of reach.

You thought you saw hurt flash across his face. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry—" He was leaning back now, and you were internally hitting yourself. You'd never heard Choi Chanhee stutter before.

You resisted the urge to say "come back". Come back, where you could pretend that he was yours. Shit, this had gone too far. "Chanhee, I think I have to quit."

Alarm shot his eyes wide open. "What?"

"I can't keep working for you because I have feelings for you," you blurted, staring him straight in the eyes. "I have to quit because the feelings—the want—I have for you are so strong and precariously unprofessional. And I'm sorry, because this was the best job I could've ever gotten, but—"

Chanhee grabbed your face and crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. Shock had you freezing, but it wasn't long before you held him close and let him wholly devour you.

When he pulled away, his forehead was pressed against yours, the space between your lips near nonexistent. His hands were still cupping the sides of your face and his breathing was slightly labored; all either of you could feel, hear, smell, taste were each other.

"I love you," he whispered, almost inaudibly you thought you'd imagined it. But then he said it again, "I love you", and everything…

Everything settled.

"How could you?" After all, you were just… you. It seemed impossible that someone as high as he was could love someone like you.

His reply was simple, paired with a sweet return to your lips. "How could I not?"

You stood outside the massive, sky-piercing high-rise of Vogue headquarters, your heart pounding in your ears and your fingers drumming nervously against the seam of your dress pants. In about twenty minutes, you would be in the topmost office of the building interviewing for a chance to become CEO Anna Wintour's newest personal assistant.

"Well?"

You glanced over to your left where Chanhee stepped beside you, asking the driver to make a loop around the building and meet him back here in a few minutes. His hair, freshly dyed a silken midnight black, had grown slightly to mullet-length; and this morning, he was clad in a pristine white suit set in a classy contrast. A pearl collar sat on his defined collarbones like it was a throne. Beautiful, as always.

There were reporters lurking around here somewhere. That definitely didn't make any of this better for you.

You released a breath. "I've got this, right?"

He passed you a gentle, yet teasing grin. "Hey, you survived me. How much worse can she be?"

That made you crack a smile.

The two of you stood side by side staring up at the building for a moment longer. After you had quit being his assistant to instead be accepted as his partner, you and Chanhee worked to find you a new gig. You received about a hundred dozen job offers from lesser brands and big names when they all heard you were leaving Chanhee's employ on good terms. Anyone who survived Chanhee, and left with a stellar recommendation letter, was a hot commodity.

Chanhee reached for your hand, squeezing your fingers slightly. "Breathe, darling. You'll be in and out and hired before you know it."

He turned you around so you faced him. His tongue stuck out between his lips as he adjusted the pearl necklace around your throat, then the lapels of your jacket. "Wow," he breathed out.

"Huh?" You hummed with a smile in your eyes.

"You still take my breath away."

A nervous laugh fell from your lips, and Chanhee swooped in to taste it—that, your laugh.

"I love you," he murmured against your mouth. Nevermind all the press and paparazzi, or Anna Wintour, or anyone. This was just you and him, even for a little. You could imagine the headlines, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

Your tongue swiped over his bottom lip to catch the last bits of him. "I love you, too."

There was a cunning glint in his eyes, offset by the soft smile on his face. "Okay, this is it. Call me if you need anything."

You began walking toward the entrance backwards. "What if I need you?"

His smile widened. "I said call me, didn't I? Anytime, anywhere." I'm yours.

tbz m.list

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[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Are you taking request? I saw someone on here ask for a JJK man request. Just would like to know so I know when and where to send my submission bestie. 🩷🥹

What Spoiled Girls Get (Pro!Bakugou x Dabi x Plus-Size!Black!Fem!Reader) [REQUEST FILL]

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Touya "Dabi" Todoroki x Black!Plus-Size!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You get whatever you want as Bakugou and Dabi’s shared GF. You’re their pretty princess. Their baby. Their spoiled little girl. You wouldn’t have it any other way and don’t know any different, so when they take you shopping to get some clothes for your birthday and you see a dress in the window that costs a bit out of their bracket, they get it for you…but not without you showing how thankful you are.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Polyamorous; Aged-Up!Bakugou; Musician!Dabi; Ex-Villian!Dabi; Reader is Described as Having Rolls & a Tummy; Sugar Baby/Sugar Daddy Undertones; MMDoms/fsub Relationship; Spanking; Double Deepthroat; Spit Play; Hair-Pulling; Multiple Creampies; Doggystyle; Spitroast; Orgasm Denial/Control; Facials; Dabi Has a Tongue Piercing; Aftercare 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Thank you for choosing me to do your request fill & especially for giving me the okay to just do your request for Dabi & Bakugou (just to make it clear for the readers too). I hope you enjoy this! -Jazz 

********

“So what does my baby wanna do next?” Katsuki whispers to you, his hand on your thigh like you aren’t sitting in a public space. 

Or right next to your second boyfriend who isn’t too keen on Katsuki keeping you to himself when this is a “shared effort”. “Our baby,” Dabi corrects him, scooting his chair closer to you and putting a tatted hand on your other thigh. His fingers, adorned in rings, gently squeeze the soft flesh there. 

Katsuki’s vermillion eyes flick to Dabi’s ice-blue ones, a secret rivalry between them despite having been with you for over a year now. “Our baby,” he growls out. “It’s your day after all.” The scents of his and Dabi’s cologne begin to cloud your senses, the two bottomless mimosas you consumed at your birthday brunch. 

“Um…” Your mind wanders, short-circuiting as your boyfriends squeeze between you between their big, muscular bodies at the table. 

The two smirk at each other, for once not bickering or shooting each other dirty looks when one of them gains your attention over the other. “What’s up, doll?” Dabi purrs into your ear in his raspy, graveled voice. “Too shy to tell us?” 

Katsuki, too, leans in closer, pressing his big, tatted arms against yours, his pecs pressing against his white tee. He looks so good in white, especially with the chains hanging from his neck and the rayban sunglasses clipped to his collar. His platinum blonde hair is cut into an undercut, making him look sexier and more mature. Very appropriate for one of the most prominent and wellknown pro heroes in the world. 

Dabi looks just as fine for your birthday, his black tee and leather jacket standing out against his snow-white hair. You’ve always loved how the bright, white locks contrast with the black ink coating his arms and body. Though older than Katsuki by a couple of years, he is just as handsome and is always turning heads, mostly because of his prior status as a villain who turned into a famous rock musician. 

And despite these men both being wealthy and hot, they are completely infatuated with you. You, who works a regular degular 9-5 job and isn’t a celebrity or a model. And you couldn’t be happier with them. They were floored by your beauty and your body the moment they met you. After you got closer to both of them, they agreed to both date you at the same time, spoiling you with their riches. 

You could barely believe your luck and almost thought it was a dream. It took some time to get used to things and the way your boyfriends spent their money on you. Katsuki loves you being is passenger princess, dropping a bag on your nails and any clothes you want. He is a “I’ve got it, baby” kind of partner, always paying the check at dinner and taking you on expensive nights. Nothing is too good for his baby. 

Dabi is the same way, always surprising you with a trip here or a random weekend at a five-star hotel there (Katsuki is usually there too so both of them can spend the weekend fucking you stupid into the hotel mattress again and again). You once spent a month traveling with Dabi on a tour around Japan, sight-seeing and watching him perform on stage.

Over time, you started feeling more comfortable asking for things. You want money to get your hair done? “Sure, baby.” You want some new kicks? “Okay, but not those ugly ass Yeezys. I see in those and you’re gonna get it bad.” You want to get a pretty skirt to make your plump ass look plumper? “Of course, doll; just as long as I can take it off later.” 

You love them. And they love you, especially how easy it is you tease you. “You know I can’t think straight with all this attention,” you whisper, squeezing your thighs together under your pink dress. They love it when you wear your tight, short dresses and skirts. Anything to show off your rolls, ass, hips, and soft, pudgy belly that they just love to kiss, squeeze, and bite on. 

“You sure it ain’t them mimosas? You downed those like they were water, baby.” Katsuki snickers at you, Dabi joining in. As if telling on you, the waitress comes over to clean your dishes of your two mimosa glasses and plates from a delicious brunch. “Hey, it’s my birthday!” you scoff. “I can drink all I want to.” 

Katsuki’s eyebrows raise, a playful and mischevious look appearing in his eyes that makes you feel hot. “Oooh, there’s that mouth we both love so much. Maybe you need a third drink, huh?” He goes to wave down the waitress, but to stop him. “Stop,” you giggle. “Besides, I don’t know what else I want. Y’all have already done so much for me today.” 

And they have. Between surprising you with a flower delivery this morning, picking you up for a brunch date at an expensive bistro, and driving you around in Dabi’s range rover (which he insisted to drive), you don’t know how much better your birthday can get with your two rich boyfriends. 

“And it’s just the beginning, babe,” Katsuki says, taking the bill from the table while Dabi reaches into his jeans for his wallet. “Just think. What’s something we can absolutely do for you?” You think about it for a moment, wondering what haven’t you done lately that would make this birthday extra special. “Um….maybe take me shopping?” 

Your boyfriends stare you down, creating a tingle in your core. “Please?” you add, staring up at them both through your lashes. Dabi practically groans at your sweetness. “I do love a polite girl. It’s fine by me, doll, but let’s just hope this chihuahua has enough in his pocket to one up me.” He smirks at Katsuki over your shoulder. 

The blonde glares daggers at him as he smacks down his black card. “Bitch, you’re actin’ like I didn’t pay for the rounds,” he scoffs. “Why don’t you try matching up to my birthday gift? Did you get her another stupid trinket you thought she’d like from your tour?” He grins maliciously at Dabi who you can tell is simmering. 

“Guys, no fighting,” you sternly say, placing a hand on their hard chests. “Not today. It’s my day.” The two look at you as if realizing you’re still here. “Yeah, your day,” Katsuki sighs, pecking you on the cheek. “We can’t help fighting over our baby though.” 

Dabi presses a kiss to your face too, both of their lips making your heart leap and your pussy throb excitedly. You just love their kisses! “We’ll make it up to you later, babe. Right now, let’s get you in some stores.” You smile and take each of their bigger, calloused hands in your smaller, softer ones. 

“Thank you, Daddies,” you whisper, low enough for only them to hear. You see their gazes sotften before molen lust takes over. “Such a good girl,” Dabi says, giving your ass a smack when you stand. It catches the eye of an old couple who glare at such an inappropriate display, making you jab Dabi in the stomach while he laughs. 

For the next hour, Katsuki and Dabi take you shopping after leaving the bistro. They take you to a small strip on the richer side of the city where designer stores line the block. You pick out bags and clothes, shoes and jewlery. While you don’t keep too many items in fear of overflowing your closet, you do pick out some nice keepers: Jimmy Choo and Saint Laurent heels; Prada sunglasses; a couple of designer dresses that fill out your curves; a Fendi purse; a set of earrings and a diamond anklet to make your French tips looks even sexier. 

Through it all, Katsuki and Dabi patiently follow you around and carry your shopping bags for you in one hand. In the other, they hold you by both of yours, making you feel small between the two of them despite your size and weight. As a plus-sized girl, you always feared that they would someday reject you, but they remind you every day how sexy and cute they think you are. 

Finally, after stepping out of a Versace store and putting your bags in Dabi’s car, Katsuki grabs you by the waist, his hands grabbing a handful of your ass. “So where to next, baby girl?” he asks, staring down at you from behind his designer shades. 

You would say his or Dabi’s place judging by the way he’s palming your behind, but something catches your eye. “Um….oh!” You break away from him much to his dismay and walk over to the boutique window where a beautiful, sexy red dress stares back at you. You marvel at it, pressing your hand adorned in pink nails on the glass. 

“I knew you’d have your eye on that,” Dabi chuckles, puffing on a cigarette next to you. He laces an arm around your plump waist, gently rubbing your side. “What? You wanna try it on?” Your eyes trail down to the price tag on the dress, gaping at it. “W-Well, it’s kinda…” 

“Pricey?” he finishes, smirking at you. You flush, biting your lip. “I was gonna say small. You usually don’t find bigger sizes in dresses like these.” Katsuki narrows his eyes at you from behind his shades. “Dummy,” he scoffs. “Don’t do that. We always find the cutest shit for you in your size. This dress is no different. Now, come on.” 

His tone makes it clear he ain’t up for debate, so you walk inside with boutique with Dabi (after he puts out his cigarette). The place is small but high class-looking with marbled floors and walls, champagne flutes set out on lounge seats, and racks and racks of designer clothes, bags, hats, and accessories. A woman greets you three at the front desk, immediately going wide-eyed at the sight of Katsuki and Dabi.

“She wants to try that dress on in the window,” Katsuki gruffly says, nodding at the red dress. “Please,” you add sweetly, knowing that your men can seem rude sometimes. 

“And any bathing suits you have,” Dabi adds. “Add a round of champagne on that too.” You furrow your brows in confusion at this. “Why do you want me to try on bathing suits too?” The two men give each other a secretive look, making you feel like they know something that you don’t. “Just to see this sexy body in somethin’ small,” Katsuki chuckles, once again grabbing a palmful of your ass. “Now be a good girl and go model for us, babe.” 

How could you deny them? The employees gather together all the bathing suits they have that will fit you and guide you to the try-on section where Katsuki and Dabi sip on champagne and wait while you try on the clothes. You try on a pink bathing suit first that is low cut in the front so your juicy breasts look enticing and has a thong bottom that makes you want to squeeze your own ass. 

With a deep breath, you step out of the small try-on room and model for your men. “Um…how do I look?” you carefully ask, popping a knee up and putting a hand on your hip. They stare at you, not saying anything for a moment. “Like you need to get fucked,” Dabi finally answers, nearly making you choke. “I had alcohol, so I don’t wanna say….I’d much rather show you.” 

Katsuki jumps up and has his hands on you before Dabi can do so himself. “You look absolutely stunning, baby,” he sighs. “Just look at you.” He turns you around to face a mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist. And he’s right: you do look stunning. “I still don’t get why y’all want me to try on bathing suits in spring,” you laugh. “The summertime isn’t for another two months!” 

“Well, you’ll need new bathing suits for our trip,” Dabi says, downing the rest of his champagne. “Especially since it’s Mexico.” You look at him, confused. “Mexico?” you parrot. “When are you going to Mexico?” 

The two share a look, just as confused as you. “You deaf?” Katsuki asks, pinching one of your cheeks. Not us, baby. We are going on Mexico.” He then reaches into his pocket and hands you an envelope. You open it and find a plane ticket to a resort in Cabo, Mexico in it. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” Katsuki says with a smile. 

“Oh, my God!” you gasp, immediately throwing yourself at your men. “When did you–“ 

“We planned it for June so you’ll have time to put in your PTO,” Dabi explains. “And if your boss has a problem with it, he can talk to us. Either way, you’re going. You deserve a little break.” He smiles adoringly at your joy, both of them always wanting to see you happy. “Daddies,” you gasp. “I don’t know what else to say.”  

Katsuki’s gaze turns firm, making your stomach flip in excitement. “Try on the dress then,” he orders. “And don’t say shit about the price to your Daddies, got it?” You button your lip and nod, too aroused to speak. 

You then hurry back into the room to try on the dress that you carefully take off the hanger. After taking off the bathing suit, you put on the dress and immediately fall in love with how soft, flexible, and sexy it feels on you. Your thighs look juicy and despite your stomach not going anywhere, you don’t care and you know your boyfriends won’t either. 

So you walk out to them and drap yourself across the wall, posing for them. “I love it!” you squeal before they can tell you what they think. “I look so, so cute in this!” Both of them walk up to you and squeeze you between their bodies, theirs hard while yours is soft. “Then it’s yours,” Katsuki whispers against your cheek. 

“And you don’t have to tell us thank you, doll,” Dabi says, “but you’ll have to show it later.” Pressed against your back, you feel his hard-on pressing against your backside. Katsuki ruts his hips into your front, giving you a taste of his hard cock too. All for you. 

You shiver in delight, relishing the fact that they want you just as much as you want them. “Why later?” you purr. “Why not right now? After all, I need to make sure you know how much I appreciate you both.” You run your hands over Katsuki’s biceps while you press your ass in Dabi’s bulge. “Whose place?” he growls, his sel-control quickly leaving him. 

You decide to go to Katsuki’s place since its closer and twenty minutes after leaving the boutique with some new shit, you find yourself on your knees still in your new dress on Katsuki’s king-sized bed with your boyfriends’ big, hard, throbbing cocks in your hands and in your mouth. 

As soon as you got into Katsuki’s penthouse after a long day of shopping and being pampered, your men had their lips and hands all over you. Squeezing your tits and ass. Leaving hickeys on your neck. Kissing your lips so much that you got drunk. They couldn’t wait to finally have you all alone, feening for it. 

Which is why they can’t tear their eyes off of you now as you slobber, spit, and slurp all over their cocks, loving how much their bodies contrast you. Katsuki is beefier due to many years of training as a pro hero with smooth, tanned skin, hard, pierced nipples, and a smooth V-line traveling down to his thick, throbbing cock where a happy trail of blonde hair lies. 

Dabi is leaner with his entire body inked in tatts and covered in staples, but they don’t scare you away. His cock is longer and cures slightly, protruding from a cut nest of white curls. “What a thank you so far,” he hums, his black painted nails curling in your hair. “Such a big girl takin’ two big dicks at the same damn time.” 

You pop him out of your mouth and instantly take Katsuki’s cock into it again. He takes a handful of your titty hanging out of your dress like fruit dripping from a tree, slowly grinding his hips into your hot, wet mouth. “Fuckin’ greedy thing,” he grunts. “We spoil your ass too much.” 

And spoil you they do. To have two hot, loaded men with big dicks and skillful hands all to yourself? What more could you ask for? Katsuki slips his cock out of your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva connected from the tip to your bottom lip. “Open that mouth up,” he demands. You do so, sticking out your tongue like they like and allowing them to tap their cock heads against your tongue. 

“Spoiled litle girl,” Katsuki taunts you while Dabi relishes how slutty you look right now. “You gonna suck these dicks like a good little slut for us, hm?” You swallow the pre cum you collected on your tongue and obediently nod, leaking all over your panties and the bedsheets. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimper. “I promise.” 

That’s all they need to hear. Despite always bickering, Katsuki and Dabi know how to share you in the bedroom. They take turns fucking your mouth off its hinges, fistfuls of your hair in their hands and filling your tongue with the salty taste of their pre-cum. You love this. You love being used by them. You love being the only one to make them feel good. 

Katsuki makes sure you know this as he fucks your throat, making your mouth sloppier and wetter the more he pumps into it. “Fuck, baby,” he moans, his handsome face flushed. “You’re so good at this shit. You make me feel so good!” Dabi slides his dick out of your hand and shoves the blonde out of the way. 

“You’re takin’ too long,” he growls. “C’mon, doll, don’t forget about me. Lemme fuck that pretty face.” He slides his dick in this time and nearly touches your vuvula with how long he is. Though you gag and your eyes sting with tears, you take his cock like a champ down your throat, relishing his breathy swears and groans. 

“Time’s up, dickhead,” Katsuki growls, pushing Dabi away. “My turn. You ain’t the only one who wants to see that mascara run.” He tilts your face up to meet his eyes, making you show him your glassy eyes and ruined makeup.

“Open that mouth,” he demands. You do so and he leans in as if kissing you. A glob of saliva drips from his mouth onto your tongue, much to Dabi’s delight and arousal. “Now spit it back on my cock, nasty girl.” 

You do just that, spitting Katsuki’s saliva onto his dick before he shoves himself deep into your mouth, his balls hitting your chin. For a while, they take turns fucking your face and watching your cheeks fill with their cocks until they’ve had their fill and finally want a taste of you. Dabi shoves you onto your back, exposing your sodden, wet panties to them.

“Fuck, look how wet she is!” he cackles. “Just from gettin’ that pretty face fucked! What a little slut we got on our hands.” He gently brushes his finger down your slit, making you shudder. “Does that pussy need somethin’, doll?” he whispers, pressing his knuckles into your clit. 

You pathetically moan, shivering in pleasure. “I…I need you,” you beg, staring into your boyfriends’ eyes. “Please, Daddies, touch me.” Your soft voice forming those dirty pleas do it for them. Katsuki dives in immediately, hiking up your dress and ripping off your panties. “W-Wait, the dress!” you protest. 

He gives you the evil eye as yanks your panties down your luscious thighs and legs. “Fuck the goddamn dress,” he snarls. “If we ruin it, we’ll just wash it or buy you a new one. Now shut the fuck up and get your legs up.” Helpless to argue, you put your legs over his shoulders and all thoughts cease to exist the minute he gets his tongue inside of you. 

Katsuki and Dabi take turns slurping on your cunt, each one having their own fun with you while the other sits between your thighs. Katsuki drowns in that pussy, putting his whole face in it while his hands pin your thighs apart, forcing more out of you. His tongue is magic, doing all kinds of tricks as it swirls around your clit and pussy lips, making you drip increasingly more than before. 

While he does this, Dabi holds you down, watching your cute face contort in pleasure and your plump lips form Os as you moan and whine against Katsuki’s tongue. “So loud for him, little doll,” he chuckles. “You’d better be this loud for me.” 

And you are. You can’t not be when Dabi gets between your legs and gets his tongue on you. Your favorite part about his pussy eating skills is his tongue piercing that feels cool and hard against your clit while he sucks on it, drinking in the way you move under Katsuki’s veiny hands as he holds you down. “Take it,” he growls. “Take his fuckin’ tongue, slut. You wanted this so bad, right?” 

You whine, unable to form words, grinding your cunt shamelessly into Dabi’s skillfull mouth. When you cum, you cum hard and fast. “F-Fuck, Dabi!” you whine, your voice bouncing off of the bedroom walls. “M’cumming!” You make an absolute mess on Dabi’s tongue much to his delight who moans appreciatively into your cunt. 

“No fair,” Katsuki grunts, irked at Dabi’s cocky smile his way as he continues to slurp at your creamy pussy. “You make a mess for him, but not for me?” He wraps a hand around your throat, somehow making your orgasm more intense as it rocks through your body. “That ain’t gonna fly with me, baby girl. We’ll have to fix that.” 

That isn’t the only mess you make. Your boyfriends also take turns filling you up and letting you cream on their cocks. Again and again and again. And like Katsuki wants, you make a huge, sloppy, creamy mess for him. You can’t even count how many times you cum or how many positions they put you in. 

They fuck you in missionary, your legs on their broad shoulders and eyes staring into theirs as they put you into the mattress again and again. Their cocks fill you up to the brim, making you see stars. They fuck you with your head hanging off the bed, their balls making your clit tingle. They fuck you on your stomach, their hands massaging your ass and causing delicious sparks of pleasure to explode in your core. 

They fuck you doggystyle, hands smacking your ass, loving the recoil and the way it jiggles as they slam their cocks into your sobbing, wet pussy like they’re trying to hit a home run. Katsuki is particularly fond of this position. He grips your hips for dear life as he nails your shit with every pump of his cock, loving how pathetic and needy you sound. He especially loves fucking you in your new dress. 

Dabi stands on his knees in front of you, fucking your mouth and watching you take the blonde’s cock, hypnotized by your jiggling tits and ass. It should be illegal to be this hot. 

“You gonna cum for me, mama?” Katsuki grunts into your ear. “You gonna cum on this cock while I fill you up? You gonna take it like a good girl for me?”

You can’t speak through your moans, so you nod. It’s enough though and Katsuki rams into you until he lets out a loud moan worthy of audio porn and explodes inside of you. It triggers your own orgasm and you cream all over his cock, your pussy walls squeezing him tight. 

“Shit, boy,” Dabi chuckles, watching you both cum at the same time. “I can’t wait to feel her pussy do that to me too.” And you do. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turns you around and fucks your wet, dripping, sore pussy into the mattress, relishing your mews and whines of protest. “D-Dabi, wait!” you sob. “Too much, Daddy! Too much!” 

“Almost there, doll,” he pants, his hand on your throat. “Don’t disappoint me. C’mon, be a big girl for me and take that dick.” You have no choice in the matter anymore. You’re forced to take his cock while Katsuki spanks you, mixing pleasure with pain and making you howl. For two men who argue, they sure know how to work together in the bedroom. 

But when it comes to making you beg, scream, and cry? Of course, they do. 

“Oooh, I can feel that pussy gettin’ tight,” Dabi groans, putting his foot on the bed to get a better angle so he can fuck you even dumber on his cock. “You gonna cum again, slut? You wanna give me that nut?” Katsuki bends down to whisper to you, his lips at your ear. “Talk to him,” he demands. “Say something now or you ain’t cumming.” 

Tears spring into your eyes and a wail of pure desperation leaves your mouth. “Yes, Daddy!” you moan. “Yes, I’m gonna cum! Please let your baby cum!” But Dabi slows down, making you cry in pure agony. “Say thank you then,” Dabi demands. “Tell us thank you for all that we did for you today. Say it, you spoiled little brat.” 

You then feel Katsuki’s fingers on your clit and damn near lose it. “Thank you!” you scream. “Thank you for the dress! Thank you for the shopping! Thank you for everything! You’re both so, so good to me, Daddies! I love you both so much!” 

Both men audibly groan at your hot and sweet confession and profession of love. “And we love you too, baby,” Katsuki says. “Now fucking cum. Give it to us like a good girl.” Unable to hold back anymore, your walls clench around Dabi’s cock and you cum again, your orgasm making you and writhe against him. 

“Ah, shit, I’m gonna cum!” Dabi warns and grips your ass as he explodes deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum. There is so much that it drips out of you, mixing with Katsuki’s and creating a creamy ring around Dabi’s shaft when he pulls out of you. “Shit,” he laughingly pants. “Such a good girl.” He gives your ass a feeble squeeze. 

But they’re not done quite yet. They turn you over and like desperate men who haven’t had sex in decades, once again lap at your cunt. They take turns doing so, busying themselves fucking your mouth. While one is between your thighs, overstimulating you, the other straddles your chest and pumps their cock in your throat like it’s a flesh light. “You don’t gotta do a thing, baby,” Katsuki says. “Just let us do everything.” 

You gladly do so, too exhausted to move or complain that they’ll ruin the dress. You let them do as they please until they’ve finally had their fun and both kneel in front of you. They begin stroking and pumping their cocks in your face, your body and face the best porn they could ask for. “Look at us,” Dabi demands. “Take our cum again like the cumslut you are.” 

Without a warning, both he and Katsuki cum together, their moans, grunts, and whines of pleasure echoing throughout the bedroom. Their cum, warm and sticky, spurts out of them and onto your face, tits, and unfortunately, your pretty dress. You are coated from head to toe in them and their scent. “So pretty!” Katsuki grunts. “So fuckin’ adorable! How the fuck are you this cute?” 

You don’t answer, too exhausted to do so. You can only weakly mew and pant in response. Finally finished, the two quickly begin aftercare. They strip the dress off of your tired muscles, wipe the cum off of you with lavender-scented baby wipes, and rub you down with oil that smells like mangoes and pineapples. 

Finally, the two get into bed and snuggle you on either side. Dabi tosses one arm around you while Katsuki snuggles your head into his chest. “Sorry about the dress,” he chuckles. “But I’m sure we can wash it out. We’ve done it to all your other pretty shit.” 

“And then we’ll ruin it again,” Dabi adds, making both men cackle evilly. You softly moan into Katsuki’s chest, half in protest and half deep in sleep. Exhausted from getting your shit beat, it doesn’t take long for you to drift off… 

But not until after you feel your boyfriends press two soft kisses to your lips. “Happy birthday,” they whisper to you and you sleep with a smile on your face. 

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #bnha smut #black coded reader #black writers #katsuki bakugo x reader #dabi x black!reader #bakugou x black!reader #plus sized reader #chubby reader #poly smut #poly love

[kentosovertime]

(n.) the extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love

➳ nanami kento x gojo's sister/afab reader - 6.5k (oopsies)

➳ a/n: does nanami deserve a happy ending after shibuya? did anything happen between reader and geto after nanami left? (so many ideas just off of this one fic and its so refreshing to write gojo platonically for once) enjoy~

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, tension, angst, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, breeding, stranger to friends to strangers to lovers, idiots to lovers on a journey, miscommunication, everyone's depressed anxious and existential

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | Open Request Event | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

10 years ago…

“And why exactly am I the one to be dragged along for this?” Nanami’s eye twitches in annoyance as he follows Gojo down the hallway to where the classrooms are. “Where’s Geto? This seems more his speed.”

“I’m not bringing Geto along for this.” Gojo scoffs loudly at the idea. The last thing he needed was Geto giving her fuck me eyes like he did when he stayed at the clan houses for the summer. “The pervert can’t be trusted with such a delicate task.” 

“Trouble in paradise, Satoru?” His voice drawls, bored out of his mind already. These dramatics were a waste of his time. Whatever this was, he didn't need to be here. 

Gojo’s blue glare pins him as he stops outside the first year classroom, an edge of distress in his gaze.

“I brought you because I trust you around my-” A cloud of dust suddenly plumes around Satoru’s head and Nanami watches as a chalkboard eraser clatters to the ground from where it nailed him in the… is his infinity off?

“It's the first day, you ass!” Someone hisses behind Satoru, just out of Nanami’s field of vision as Satoru rubs the back of his head with a pout. “Can I go one god damn day without you showing up and making my life more annoying than you make it at home?”

Nanami's eyes widen slightly as he peeks out from behind Satoru to take in the girl handing Gojo’s ass to him. Tall.. curvy… with long white hair- his thoughts are cut off by a pair of squealing girls inside the classroom. A quick look has him seeing them pointing at Satoru and whispering, along with a boy who’s rolling his eyes at their antics while keeping a very close eye on you. 

“How did you even know I was here?” He whines, rubbing the bump on his head. “You should be paying attention to Yaga.”  

Nanami watches as she huffs out an exasperated sigh and points at her eyes, covered by sunglasses.

“Six eyes.” You snip, turning your finger to point aggressively at him. “And you stomp around like a toddler and control your volume as well as one. Where’s Geto? He’s the capable one between the two of you.”

“Sorry.” Nanami finally pipes up, giving you a small wave as he clears his throat. “I was enlisted instead. You try controlling this menace… You must be his.. sister?” 

“Mhmm..” You turn your blue gaze to him, taking him in as you nod your head in Satoru’s direction. “Surely you’re not friends with this? I implore you to have better taste.”

You didn’t know your brother had decent friends, you hum to yourself. Your sharp eyes take in his presence, the cursed energy around him steady and calm despite dealing with Satoru. His presence and attention feels soft… there’s a rightness to it.

“See, Nanamin? She’s just as bad! Stop acting like I’m the only one who’s annoying. And you-” He turns to you with an assessing glare. “Talking about Geto a lot... obsessed much?” 

“Must run in the family.” A bored yawn comes from your mouth as your brother’s teeth grit. 

You 1, Satoru 0. 

An uncharacteristic snort flies from Nanami’s throat and your heart flies into your throat knowing that you’ve managed to almost make him laugh. He’s so serious you’re sure it's not a common occurrence. You want to hear him do it again. 

“We’ll leave you to class.” He doesn’t give Satoru the option as he pushes him down the hallway and out of the building. “I’ll see you la-” 

Nanami turns to the quiet spot looming behind him that’s normally filled with Satoru’s endless prattling, only to see him gazing up at the building with a worried look on his face, chewing on his cheek in thought. 

“I had to threaten the clan to get her here… helps that they can’t touch me now.” He says softly. “They don’t see how good she is… they only see that she doesn't have the limitless technique. Not how she’s used the eyes to adapt other techniques.” 

“Where else would she be if not here?” Nanami is sure that he knows the answer, hoping he’ll hear something else come from his senior’s lips. 

“Sixteen’s a little too young to be breeding stock for the Zen’ins. Naoya’s a piece of shit.” Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. His eyes meet Nanami’s over the rim of his round sunglasses, more serious than he’s ever seen him. “Geto and I.. We won’t be on campus often.” 

He holds Satoru’s gaze for a moment longer, giving a quick nod in agreement. Even if he feels he’s being selfish in fulfilling this for him. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

By the end of your second year in Jujutsu High, you’ve felt like you can breathe for some time now. It’s not that you don’t appreciate everything that Satoru did to get you here, but it's nice not to have to deal with the shadow he cast while he was a third year. 

At least you had Ken, even if he’d be graduating at the end of the month, leaving you alone here without someone to lean on. You feel he counts on you just as much as you do him, opening up about the hole Haibara left in his life before you came to school here. 

You lay on a couch in one of the common rooms, your feet propped on his lap as he reads. You examine the ends of your hair absentmindedly, trying to build up the courage you need to tell him how you feel. 

There’s no guarantee that you’ll see him again once he graduates and takes on jobs. No guarantee that he’ll survive them. You don’t want to have regrets when it comes to him. Not when you’ve never had someone like him in your lonely life in the Gojo clan. 

“Ken…” You start, licking your lips nervously. 

“Yeah, hun?” He shifts to gaze at you over his book, looking at you curiously. 

“I…” You start, swallowing around the lump in your throat, chickening out at the last second and changing the subject before he can ask why you’re acting so cagey. “Where are you planning to be based after graduation?”

“Oh.. I..” Your eyes note a nervous flare in his cursed energy, his body tensing under your legs. You pull your legs from him, sitting up as your brows pull together. 

“Is everything ok, Ken?” You asked worriedly. “Listen, I can take care of someone if they’re bothering you.” 

“It's not that…” He sighs and closes his book carefully before turning to you. “I haven’t told anyone yet but… I’m leaving jujutsu. I’m going to work a normal person's job away from all this death and despair.” 

“O-Oh?” Your heart seizes, scared he’s going somewhere that you won’t be able to reach him. Your voice cracks, betraying your emotions. “You’re still going to visit… right?”

“N-No… I don’t think I can do this,” he waves his hands around at the school, “anymore, hun. It’s too much. All the pain.” 

You stare at him, your blue eyes unguarded as they start to mist. He’d just leave you behind? Not talk to you? Not beg you to come with him even if your clan will never let you follow?

“Good to know I mean nothing to you.” You bite out, your bitter attitude you reserve for those you’ve written off. This is just the first one to mean something to you. 

You leave before he can see your tears fall. There’s no death for a jujutsu sorcerer without regrets… you suppose yours will be no different. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Present Day

You yawn and settle in the chair, crossing your arms as you watch Satoru sitting in the seat across from you. 

“I trust you’re not destroying my house with that student of yours.” You hum, examining your manicured nails. 

“Well Yaga’s cursed doll may have broken a TV but I replaced it. Yuji needs to watch his movies.” His grin widens.

“Then I don’t get why you had the higher ups pull me from my assignment.” You huff in offense. “That was good money.” 

“Like you need it.” He rolls his eyes and unwraps a pastry that he munches on loudly. “Besides I’d like you to hop in to help with Yuji.” 

“Yes, master. Anything for you, oh, Strongest One.” His jaw twitches and you mentally note another win on your tally board. “You really have him just sitting in my basement watching movies? Remind me to pray you never have kids.”

“I’m fantastic with kids! They love me!” He argues before dropping into a more serious tone. “I have someone I trust with him but I was stopped by two unregistered special grade curses last night. Keep them alive pretty please.”

“Someone you trust? I thought that list was nonexistent these days.” You figure keeping them alive involves ensuring Sukuna stays sealed and these two stay healed up with your reverse curse technique. 

Satoru’s phone rings in his pocket, making him smirk when he sees who it is. 

“The sewer?” Your nose crinkles in disgust as you listen, wondering why curses can’t appear in a five star hotel and spa. You’ll make sure that your dry cleaner’s bill makes its way to your brother if he expects you to go there. “I have a higher ups to terrorize but I can drop off some back up for you.”

“You better be providing hazard pay for my clothing.” You mutter as he hangs up, giving you a shit eating grin. 

“You could try not wearing $900 shoes while fighting curses.”

“Says the man who spends over a thousand on one shirt.” You scoff. 

“They don’t get dirty. One of us has limitless.” You glower at him as he pretends to draw a tally on his side of the board. “Don’t look at me like that. At least you won’t be bored.”

Satoru stands, picking an invisible piece of lint off of his navy blue coat, waiting for you to stand, placing a hand is his so he can teleport you. 

Sparing poor Ichiji a ride into the city for you and putting his plan into motion for you? You should be thanking him for being such a wonderful brother. He’s truly the best matchmaker in Japan. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Nanami panted in exertion, his stamina starting to fail, his movement growing sloppy as he compensates for the wound seeping blood into the torn fabric of his shirt. He dodges the swing from the patchwork curse in front of him, in a state to only be able to defend. He grits his teeth in frustration, the match up unfair when he can’t damage the soul of his opponent that’s constantly in flux. He needs to distract him long enough to make a break for it and report this to Gojo. 

A light, quicker cadence of footsteps enters his range of hearing as he ducks behind a large piece of debris, not seeing the arm that had shifted yet again, bending around the rubble to reach for the killing blow, but it never comes. Instead his vision is filled with the flash of blue cursed energy, the veins of energy moving to push the curse’s reach away, grabbing a hold at launching him across the room. 

“Thank yo-” His mouth goes dry as a blur of long white hair streaks across his field of vision, charging the curse from where she slammed him into a pillar. “Don’t let him touch you!” 

Fear like he’s never known floods his system. You shouldn’t be here. Not if it means exposing you to the possibilities that this curse presents. He won’t let you be the next face that he sees, torn, bloody, and lifeless, when he closes his eyes at night. 

“I know.” You snap at him, your cursed energy wrapping around your body like a blanket, making the curse’s attacks graze right over you as energy blasts forth and ties its way around every piece of the curse it touches, slowing him now, sealing him like the talismans you specialize in before he graduated. 

“I forget you know everything.” He grunts, the impatience and immaturity bubbling up to the surface as the memories of your last conversation together flashes through his mind.

“I should have known Satoru Gojo’s sister would give me a run for my money.” The curse cackles maniacally, continuing to fight but slowly drawing back as her technique starts to overwhelm him. “He’ll be so pleased to know you’re a pawn to use in his plan.” 

Nanami circles around him, running towards a weak spot in the wall, grateful that at least he has an opening to end this for now. He swings his blunt blade at the 7:3 weak spot, shattering the concrete and catching the curse off guard. 

“Put me down!” You hiss as he appears suddenly, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you to his good side to drag you away from the curse laying in the rubble behind them. “Let me finish the damn fight, Kento!” 

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t put you down until you’re out of the sewer and approaching the road, his pain taking over as he presses a hand against the wound and his hand comes away coated in blood, turning your face sheet white. 

“You’re hurt-” You reach out to him automatically, knowing you can help but you pull away at the last second. You can’t do this out in the open. There’s somewhere you can bring him to patch him up. 

“Where did you take me?” He asks warrily, unsettled by the ritzy interior of the building they’re in and that the door man didn’t even bat an eye when the two of you entered in this state. 

“Satoru owns the building.” You say plainly, refusing to meet him in the eye. He supposes he deserves such a reaction from you, knowing he hurt you all those years ago. 

He follows you into the elevator and up to the top floor, taking in the penthouse apartment that screams Satoru as soon as they enter. 

“Uh uh.” You glare at him as he tries to move into the living room to sit to sew himself shut to stop the bleeding. “Bathroom. You bleed on Satoru’s couch and he’ll have my ass. I’ll be right in to help you.” 

He opens his mouth to ask how you could possibly help him, but thinks better of it considering your mood. He listens, leaving you to where you disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink. 

He leans against the counter of the sink, pressing a towel he found against the wound, dialing Satoru’s number to warn him about the unregistered curse that can kill with a single touch. 

“Want to tell me why you’re doing this?” He rumbles low in his chest, his eyes darting to the crack in the door, making sure you weren’t lurking where you could hear him. “You know she wasn’t ready to see me.”

“If I told you, you’d call me a liar.” Satoru sings across the line, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Maybe I’m just being your bestest friend ever~” 

“Whatever you’re trying, I’m not falling for the prank you’re setting up.” He hisses, the anger bubbling anew. “There’s stirring things up, Gojo, but this is cruel.” 

Nanami can practically see Satoru shrugging nonchalantly, like he couldn’t possibly be doing something wrong.

“Have fun, bestie~” The phone beeps, indicating that he ended the line, making Nanami let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Take your shirt off.” You order as soon as you cross the threshold with two glasses filled with a generous serving of expensive whiskey, handing one to him before downing yours in one gulp. 

“E-Excuse you-” He sputters, freezing in place. “Did you just ask me to-” 

“Strip? Yes.” You meet his eyes, keeping your gaze purposefully blank. “How else am I going to heal you?” 

Heal him…? He blinks at you in shock. You mastered Reverse Curse Technique? Enough to heal others? Only Shoko was capable of that…

His fingers move hesitantly down the buttons on his shirt, shedding it and tossing it on the sink so he can wash it when you’re done. He notices that you purposefully advert your eyes from his form, frowning at the disappointment he has no right to feel. 

“This is new.” He says as carefully as he can, wanting desperately to know everything you’ve been doing since he left. 

“I had a lot of time during third year.” He notes an air of sadness in your tone. “Why do you think Satoru chose me to help you with Yuji?” 

He tries to answer but hisses in pain as you prod the wound, kneeling in front of him so you’re eye level with it, adjusting your grip 

“I figured he’s bored and wants to spice things up by torturing his “friends”.” He watches with rapt fascination as the flesh at his waist starts to stitch itself together, leaving his skin like the wound had never been present. The thing you couldn’t heal was the damage the curse had caused to his soul by trying to transfigure it.

“Seems accurate. Considering he didn’t tell me who I’d be helping.” You sigh, your brows pulling together in concentration as you direct your energy into the technique. “But he knew you’d need my skills… this and the sealing abilities.”

A silence stretches between the two of you, but you’ve never been one to be alone with your thoughts for long, even given your present company. “I thought you were done with jujutsu.” A pit forms in your stomach. He was back after everything that happened and it was like your pain was for nothing. “How long have you been back?” 

“I was… but I knew I couldn’t help people here more than in an office cubicle.” His skin jumps slightly as you pull away and adjust your grip to heal a smaller spot left the the side of the tear in his side. “About a year…” 

“A year?” And you didn’t come find me? Somewhere small and distant cries inside of you at that. “You were here during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons?” 

“I was stationed to help in Kyoto… but I didn’t see you there.” He looks away with a sigh, his skin tingling as you move to wipe the residual blood left on his skin. “I looked for you. I figured they would split you and Gojo between the two locations.” 

“I was sent to update the seals on the doors around Tengen to ensure his safety while everyone was away. And set barriers around the school entrances to him. Besides, I’m hardly his counterweight to send elsewhere. I’m only a Semi-Grade 1.” 

“You don’t need to be a Special Grade to make a difference or to save more sorcerers from dying at the hand of curses.” His jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, feeling bad as soon as he sees your eyes soften like they used to, seeing right through him. 

“You know I would have been there if I wasn’t ordered to attend Tengen…” You stand, dusting the dirt from your knees and leaning against the wall opposite of him. “Especially for the young ones.” 

It wasn’t just Nanami that had experienced a classmate dying on duty. The other two girls in your year died on missions, one in year two the other in year three. You’re sure that if you still agree on anything, it's to make sure students don't need to shoulder the burdens of the jujutsu world if it could be avoided. 

“That wasn’t fair to say to you. Seems I can’t ever say the right things around you…” 

“No it wasn’t.” You wish the fluttering in your heart would stop and leave you to die with the regrets you expected to bear until you were no more. You laugh humorously, all too familiar with the brand of pain he brings into your life. “You excel at walking all over my heart. I used to like you, ya know?” 

He stares, blinking rapidly at you as the new information slots into his mind. The shock reverberates through him. You’ve always been as outspoken and upfront as your brother… would that not have extended to you telling him before he graduated?

Once the shock abates, he’s left with a sense of longing that couldn’t be resolved. “Used to” like him. Past tense. You’d probably moved on by this point. He remembered what Satoru had confided in him when he asked Nanami to look after you. You were 26 with a long list of potential suitors from prominent families to choose from. 

Any hope that he had rekindled in seeing you again slowly starts to die. 

He was too late, and made too many mistakes. Maybe he would leave this world with regrets after all… despite coming back to jujutsu to make things right with you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The unease of seeing Ken again weighs on your heart, especially when you keep catching him looking at you like a wounded puppy days later when you decide if you’re helping out your brother, you can stay in the comfort of your own damn home. 

“Ms. Gojo, ma’am?” Yuji cocks his head as you walk across the living room to bring your stuff up to your bedroom. “Are you staying in Sensei’s safe house with us? I promise we’re not that bad to hang out with. You don’t need to look so down.” 

The comment stops you in your tracks, making you look back at where Nanami and Yuji are settled on your sectional. Nanami’s gaze is carefully averted, trying to not have his mood called out by Yuji too. 

“Yuji, you know this is my house, right?” Leave it to Satoru to try sounding cool by claiming he owns a dedicated safe house. “Satoru is borrowing it for the time being… sorry. More like commandeering it. Asshole.”

“I like this one…” A deep voice purrs as an eye and mouth appears on Yuji’s cheek before he slaps it, wincing at the pain before it moves to the back of his hand as he goads you on. “If you dislike the man, help me destroy him.”

“High praise from the King of Curses.” You deadpan, mentally rolling your eyes. “Stay cooped up in there or I’ll make sure you sleep another thousand years.”

“Such vile words from a woman’s mouth. In my day, you’d be slain so deliciously for such impertinence.” 

“Whelp.” You shrug, looking very much like your brother at that moment. “Good thing I’m allowed to have thoughts and opinions in this age.” 

You disappear up the stairs, ascending them without paying any mind to the final words flying from the demon residing in Yuji’s body. 

“Woman! I didn’t dismiss you!” Sukuna’s yells echo after you to the second level of your home and he snarls when he hears you snort at the dramatics, listening to Yuji chastise him for disrespecting you in your own home until you get far enough down the hall to not hear them anymore. 

“Wait up.” Nanami jogs up the stairs after you, trying to take your bag from your arms. “I didn’t know this was your place either… I sort of took the master bedroom.” 

“... Is Yuji in the spare room?” You hold onto your back tighter, not allowing him to carry any of the weight for you. If you had known that you wouldn’t have a room to sleep in you would have stayed at the hotel you were in. 

“He is. Listen… I don’t mind sharing with you. It’s not like we didn’t in school.” He rubs the back of his neck, knowing that there isn’t another bed in the house. “Of course, that is, if you’re comfortable. I don’t want to assume it's ok, not knowing your current situation.” 

His heart beats in a frantic rhythm in this chest. If this was your house, he didn’t notice that you lived here, let alone another man. There had been a basic set of feminine clothing in the closet and a small stock of high end body care items in the bathroom, but nothing to note a masculine presence had ever occupied the space. A tiny corner of his heart holds onto the hope that he was right all those years ago, that he would one day love you and be able to have you. 

“As long as you didn’t become a pervert in your old age.” He almost doesn’t catch the smirk twitching at the corner of your mouth and the playful gleam in your eye, he rolls his eyes with a chuckle and yanks your bag from your grasp.

“I’m only a year older than you.” He playfully flicks your nose, his eyes lighting up when you scrunch your face and swat his hand away, the echoes of who you were in school still there.

“You didn’t even deny it.” You whine and make your way into your room, seeing his neat pile of items on your spare night stand, the rumpled blankets next to the side of the bed you normally occupy, fills you with a nostalgic kind of warmth. “You better not be. I sleep naked.” 

You double over in laughter, hearing him choke on his shock before it throws him into a coughing fit, his face bright red. He’s still so easily flustered, even looking like… well… like that. 

Your cheeks flush a light shade of pink, remembering what he looks like under those blue button downs. He didn’t look like that in his third year and you wonder how he managed to maintain his physique while working in the corporate environment in Tokyo.

“Don’t worry. I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, hoping your flush can be excused on your fits of laughter.  Resolving yourself to settle in for the night, you start removing your jewelry, starting with your earring, setting them on the nightstand . “I’ll wear pajamas for you.”

Even if you didn’t want to. 

Hours later, Nanami lays awake, willing his mind to be as blank as the ceiling he’s been staring at. Eventually, he shifts, settling on his side, facing your back. Pajamas hadn’t been the mercy he thought they would be. 

His gaze trails the bare expanse of your back where your silk tank top dips, stray strands of long white hair escape the messy bun you tied before burrowing your face in the pillows. His journey is halted by the faint white scarring that stretches across your left shoulder blade, disappearing around your front. 

The lines of the scars weren’t raised or angry, indicating a reverse curse technique was used to heal them. But the fact that any mark was left at all? It either took her long enough to get to healing them, or they were serious enough that not all the damage could be erased. 

The fear that he felt in the sewer when she appeared pales in comparison to the guilt that slams into him. Had he been sitting at a desk in some high rise in the city, selfishly avoiding his fate, while you were out risking your life?

Never again. He promises himself. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“You shouldn’t go, Yuji.” Your grip tightens on where your phone is still glued to your ear, Ken waiting on the line for you to relay the emergency in front of them. 

A high school was set in the sights of the patchwork curse that almost managed to kill Nanami and Yuji’s friend was stuck within its halls. Yuji’s body shakes with the desire to run into the fray. 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Gojo…” He sprints past you, slamming open the door before he disappears, running as fast as he can to the school’s campus.

“Yuji!” You shout after him, gritting your teeth in frustration. He shouldn’t have to shoulder more burdens than he already does. 

“Y/N.” Kento murmurs over the phone, pulling you back to attention. “They lowered a barrier. We need to make sure he can’t get away and drop another one around them.”

“You’re asking me to sit on the sidelines.” You hotly argue, storming out to find your car, following Yuji regardless of what your role will be. “You can’t just push me to the side because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt!”

“No. I’d never, hun.” Your old pet name sounds strained on his tongue, a long beat of silence stretches between you before his voice cracks, filling the silence. “I just… We can’t let him get away. I need you when this is over.” 

It only comes at the cost of tying your hands. Imprisoning you beyond a barrier where you’re stuck without being able to back him up or even know if he’s alive. 

“Y-you better come back to me then.” You choke into the phone. 

“Always.” He promises and you both know that promise is a lie. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You pace the sidewalk next to your car, the barrier still in place until you were told to drop it. A trail of cold sweat drips down your spine with each minute that passes without any update on what’s happening within the barriers. 

The ringing of your phone makes you jump out of your skin and you answer it without a glance at the caller ID. 

“You can drop the barrier.” Your brother’s voice sings through the phone and it makes your stomach drop that Kento wasn’t the one to reach out to you. “The slimy bastard escaped through the sewers below the barriers.” 

“But w-what about-” You stammer, your insides twisting and catastrophizing the worst case scenario. 

“He’s fine, Y/N.” His voice is softer than he’s ever addressed you and you stammer out an excuse, that he wasn’t what you were going to ask about. “You don’t cry in the bathroom of someone’s going away party and then run out if you don’t care about them.” 

“I told you to never bring that up again.” You croak, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “I was just upset that he was leaving. It’s not that deep.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He dismisses you easily. “Thank me for forcing you on a mission together when you idiots admit your feelings for each other. Especially if Yuji’s not around to save him from the patchwork’s domain expansion next time.”

“You didn’t want to lead off with that!?” You scream into the microphone, pulling the gaze of a couple of people walking across the street. As the barrier you set dissolves, you launch yourself into the driver’s seat. “Where are they? I’ll get them.” “Ichiji is dropping Yuji off to me. They left already.” He hums. “He’ll go back for Nanami after. He’s catching Ino up so he can search for the curse in the sewers.” 

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” You growl at him, annoyed that you continue to be ignored when you could be in those underground passages, tracking and sealing him away with your talisman technique. The tires on your car squeal as you peel out of your parking space, turning the wheel to head home. 

“Rest.” Satoru says simply. “We have at least three unregistered special grade curses on the run and no clue what’s organizing them. Whatever is coming, we're going to need you with Shoko.” 

“Nursemaid. Got it.”  You can hear how he rolls his eyes before he simply hangs up on you. 

The halls of your home echo when you unlock the door, the stagnant air clinging to your skin and mocking you with what it would feel like if you didn’t share this space with Kento. 

You let your body carry you to the kitchen, your bare feet padding down the hall until you find your liquor cabinet, downing a double straight with a grimace. The glass clatters as you set it on the counter and slide it away from you. 

Your shoulders droop as you lean against the counter, letting your head hang so you can take a steadying breath. You remain that way until you hear footsteps approaching you from the front door. 

Your tired gaze meets Kento’s and a silence stretches between you as you simply take a moment to look at one another, to realize that the other is still there and that hasn’t been ripped away from you. 

“A-are you ok?” Your eyes widen as Nanami walks towards you with purpose, your feet slipping backwards until your lower back meets the granite surface of the counter. “What are you do-” 

The question dies on your lips as the distance is closed with his hips against yours, pinning you in place as both of his hands cup your cheeks. He uses the position to hold your face in place as he slams his lips to yours desperately. 

A shocked whine emanates from your throat, but you're quickly melting against him, moaning openly as you seek his lips in return, fisting his shirt so he doesn’t try to pull away. 

HIs hands slide in a path down your body, his palms finding purchase on your hips, gripping the skin there to try to get closer. You groan, wanting to feel him grind against your center instead. 

You twine your arms around him, refusing to break where the kiss has grown heated, your tongue tangling together, drunk of the taste of one another. You use the leverage to hop up to sit on the counter and you gasp into his mouth when he doesn’t miss a beat, easily gripping the back of your clothed thighs to spread them around his waist, urging them to lock at the ankles behind him, your ass perched on the edge of the flat surface. 

You imagine what his hands look like gripping your ass, kneading the soft skin there as he uses his raw strength to move your hips against the growing erection in his pants. 

“K-Ken please.” You plead breathlessly as the sloppy, wet kisses transition across your cheek, to along your jaw and down your neck. “Fuck- please-” 

“Please.” He rumbles your own command back at you before reaching to fist a hand in your hair, forcing your head back and to the side with a sharp gasp. “Use your words or I’ll have to start guessing how you’d want me to take you.” 

“Please. I n-need-” A small sob bubbles out as he immediately bites down on the juncture of your neck. “K-Ken, I need more.” 

“Shit you’re so eager…” A low growl rumbles from him as he loops his fingers in your pants, starting to pull them down your legs with your panties. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you need me.” 

“I need you.” You lean forward as soon as your pants are off to kiss him again, your hands easily locating the belt cinching his slacks up. You pull it open and pop the button before pulling the zipper just enough to slide your hand in. 

His hips buck into your hand as you wrap your fingers around his length, pumping until he’s mad with the need to be inside of you, scrambling to drop his pants to the floor so he can tug you closer to shoves his way inside of you. 

“Hun-” His fingertips dig bruises into the skin of your ass, dimpling this skin with his hold as he leans to lap at the skin at your neck, his hips still grinding into your hold around him.  “We should s-slow down. Let me t-take care of you first.” 

It took everything in him to try to pump the brakes. After 10 years of knowing you, he didn’t want to wait any longer. 

“L-Later.” You pant. “We’ll have time for that later. Just please f-fuck me.” 

“I don’t have a-” You pull him by his cock, trailing his head through your folds, shuddering as you tease your clit with it before positioning the tip at your entrance. 

“I don’t care, Ken.” You feel as if you’ll explode if you wait a moment longer. You don’t want a barrier between the two of you, the consequences of that be damned. 

He pulls you forward as he thrusts into you suddenly, making you fall back onto your elbows with a long moan, your cunt taking the brunt of the force of his cock bullying its way into your vice grip. 

“M-move-” Your body shakes, squirming on his length for any measure of friction you could find to help the burning heat spreading from your center.

“I can’t yet, baby.” He bows over, resting his forehead on your shoulder, giving the skin there a soft kiss. “Or I’ll fucking cum in you too soon.” 

Instead he takes a deep breath, reaching between you to rub your clit in steady circles, building you up to be able to cum with him. 

“Baby.” He coos in your ear, slowly starting to pull out of you before slamming home against your cervix, increasing his pace while he acclimates to your tight grip. “Your precious little cunt clamped down on me when I mentioned coming in you.” 

It does again, pulling him deeper as he groans, nearly losing himself in the process. 

“There it is.” He growls, pushing you back to lay on the counter by your neck, pinning you there with his hand around your throat. “You like the thought of me breeding you, princess? None of those jujutsu suitors good enough for this pussy?” 

“T-There aren’t any-” Your legs spread, falling wider to accommodate his thrusts as they build in intensity, his thumb rubs frantically against you, doubling its speed when he feels you clench around him, groaning at the high pitched whines that accompany it. 

He soaks you in as you cum, the flush of liquid against his hips that make the slapping of his hips against yours that much more obscene, how your eyes have gone so cloudy and trusting that you accept being prone with his hand where he could harm you, and the roundness of your mouth as your brows furrow together as you shake violently with your high. 

“K-Ken-” Your broken voice cracks as his thrust overstimulates you. “G-God I need your cum inside of me. Pl-please daddy-” 

The pet name has his eyes rolling back, his cock twitching inside of you before it explodes against your womb in spurts of cum that continue until you’re leaking it onto  the floor below you. 

“Shit.” He curses, a small panic in his eyes as he comes down from his high. “I.. I’m sorry. I wanted to be slow the first time… So you know how much I loved you.” 

His confession thunders through your chest, sending a truly genuine smile to grace your lips. 

“You love me?” You inquire as the room still spins in circles, making sure he said what you thought. 

“I do.” He smirks, leaning in for a slow, loving kiss. “From the day I met you until we’re parted.”

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210 @rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuji #jjk x you #nanami kento #kentosot original #nanami smut #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #kento #kento nanami #jujutsu nanami #gojos sister #gojo satoru #yuji itadori #yu jimin #ryomen sukuna #sukuna jjk

[simiansmoke]

Slow Burn- DKxMario - 🐒🔧

There were plenty of activities DK enjoyed publicly: racing, bench pressing coconut trees, doing that armpit fart thing around Dad, and kicking Mario's ass. As boisterously insufferable the Kong was at times, he occasionally needed some decompression. Mostly to recharge his insufferable battery points.

Having broken through a thick layer of jungle after he had traversed out of Kong city, DK squinted at the sun in the clearing as it greeted him on his way out of the dark cover of tropical foliage. The sight that awaited him made him grin, and after flattening himself low to the ground, he tore across the field of yellow, red, and orange petals all thrumming with their internal heat.

All of the fire-flowers he disturbed lost their flames like dandelion seeds and proceeded to float away, save for the wisps DK landed on when he stopped abruptly to fall over in a pile of the warm plants. Once the wave of their floating flames passed by, he was left sunken into the remaining stems and flameless petals with a fur coat colored more cherry-mahogany than chestnut, and the tips of his fur tinged snow white.

From up on a brick sky block that sat minding its own business defying gravity, Mario had also been at ease with winding down from a day of platforming practice with the princess. Imagine his surprise when he saw the lovely plot of fire-flowers spread almost as far as the eye could see from the aerial training ground in the tropics.

Hearing the commotion below of plants being demolished like a dog loose in a garden with a bone to bury, Mario rolled over on his sunbathing perch and lowered his sunglasses to observe the scene below. Just DK being unwittingly destructive as usual. Understandable.

Once the Kong had come to a stop to lay in the field, Mario couldn't help but snort at the sight of the big guy (big HEADED mostly) co-existing somewhat peacefully with petals of all things. "You ah...come here often?" The casual remark came with a casual wave.

DK had since closed his eyes to zone out for a bit and get comfy. Too bad he kept hearing something that sounded like an Italian menace. "Sheesh, I feel bad for whatever poor, stupid animal out there that has a voice like Mario's-"

"Hey, now. That'sa fuckin' rude. You know I'm up here, right?"

A sigh escaped DK as he painstakingly opened an eye to scan the sky for Mario's block. "Wish I didn't. I'm trying to chill, dude. And you're the last person that's gonna do that for me."

"...you're in a field of literal fire flowers, DK. I doubt there's any chill down there."

"No, no there's not. Because I have zero chill for you, and you're inconveniently here so - thanks for that."

Eyes rolling, Mario lifted a hand as if to figure out the weight of the simian's unspoken request. "...you want me to leave...?"

"Nah." Positioning his arms behind his head as a cushion, DK took to examining the various platform objects in the sky like a cloud-watcher might. "Stay up there where I don't have to see you."

The glove was the last thing DK would see of the menace for a while, and it was wrapped into a fist with the middle finger extended. A silent remark.

DK chuckled at the sight before settling in for his nap.

Once he had rested his eyes enough to not be in such a pissy mood, DK lurched up after discovering a trail of saliva hanging off his chin that was threatening a trembling fire-flower. With a stretch and a back arch and a shake, he looked up to see if there were any signs of Mario still being up there. "Hey, Mushroom Breath! You still up there?" When no response came, DK cracked his knuckles. "Huhuhu...guess you don't mind if I cheeeeck."

And with that, he fired several beams of fire towards the block above him, heating the bottom of it until it glowed red.

"Mmmhm...whatsa smellin' so good? Mama's cookin'..." Mario mumbled, still blissfully napping. That was until the block started cooking him a little. Once he noticed that unfortunate fact, he was still halfway asleep and twisting around to try and find a nice cold spot on his bed of choice. By the time he woke up, released an Italian-tinted yelp and rolled himself off the block, Mario saw the ground just moments before he hit it-...

...well, his hat hit it. Wide eyed, he spun slowly to observe the upside-down world he woke up to. Yeah, it definitely was not like that before he had nodded off.

"Gettin' too much sun up there, dude? You're lookin' cooked." DK grinned, holding Mario by the foot and dangling him over the ground from a catch well-made. "Wanna cool off? I know this place in town. Serves some decent banana beer." Mostly, he just wanted one himself. He also wouldn't have hated it if Mario came along and got into a barfight for him to watch, so...there was that.

"...suuure? Wait a minute, did you just-"

"Alrightlet'sgo!" He didn't give Mario enough time to put two and two together about the plumber's mysterious tumble.

It didn't take long to arrive at the tiki-style shack; DK didn't want the journey through the monster filled jungle to take long, so he opted to sling a still dazed Mario over his back so he could gallop with all his frontal strength. Doing so also made a fun game of trying to knock Mario off and threatening him with a "if you fall off, I'm not coming back to get you!"

"Whatsa this place?" Mario wondered, glad to have his feet back on the ground (well, wooden planks) after that still half-asleep rodeo. The shack had a sign attached to its reeds with the word Mangoes Go Home painted on it. The g was backwards though.

DK wasted no time in barging in past the beads hanging on strings in the doorway, but he emerged a second later with the aquamarine nodules resting on his shoulders and spilling around him, an inquisitive smile on his face. "You comin'?"

They found their way inside the dimly-lit shack. Ocean-colored lights lit the space and gave it an underwater feel. Now this was a place one could "chill".

Mario followed closely behind DK, not sure where they were headed until the Kong chose a seat at the bar on the far end. There was actually already a glass of piss colored foam on the table in front of DK. Must have been a regular...regular and royally treated.

"One more down here!" DK waved to the bartender, a Kong with too many tattoos of eels on his calves. When the glass slid down, Mario reached out with a fumble to stop it from smashing against the wall, but DK's large goalie of a hand made it come to a stop and he nudged it forward with a snort at his company's lack of finesse when it came to grabbing fresh pours.

"Careful now. You're still all out of sorts from all that sun exposure." DK teased, eagerly knocking back the drink in front of him. Banana beer was just that...wheaty and sweet, and the perfect ending to a day spent slouching any responsibilities.

Mario observed the Kong with a hint of distaste and curiosity, he turned his attention to the perspiring glass in his glove. It wasn't...an ugly tint? Well, the lighting around the bar helped out too. Made it seem like he was sipping the bluest of sea water. Foam soaked the plumber's mustache as he sighed. "...ok. I think I need to come here instead of the mushroom juice bar with Toad." Sorry, Toad. No hard feelings.

"Hah! They suckered you into going there? I'd feel sorry for you, but uh..." DK mused while dipping his tongue in and out of his drink, partaking slowly.

"Yeahyeah. You love when I'm suffering. Tell me something I don't already know."

"OK, well...you're a loser, for one thing..."

Twilight shifted to night time as the two mused back and forth, enjoying one cold banana beer after the other.

As the night progressed (as well as the pints), the stiff conversations between them more than 'just relaxed'. Let's just define 'relaxed' as melt into a pile of goo and then mix together in a incoherent manner. There's a word for that. It's "messy".

"Oh MAN." DK sniggered while swaying a little too far from his seat into Mario's, threatening to knock the pint-sized plumber off his perch mid-sip.

"Ah-aha, whatsa mattuh with you?" With a new fresh stain of banana beer on his collar from the sudden slam of his unusual drinking buddy's flank, Mario decided he had enough liquid courage to butt the simian back in his place even though the bar had mostly emptied and it wasn't like he couldn't have just moved over to the empty seat beside him.

"No like...for REAL." There were words to this admission, but DK seemed to love taking his time finding them at the pace of a snail. At "real", he slammed his hand down on the stretch of table between them and almost caused the stain on Mario's collar to become a drenched shirt. "REAL-LY, REAL-LY, REAL talk, bro." Ignoring how the plumber busied himself with positioning his glass away from the table antics, DK leaned in with a brightness to his gaze that beguiled his current intent to make a mess. "You. Piss me off...SO BAD." Without a hint of venom thanks to the flavor of wheat and banana hops, DK's words linger briefly before he leans over to dip his tongue into Mario's drink.

"Hey-hey-hey!" Once the pink appendage penetrated the fresh beer foam, Mario jerked slightly and half-heartedly swatted the behemoth back with his gloves meeting Kong snout. "That'sa MY foam." With a slurred grumble, Mario slides his companion the side-eye around his flushed cheeks. Beer sweats and a tropical climate...what a combination. "If you don'ta cut that out, I'll remember when you'ah thirsty and send you to dip that into the latrine."

"Aww, you're no ffffun." DK laughed, elbowing Mario's shoulder...or at least what he thought was his shoulder because Kong were a lot taller than Mario was. Instead the shoulder struck the plumber's hat and knocked it off somewhere. "Oh man, though...my FACE."

"Yeaha we know. It'sa ugly." There's foam in his mustache after he finishes a swig. The banana beer... it's pretty good like DK said.

"-nooo...Prick." The Kong cackles, finding some humor in the burn despite also wanting to slap Mario off his chair at the same time, DK spins slightly in his and reaches up to press his knuckles against his own cheek. "My face is so HOT. Yes, literally and figuratively."

Mario glanced over to inspect the Kong's cheeks as they circled by. Indeed, they were fairly red. Almost as red as his get-up. "...congratulations?"

"For REAL..." DK stopped suddenly mid-spin to lean in uncomfortably close to the plumber's face and tilt his head to bare his cheek. "Feel."

"Uhm." With a hair of curiosity buried somewhere in his mustache, Mario entertained his company by placing a hand on the soft peach fuzz that made up the lawn of DK's cheek.

"Huhuhu, you're so stupid, dude." Fingers curled around the plumber's wrist, guiding it up to both their gazes. "You're wearing gloves, idiot." Apparently that was the funniest thing since K. Rool got hit by a go kart, because the Kong has to catch his breath between snorts. "Here." Trying again, DK squeezes the wrist he'd seized and leans in again to press the heat of his face against Mario's. Cheek to cheek, he butts his head forward to roll around and singe all sides of his company's face.

"DK--ah!" With the Kong's softer portion of face fussing over his, Mario wondered if the heat being shared with him had gotten a little warmer than when it had arrived.

"Oh yeah, if you think that's hot..." He grinned crookedly, scratching the hair of his eyebrow against Mario's for a moment. "I had the fireflower salad and now I can't feel my mouth." As if to demenstrate the fact, DK rolls his face forward again to maybe singe Mario on the nose with his lips. Instead, they lock with his bar buddy's mouth and smolder for a quiet moment.

Blue eyes widened and Mario reached up to slap a gloved hand onto the side of the Kong's other cheek to try and shove some space between those actually very spicy lips and his. "Bu-..urns!"

That was all DK need to start playing a game of keeping his jalapeno seed flavored lips in the vicinity of Mario's. The fight began.

With a powerful dash and shove, Mario had slammed the Kong back off of their seating and into a nearby wall decorated with banana peels (courtesy of the Kong owned establishment). "Mm-mmh!" He protested, fingers curling into the wrists of his opponent that also grappled him.

In turn, DK shoved back with a lot more momentum, keeping their lips raging together, he slammed Mario up onto the bar, knocking several bottles of jungle flower liquor helter skelter and smashed to pieces on the floor. Feeling the wet hair of Mario's beer drenched mustache, DK lazily licks to claim his share and doesn't mind when his tongue breeches the Italian-laced parting between Mario's lips, sliding along his front teeth once.

At this point the Kong's lips had begun to cool, but it didn't quite stop Mario from slashing at DK's cheeks as he had with his cat claws. Declawed, his batts went unnoticed as DK broke briefly for air and hovered over his rival's face, a small section of spittle nested in the corner of his mouth like the mirror image of one of his exposed canines. "Hah...had enough?"

It was the smug, half-inebriated taunt that convinced Mario it was much better to deny DK the satisfaction of defeating him in some way. Though defeat might have been a wiser option, given the random assortment of ethanol seeping into his shirt and DK still rocking the cherry-mahogany coat of a fire Kong. "-aha...you callin' that a'spicy?" Maybe the drinks Mario had already partaken in were a balm against insufferability, because he settled in the vapors rising around him in favor of grabbing hold of the red tie dangling above him. Spilled liquor perfumed the humid air with hints of coconut flower and deep grove vine nectar. Heady, Mario yanked the big lug's head closer and patronizingly patted his cheek. "...like a bell pepper." And as if to prove his assessment of the heat spectrum, he presented the Kong's mouth with a petty peck.

The glint of 'oh yea?' was still distinguishable in DK's half glassy gaze, but he was sure that point came across wordlessly anyway when he stubbornly rocked back into the princess-peck with the power and the gaul of an ocean wave eager to dunk a show-off in front of his girl.

Bell pepper, huh? Clearly hadn't given him the full taste of fire Kong. When he felt his tie tug him further forward, DK found little elsewhere to go. Even shoving one of Mario's legs hanging off the bar so that he could settle in with his midriff against the counter-top didn't seem like the distance demanded by the tightening noose. When he thought he might have found more room, his tongue grazed teeth again. So, he did what only a smash monkey could do and with a great hand twisted into the front of his company's shirt, quickly lifted Mario about maybe an inch or two off the table before slamming him back down.

"Pah!?" The protest is met the same thievous tongue that had stolen Mario's beer foam.

Sure that he would impart some real heat to Mario's poor tastebuds, DK enjoyed torturing the warm pocket. His larger canines clacked against Mario's with each roll of his head. A swarm of jungle hornets buzzed around in his chest and grew more and more agitated when Mario found some hair on his head to curl his fingers around and show off a grip strength that could end in a bald spot with any sudden moves.

A sound from within the pinned plumber vibrates along and passes into DK's lips. It's the soft vibration that convinced DK the spice on his lips had finally worn off, and with that realization, he retracted his tongue, but not after answering the unintelligible sound with one of his own to the back of Mario's throat.

A few deep breaths seemed to bring the Kong back to a slightly sobering setting. "I-...uh." Now faced with a newly reddened one that might need another cooling off battle, DK only stumbled back when Mario reached out to lay his glove flat against the simian's pulse. "J-just..." Noting the ravaged scene of broken bottles and overturned chairs, DK glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was actually around before he galloped for the door. "Tell them it's on my tab! All the fucked up shit too!"

Sitting up slowly, Mario watched as DK clambered out into the night, his lips pulsing with the spice of whatever spicy ass food the Kong had used as lip balm. "Mama mia."

#PG - 13 #//ur welcome degenerates #//i wrote my veryfirst fanfic and its marioxdk yIKES #mariokong #donkey kong #mario #monkey wrench #kongario #super marios bros #super mario bros movie #super mario movie #mario movie #mario x dk #dk x mario

[basilf1res]

DPxDC

The Adventures of Dash Baxter, the Kryptonian - Part 2

(I’m working on the name I promise- I just need ideas lol)

<- Previous (Part 1 + original prompt)

Uh- please read part one for the beginning and some context I guess, it’s not too long in my opinion. ;)

Summary:

The entirety of Casper High’s Sophomores are on a field trip to Metropolis, how fun! Some self discovery happens, Wes gets arrested, Dash has a mental breakdown over finding out he’s not human, Kwan has feelings, Danny is here for it, and Mikey is kinda just there for the plot. Not exactly in that order.

——————————

The feeling of cloud-like pillows and thick comforters under his chest and face was heaven. Dash's only response to being nudged was a groan of annoyance.

Thank the Ancients the walls appeared to be soundproof.

"Dash, get up please, you need to change... and shower preferably..." Wes muttered the last bit under his breath but Dash heard it anyways.

He decided to comply, perhaps the shower would be just what he needed.

Rolling off the bed and scowling up at Wes and Mikey from the floor, Dash huffed out a sigh before snapping his fingers and pointing towards his bag full of clothes. Mikey frowned before walking over to it, picking it up with both hands by the straps, and threw it at Dash's head.

He barely managed to move in time, scrambling up off the floor and watching the heavy thing crash where his perfectly sculpted face previously was.

Wes just looked at him, tsking and turned around with his amusement only somewhat hidden.

He'd pay for that later. Dash would shove him into a cabinet, drawer, or something. He grabbed the bag anyways.

Kwan exited the bathroom in a large dark grey Dumpty Humpty shirt and very fluffy-looking pajama pants, the pants had a pattern of sleeping bulldogs with different colored heart-shaped sunglasses on. His hair was only a little damp, slightly covering his emerald colored eyes.

Dash shook his head to clear it after realizing he'd been staring for a moment too long. He strode past his best friend, expecting to catch the scent of semi-expensive hotel soap that was always in those annoyingly tiny bottles, but instead it was Kwan's regular shampoo and conditioner. Guess he wasn't the only one who brought his own for the three week trip.

Stepping into the bathroom, he noticed the mirror had bits of condensation around the edges, the steam was swirling around the bathroom fan and seeping out into the living room area.

He quickly closed the door and placed the bag on the floor, blocking access to the cabinet under the sink. A new fancy white towel was placed on the toilet seat along with Kwan's shampoo and conditioner.

The corners of his mouth quirked up as he reached out and his knuckles brushed the bottles, his friend probably left them on purpose in case he forgot his own. Dash didn't forget, but Kwan's thoughtfulness was appreciated and made his chest feel all warm and fuzzy with appreciation. So what if the field trip went from pain in the ass to bearable in three seconds, Kwan was the nicest jock out of them all and he hated being described as a ‘jock’. The guy always felt bad about relentlessly bullying Fenton a year ago and he could never hurt a fly.

With a hum, Dash turned on the shower and made sure the water wasn't burning to the touch.

It didn't take long to properly shower, the water had felt nice as it washed away fifteen plus hours on a bus, on a bus with all the sophomores in Casper High.

Dash realized after a few minutes of drying his hair to make sure it didn't make his pillow damp, that the noise of the city was muted, almost completely gone even. He could hardly hear the whispering of Wes going conspiracy theorist on Mikey and Kwan.

In fact, Dash could only hear their heartbeats if he listened closely, but even that was dulled.

Huh.

Dash prayed to the Ancients this was a one-time thing. He might have a breakdown if it wasn't.

He put the used towel in the hamper and turned to the sink to brush his hair out quickly. After putting the comb back in his bag he fished out a toothbrush and toothpaste along with floss and mouthwash.

Dash ran his fingers through his hair one more time to make sure it was as dry as he could make it, before finishing his nightly routine and putting his stuff away. He grabbed Kwan's soaps along with his bag and grabbed the doorknob, however, the metal creaked and his hand formed a slight finger-shaped dent in the shiny gold-colored material.

Dash grimaced, he didn't need to give Wes something else to hyperfixate on. He witnessed what happened the last time, and he felt bad for the poor freshman who was indeed a furry, but certainly not a werewolf.

He turned the knob with delicacy, making sure not to apply too much pressure. He walked out, barely suppressing a yawn. Kwan look up at him from the lower twin bunk bed near the windows, the exhaustion causing his eyelids to droop.

Wes was setting up a cork board riddled with pins, sticky notes, and photos. Where he managed to keep (read: hide) the thing on the bus ride stumped Dash.

Mikey looking at Wes as if he’d grown a second head, slack jawed and glancing back and forth between the three other teens in the room.

Weston shifted slightly, lifting his head a little higher and sneering when he took notice of the blonde.

Dash scoffed lightly and turned to walk towards his best friend. He tossed the bottles to him with a nod and a curve to his lips.

“You taking the bottom?” Dash couldn’t keep the yawn down this time, lifting his arms over his head to stretch while he walked away to turn the lights off, save the lamp on Wes’s nightstand.

“Yup.” Kwan said, popping the ‘p’.

“You wanna switch halfway through or nah?” The blonde questioned, flicking the switch by the entrance and checking the lock on the door.

Kwan hummed, “I’m alright, I don’t like sleeping high off the ground.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a trait Dash swore up and down he learned from the youngest Fenton.

He nodded, and as he walked by Wes he smacked him on the back. Wes hissed in surprise, a couple of pins falling on the floor as they spilled from the box.

“Go to sleep Weston.” Dash grunted, sleep pulling at his achy limbs and sore joints.

“Yeah yeah I will you blonde bastard.” Wes hissed under his breath.

“Language.” Dash didn’t turn back as he spoke.

“English.” Wes snapped - causing Dash to throw a nasty look over his shoulder -, his lip curling before his head tilted a tad and his eyes took on an odd glint.

He didn’t have time to process it as he turned around and hoisted himself up onto the top bunk while murmuring a quiet ‘good night’ to Kwan.

Dash lowered himself onto the bed, placing his head on the pillow with a sigh of contentment.

It wasn’t long until the last light in the room turned off, Mikey’s soft snoring filling the air in minutes. Dash shifted on top of the covers, positioning himself to look out the window. The hotel was placed on the outskirts of the city, most likely to avoid the bullshit that Superman had to protect Metropolis from.

He let his thoughts drift, his mind jumping from one topic to the next. Dash fiddled with the silk - he thinks it’s silk - sheets as he stared out through the thick glass and found himself transfixed with the city itself, sure Amity Park was pretty, but the Fenton’s monstrous compendium of anti-ghost weaponry tended to light up the sky with green every time their local hero set it off. And don’t get anyone started on the amount OSHA violations the so-called OP’s center ha-

A creak of springs from one of the mattresses snapped him out of his little adventure. There was a pitter-patter of feet on the marble tile floor before the semi-silent steps on the carpet. It wasn’t Kwan, he could hear the whistle of air rushing between his teeth when he exhaled. It wasn’t Mikey, he was still snoring.

Dash concluded it had to be Wes, frowning, he turned over only to spot the conspiracy theorist with his camera. Wes was standing on the ladder, the lens barely two feet from his face as he heard the tale tell click of the shutter.

“Go away Wes.” He whispered harshly.

The redhead was suspiciously quiet, but he lowered the camera regardless. Dash scowled when he made no move to get down.

“I’d recommend you climb down yourself before I push you off.” Dash growled with little heat behind it.

Wes opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the action a few more times before managing to utter a few words.

“I… don’t like this.” Wes’s gaze was fixed on the window and the space beyond.

“I don’t think any of us do. I’d rather be stuck with Fenton and the tech nerd than you.” Dash whispered, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his kneecaps.

“Well yeah… but…” Wes started. “Ugh, never mind.”

The teen hopped off the ladder, glancing one more time at Dash, before looking over his camera to make sure it wasn’t damaged in any way. Dash flopped back down, taking the time to pull the sheets over his body this time. He heard Wes place the camera on the nightstand, step into bed, and eventually pass out.

It didn’t take long after that for Dash to fall into a dreamless slumber.

…

…

knock knock knock

…

KnoCK KNocK

.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The voice was muffled but unmistakably Ms. Tetslaff.

“Get yer butts outta bed!! We’re leaving for the Art Museum tour in forty five!”

Dash could hear the shuffling of students mingling in the hallway.

Kwan stretched, joints popping as he hopped out of bed with more vigor than someone should have at seven in the morning.

Oh boy. This should be fun. For once, he agreed with Wes’s bemoaning.

———————————

Wooosshhh. Done! I’m happy with how this is going so far, next up: Art Museum but then ✨crime✨

Hopefully I’ll be able to make time to write this week, and Happy Valentines Day! And to all, a good night!

Wait that’s not how the saying goes…

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp fanfiction #fic #fic update #danny phantom #dp #dc #dash baxter #kwan #wes weston #mikey #paulina sanchez #star #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #mr lancer #mr. lancer #ms tetslaff #metropolis #lex luthor is acting sus #Danny will get his time to shine eventually!! #i promise #please give me name ideas for this fic #I kinda wanna name it after song lyrics? #but I’m not sure #i’ll take anything

[danthepillerman]

im bored and since im bored ima write some stupid shit involving..you guessed it (probably not stfu) Suguru Geto and his boyfriend Satoru Gojo!!! wooo (kms) this is like collage au ig? idfk dont question me

“AHEM” suguru cleared his throat glaring at a certain white haired blue eyed man who was sneaking around his room. Gojo looked behind his shoulder, his cheeks stuffed with some of sugurus sour gummy worms. with a sigh he pinches the bridge of his nose “my god satoru, youre like a child” suguru himself is trying his hardest not to laugh at his best friend. satoru swallows the gummy worms and laughs “cheer up man, ill buy you some when we head out” they planned to go to a park. suguru just nods and puts a sweater on.

after suguru gets ready he signals to satoru it was time to go. as they walked satoru talked about anything and everything on his mind, the weather, grass, how he feels about fuzzy textured blanket (spoiler he hates them). the whole time suguru listened, laughing and making some comments of his own. thats just how they were. one talked the other listened and they were both okay with that fact. “it feels weird on my skin! maybe i just have sensitive skin, honestly i dont care its WEIRD!!” satoru says frantically as suguru laughs “its not that seri-“ “YES IT IS!! nerds like you wouldnt understand” satoru said trying to sound like an edgy emo kid that tells people they wouldnt understand. suguru chuckles and takes a bite of his sour gummy worms.

“you know, there are blankets that are soft and not fuzzy?” the black hair boy says to his friend. satoru sighs “yeah i know, but buying a whole new blanket when i already have one is pointless.” suguru nods with his friends good point. they make their way to the swingings, the sun still bright is the sky. satoru immediately tries to get as high as possible while suguru watches swinging the slightest bit. “youre gonna get sick” he says as satoru gets higher and higher “SHUT UP!” he shouts back. suguru sighs and watches as his best friend attempts a 360. it was an interesting thing to watch, but obviously he fails and ends up jumping off and landing in the sand laughing, suguru just watching with a gentle smile

after satoru jumped a family looked over at him a little concerned and walked away with their kids quickly “dude the people here are gonna think youre crazy” suguru states now laughing a little “nuhuh” satoru sits up and shakes the sand out his white hair then grabs his sunglasses, blowing some sand off that.

satoru and suguru lay on top of the actual play area, the roof sheltering the slides and what not. two 6 foot something dudes on top of a play ground is slightly frightening to some children. as they lay there looking up at the now pink ish sky satoru speaks up “what if you were a cloud” he was kinda just spit balling “a cloud?” suguru questions a bit confused. satoru however nods “yeah, like if you were a cloud and you could pick your shape what would you pick?” it takes suguru a second but he closes his eyes and with a sigh he responds “your mom” “fuck youuu” they both laugh. “okay but if i could pick a shape id probably pick something simple like a duck” he says to the white haired boy. satoru nods with a hum

the sun sets and the sky darkens slowly, the dim light of the moon and street lamps brighten up the park. suguru looks at his best friend then back at the stars. “im cold” satoru blurts out of no where, suguru looks at him and asks him “wanna head back?” satoru nods with a slight yawn. they jump down and land in the sand, walking out the play ground and to the side walk. satoru looks over at his friend and put his arm around his shoulder “dont be scared pookie bear, daddies here” suguru turns to satoru a bit mortified by his last statement and they both burst out laughing.

“why cant i be daddy?” suguru says, he immediately regrets it though “you want me to call you daddy? you got sum to tell me mister man bun?” suguru rolls his eyes and shoves satoru away all the while hes laughings. they continue their walk and satoru is talking about his fear of women. maybe he really was gay..was shoko right? who knew.

they get back to campus and made their way to the apartment complex right behind it. they shared an apartment two bedroom and one bathroom, real nice. before entering the take off their shoes and shake em on the grass to get out any sand. they go inside and immediately satorus dramatic ass falls onto the couch with a loud sigh “ass up” suguru says playfully and they both laugh “see im telling you dude you MIGHT just have a daddy kink!” satoru retorts. with an eye roll suguru throws a small baggy to satoru “happy valentines day or whatever day today is” and with that suguru went into his room, his face pink.

satoru raised a brow and looked at the small baggy inside was two things, an obsidian bracelet to match with sugurus moon stone bracelet, and a note.

‘hey so you know how some friends go one dates for valentines day cause theyre both lonely or whatever. would you be down to do that with me? -geto’

#jjk #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu suguru #black and white #valentines day #gay men

[superblysubpar]

It Wasn't True 👀 - probably not Pastel

Ask Me About My WIPs

I see you @pastel-pillows , and I love talking about WIPs, so I'm down 💛

*sigh* I started this LAST December. Here's the banner and the first bit, cause again, the vibes just ain't vibing - this one is all about a kingish version of steve, you have some of your own demons, and both of you just wanna get out of Hawkins.

summary: It started with a can of Coke, the hood of a red BMW, and a kiss that shouldn't have happened.

the tune: cruel summer by taylor swift

How could you know the boy in the fancy house on Cornwallis was putting on a show? That he was more empty than that big house - a charade, a character, and maybe just a little worth a second thought. How could he know the girl who lived down the street wasn't satisfied with her life in Hawkins, or Indiana for that matter. 

Lilac dappled across the soft blue sky, a crescent moon peeking out already behind white puffs of clouds, like they were hand painted and then ripped apart by streaks of sherbert orange. It's beautifully reflected in the glass panes of the doors to the Fair Mart, and on any other night perhaps you would take a minute to appreciate it.

Tonight though, your fingers shake as they push open the door, and the beautiful and fleeting sunset disappears and ads for junk food fill your vision in its place. Senses immediately tune into a rumble of the oscillating fan in the corner, a flicker of a fluorescent light overhead, the squeak of your converse against tile, and the pop of pink double bubble in your peripheral.

The bored teenager flicks through her magazine and snaps her gum, droning on without looking up, "Welcome to the Fair Mart. Coke is on sale. Go nuts."

Wandering the aisles, you wonder if tonight is finally the night. The one in which you grab a map, some shitty snacks, a pair of cheap sunglasses and just drive until Hawkins is not even a blip in the map of your life.

Queen plays overhead as you pull your sweatshirt sleeve down over your palms, thundering drums and wailing guitars do nothing to ease rattled nerves as you pause in front of the cooler doors. They hum loudly, like they're working overtime, begging you to please buy the icy cold drinks they've worked tirelessly to keep fresh for you.

Something about the colors of the cans hypnotize you, the reds fade into the blues and the blues into the greens until you realize your vision is growing blurry from tears. Quick to wipe at your lash line as the bell over the door alerts you that you're no longer the only customer.

"Welcome to the Fair - Jesus Christ! Steve, what the hell-"

"I'm fine. It's fine."

Turning to see the boy quickly turn down the candy aisle, a hand yanking a bag of gummy worms, fingers finding a bottle of painkillers without looking. His Nike's squeak to a stop as he rounds the corner and sees you.

Steve Harrington does not look like the kid from school you've heard all the stories about. He's not carrying himself like the boy who's driveway fills with cars and pool with hot girls that you watch from the down the street in a dark and empty house. 

Nose swollen, jaw scraped open and purples and blues swirling around his eye so dark you understand why it's called a black eye now. His tongue sticks out and prods at a cut in the corner of his lips. His eyebrows bunch, loose strands of hair falling over a furrowed forehead as he mumbles, "Wanna take a picture or something?"

Staring, you're staring. "So-sorry," you squeak out and grab a can of something and rush to the counter. Pausing to let your fingers trail over the maps, one for New York catching on your thumb.

Someone clears their throat and you grab the map on impulse, shoving the can of soda and it on the counter. Utterly aware of Steve's towering presence behind you, you try to focus on blondie, who snaps her gum as she rings up your purchases and sighs, "Sure you don't want a second one?" Holding up the can of coke, annoyed by your presence. 

"Oh, uh, I-"

"Here," Steve holds up his own can of coke down and his other two items, throwing a crumpled bill that is way too much money for all of it on the counter. He turns on his heel and stalks out, the slap of the open sign against the glass makes you jump. He sits on the trunk of his car as you watch him with blinking eyes through the glass, the sign swaying back and forth obscuring him partially. 

The clerk snaps her gum again and scoffs, "Good luck with that."

Frowning at her, you grab your items, "Excuse me?"

She looks at Steve, then you again, smirking before blowing another bubble and popping it. 

"Your trip," nodding to the map.

#taylor's asks 💋 #wip game #pastel 💞 #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you

[saviorofdandysuits]

Catch You When You Fall

Photo by Jonathan Meyer on Unsplash

Rated: G - WC: 2569 - CW: Injury, burns, angst (oh, hello Crowley) -

Crowley slid into the Bentley’s spot across the street from A’s bookshop and cut the engine.  Cold spring rain hammered the roof and heavy, sharp drops teased the sound of rain on a canopy.

Or a wing.

A cream-clad figure bustled about inside the shop, dusting shelves and volumes with an ancient feathery floof. The Bentley’s windows fogged as Crowley watched the figure work from one end of the shop to the other, a pleased little smile turning up round, soft cheeks.

After a while, the angel moved closer to the window, a steaming mug in one hand and a thick, worn tome hugged close with the other. Then, settled at the big cluttered desk, all but the very top of the angel’s head disappeared, bobbing gently to the strains of some music from the old record player.

If it weren’t for the dark locks peeking out beneath the brim of Muriel’s hat, Crowley could almost convince himself the flash of platinum was really A.

A shop door to his right opened and Nina waved to him, her voice muffled and garbled by the rain. Ducking his head, Crowley pushed his sunglasses up closer to his face and gunned the engine to life. Crowley’s low growl matched the Bentley’s. He was a block past the traffic signal before he looked up again, Nina’s shrinking figure framed in the rear view mirror.

Crowley didn’t return to Whickber Street until the last lingering leaves hung wet and heavy with frosty rain. The sun had already set, long shadows on the street barely held back by the thin streetlamps. As he’d planned—hoped, schemed, if he were to be honest about it—most shops had already closed, Nina’s and Maggie’s in particular. Windows and doors shuttered, the block was quiet, empty. Dead.

All but A’s shop, at least. A. Fell & Co’s stood on the corner like a beacon. Bright, golden light spilled out beneath the half-drawn window shades, a soft lilt of strings permeated the muted streets. 

Crowley parked the Bentley around the other corner from the shop. Even with the shades mostly down, Crowley could still make out Muriel’s shoes as they passed close to windows. Their pace quickened into little skips as they passed what must’ve been near black squares from their perspective.

He stayed longer this time, waiting for Muriel to turn off the downstairs lamps and head up to one of the tiny rooms upstairs. He was interrupted again, though, this time by both Nina and Maggie slipping out from the pub, fingers intertwined. Maggie caught his eye as she held the door for Nina. She’d just opened her mouth and begun to step toward the car when Crowley shook his head and took off, driving north down the south-only street.

Crowley didn’t slow until he’d gotten out past the lights and noise and smell of London. He’d run out of petrol twice, miracling his way back up from the forlorn ‘E’ on the gauge each time. Eventually, the freezing rain eased, wipers squeaking against the dry windshield. Sucking his teeth, he yanked on the stick to stop them and lowered the windows.

The scent of sod and pine filled his lungs and after a few more miles, he reached the literal end of the road. Again, he cut the engine and lifted his glasses to stare out into the sky. The clouds had disappeared with the rain but even with the horizons cleared and miles from the nearest city, Crowley’s eyes could just barely make out the brightest of his stars and even those dimmed the longer he gazed up, seeking out his old favorites.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

One star, though, grew… brighter. And larger. Stupid, dumb hope bubbled in his chest and his hand shook as he pushed open the door and stood, watching a falling… something draw closer, washing out the rest of the sky in a bright white light. Nearer and nearer it came and Crowley began to pick out the edges of whatever bit of rock had jarred loose from the heavens and gotten caught in their little planet’s gravity.

It was irregularly shaped, not a solid, roundish mass like one would expect from a proper meteorite. Instead, it was oblong and jutted out at sharp angles, almost…

Almost like limbs.

The flaming object veered away from him just as it approached the treeline, smashing down into the woods ahead. Boughs snapped and crackled with the impact and smoke rose up from the forest a few hundred yards away. Crowley chased the light, half-running, half-miracled between the trees.

Bright white faded to yellow, then orange, and finally a faded red as Crowley crashed through the branches. Prickly leaves tugged at his hair and his jacket, snatching up glasses and his scarf. He left them behind and stumbled at the edge of a deep pit, surrounding tree trunks blackened with bits of fire licking at the underbrush.

The ground was too sodden to fully catch so the impact left a near-perfect black circle in the woods, tall evergreens standing guard a respectful fifty feet back from the point of impact. At the center of the circle lay a lump, smoke and ash picked up by the cold breeze and swirling around it. 

He stared for an impossibly long time, steam and smoke pouring up front the ground. Surely whatever had once been at the center was nothing more than a cinder.

But then the lump moved.

Crowley didn’t think. He just ran. He raced down the slope, skidding and tripping over the charred remains of felled trees. He stopped at the center and reached for the crumpled form at the center of the crater. “Aziraphale?” he asked. The catch in his voice had nothing to do with the burns the figure’s ember-hot body left on his fingertips.

The figure didn’t rise, but its eyes cracked open, revealing a pale, clear blue the color of the summer sky. Its burnt lips flaked, moving ineffectually around a raspy breath, a hissed, “Cro—” breaking through.

“Don’t try to speak, Angel.” Tears finally spilled down his cheeks. They evaporated before they could slide past his jaw. “I’ve got you,” he promised, tucking both arms beneath the hot ash settling around Angel’s body. Probably all that was left of his gleaming vestments.

A whimpered in his arms, wings hanging limp and burnt skin crackling beneath his touch. I know, I know,” he whispered, pouring as much healing as he dared. Up close, Crowley now saw it was far more than the burns. Angel’s formerly soft frame was now gaunt , belly sunken and his face a study in sharp lines and angles. Bony elbows and knees were the widest part of his limbs and he clung limply to Crowley’s jacket. Angel needed far more than Crowley could manage out in the middle of the woods. 

No point left to subterfuge, Crowley miracled them both back to the Bentley and settled Angel into the backseat. He looked so small. Angel didn't move, either, when Crowley covered him with his jacket, just curled in around himself, mangled fingers gripping the broken in leather.

Crowley didn't know how. Not yet, at least, but he was going to murder those bastards. Angel needed healing first. And there was one place they still might be safe from Heaven's wrath.

He climbed into the front seat as the Bentley started herself. “Hold on, Angel,” Crowley growled and slammed his foot on the accelerator. “I’m taking you home.”

There was no time as Crowley raced down the streets, the Bentley’s speedometer stuck at the edge of the dial. The front tires stuttered against a speed bump and Angel groaned from the backseat, pained. Good. Pain was good. Pain meant he wasn’t dead.

The sky was still inky black by the time he’d gotten back to London, peeling around the corner and stopping right in front of Angel’s bookshop. Angel held tight to his chest, he kicked in the door, absently repairing the lock as they passed over the threshold. Miracles fell from him as he carried Angel inside, the shades dropping down completely to seal them in, lamps flickering to life to light their path upstairs.

“Muriel?” he finally thought to call at the top of the landing, realizing late that they might be frightened by their entry. But the soft little angel was already awake, eyes wide and fixed on Angel’s form.

“Is that the Archangel Azir—”

“Not anymore,” he muttered and moved to Angel’s bed. Muriel shuffled to the other side and peeled back a corner of the soft cream-colored bedding. Bits of scorched feathers and flesh dusted the sheets as he laid his Angel down. He was still breathing.

Crowley knelt next to the bed, hands hovering over the broken form before him. He could save his wings, though they were likely to stay black, like his. Crowley had been strong when he’d fallen—was pushed— from Heaven. They all had been. That was the point. 

Angel, though… His fingers brushed over the sharp bones of Angel’s clavicle as he pulled the sheet up to his chin. Angel had not been. “I—” His voice cracked. “He—” Muriel scuttled around the bed and patted his shoulder. “We,” he croaked. “We need your help.” When he looked up, they met his eyes, gaze steadier than he’d expected. “Get Gabriel.”

“He’s with—” Muriel twitched but didn’t pull away at Crowley’s glare.

“Get them both.”

The curtains glowed with the first light of dawn when a small fly and a sharp intake of breath at the door announced Beelzebub and Gabriel’s arrival.

“For Heaven’s sake,” Beelzebub choked. The floorboards creaked behind him and, after a moment, the couple moved to the other side of Angel’s bed. “What happened?”

“He would’ve been cast into hellfire,” Gabriel said when Crowley glared at him. Even Gabrielle’s quiet voice boomed in the tiny room. “But this… this isn’t what—”

“You mean Heaven got it wrong?” he snapped, on his feet. It was only for a moment, though. Unconscious, Angel’s pull drew him close and he knelt, straightening the covers he’d mussed. Had enough of him rubbed off on the angel to protect him from Hellfire? 

His hand grazed charred skin and feathers. Protect? Barely managed to keep him alive, perhaps. Not much protection in that. Crowley’s shoulder felt cold and he cast his gaze around the room. The soft little angel was not to be seen. “Where’s Muriel gone?”

“Downstairs making tea.” Beelzebub winced when the crisp edge of Angel’s good wing twitched under the blanket, the scars from their own fall pulsing.

“‘’Ziraphale’d be proud,” he mumbled. He’d nearly gotten Angel’s right hand healed enough to hold, but he was losing steam fast and would need to rest before he dropped on top of him and undid all of his work. He stared at Gabriel again. “Aziraphale protected you, sheltered you from Heaven when you just landed ass-backwards in his lap.” 

“You both did.” Muriel set down a tray and poured four cups. After only a moment’s hesitation, they poured a fifth. “For when he wakes up,” they said with a little smile to Crowley.

“I didn’t protect him,” Crowley muttered, shaking his head at an offered cup.

They crouched next to him and frowned into her cup. “But you did. You lied for him—lied to me about Gabriel’s presence in the shop, and you used a miracle to hide him.”

Crowley finished sealing the burnt, cracked skin on Angel’s right hand and stroked the back of it. His ordinarily plump, soft hand was nothing more than crepe skin stretched over bone and sinew. They’d held hands for that miracle. “We did it together.”

Gabriel and Beelzebub were holding hands, hiding it, poorly, behind the edge of the bed. Crowley stared. Angel had buzzed with excitement when the two of them found each other. Again, he supposed. He cradled Angel’s hand in his. “Together. You lot. Together maybe you can—” His throat closed up before his hopeful words could slip through. The last time he’d had hope, the universe had not responded kindly.

Nodding, Gabriel held Beelzebub’s close to his chest and rested his fingertips on Angel’s shoulder.

“It’s worth a try.” Muriel nodded and, slowly, took Beelzebub’s hand. They offered her other to Crowley. “I… I found his books with stories in it—”

Crowley yanked his hand back. “You mean his diaries?” 

“Well…” Muriel at least had the decency to look shamed, their smile falling as they fiddled with the buttons on their collar. “I didn’t realize what they were at the time. I thought they were just books. But an awful lot of them were all about you and…” They blushed and looked away.

“I would love for you to help me…”

“ Smitten , I believe…”

“You can tell me all about it while we dance …”

Crowley traced the bas relief of tendons and veins that now made up Angel’s hand. Muriel seemed to have seen something they shouldn’t’ve. Did Angel maybe have a fourth reason to call him?

Left hand closed gently around Angel’s, Crowley grasped Muriel’s. Blinding white light exploded around the motley crew of ethereal creatures at the contact. Demon grasping angel, holding whatever in the Hell or Heaven or skies above the rest of them were, all centered around the latest—and perhaps the last— fallen angel.

Angel’s hand tightened around his, fingers growing plumper and stronger beneath his grip. “It’s working,” he grunted, the flow of energy coursing through him in the way he hadn’t felt since he was building the stars. The light traveled up Angel’s arm and over his body, shining through the blankets heaped on top of him.

After hours or minutes, the brilliance faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving violet bright spots in Crowley’s vision, ears ringing.

And Angel saying his name.

“Crowley? Crowley, can you hear me?” His voice was soft and weak and drenched with concern.

“Mm-mhm… Angel… I…” He blinked away the fuzziness and focused on Angel’s face. He was still far too thin to be healthy, deep heavy shadows ringing his eyes and tugging at his mouth and jaw. But there was a hint of a smile and the tiniest brush of color in his cheeks. “Aziraphale, yes.” He cleared his throat but Angel’s eyes wouldn’t leave him. “I hear you.”

Beelzebub made a little coughing sound and stood, pulling Gabriel up with them. “We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Muriel watched them move toward the door and only then released Crowley’s hand.

Angel took it and pressed Crowley’s hand flat against his chest. “I’m not an angel anymore, am I?” he murmured, low voice rumbling through Crowley’s palm. He tucked his wings on either side of the bed, feathers mostly sealed and laying flat. But raven black. “You’ll need to give me a new nickname, if…” He pulled back, lifting his hand off of Crowley’s as though he expected him to leave.

“You’re still my Angel,” Crowley said, avoiding his eyes. 

“Really?” Angel’s voice lilted up, thin but with a taste of its usual sweetness. “But I haven’t done the dance yet.”

“I’m a demon, Angel.” Crowley wouldn’t let go of his hand. “Not a monster . I’ll let you heal first.”

Angel sighed or maybe tried to laugh, and he squeezed Crowley’s fingers. “You… you saved me. Healed me.” He reached up then and traced the red scars on either side of Crowley’s eyes. “It’s what I should’ve done for you when…”

Crowley shrugged. “Knew you would have, had you could.” Muriel’s laughter flittered up the stairs and they both looked toward the door they other three had left cracked open. “There’ll be consequences for this.”

“I think they know that,” Angel nodded, eyes back on Crowley. He smiled, small and weak. But beautiful. “And we’ll all face them together.”

“Right you are, Angel,” Crowley murmured, curling closer to the bed, closer to his Angel. “Right you are.”

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziracrow #good omens 2 #post season 2 #angel muriel #good omens beelzebub #archangel gabriel #archangel aziraphale #fallen angels #fallen!azriaphale #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Curated muldertxf

I've not heard enough of this fic writer's work anywhere (maybe I've not been looking hard enough-- a merited possibility); and, after seeing her work decorated with so few notes and kudos, I decided to dust off my Curated segments and add muldertxf to the list.

muldertxf is my preferred version of the oft-cited "Prufrock's Love" style of writing-- which is a tricky balance juggling winding prose, gorgeous description, and punchy dialogue. She nails all three off these; and even adds another quality that is rare to find: an MSR dynamic that I completely vibe with. I was swept off my feet during my most recent reread: her hard work is clear to see, and admirable; and her environments, characters, and building tension pull me in every time. (I particularly adore Cheap Motels and Headaches-- bravo!)

Loose chronological order below~

@muldertxf's (Ao3)

Dark Fear, Chapter 2

""Scully tumbled back into the rental seat in resignation. The car then retaliated, sending the red head’s chair into the back seat, folding backward. The action jiggled the pile of junk they sat in. Her partner turned, worried.

“You alright?”

“Just…peachy.”

A long silence strung itself along like a long diamond necklace across the freeway, fragile and precious. Scully playfully fingered the chain, occasionally clearing her throat, or tossing a sigh, but never completely shattered it. Mulder remained quietly slumped over the steering wheel firmly gripping it, eyes boring into the lavender horizon. His alien sunglasses were no longer needed at this point, but they remained proudly planted over his eyes.""

S2? Scully chalks up a skittish abductee's story to vitamin deficiency, and tries her hardest not to get annoyed by S2? Mulder's unreliable habits and celebrity awe of alien abductees.

Flutter part 2 (Ao3)

""It was funny—the thought that she had come to escape her crazy coworker and sit with a nice drink on a weekday evening. Now, Scully was dancing, drink forgotten, and with him. She never does this. It’s special, and yet he’s here. The far off look in his eyes makes her uneasy; this almost seems planned.

“Mulder,” Scully mutters just above the music. Of course, she had to ask him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Mulder levels her with a hard look, then eases as they fly out the door and into a quiet D.C. street. The lamp bathes them in orange and shocks the darkness lavender.

“I was going to ask you the same,” Mulder says, white breath pluming.""

A no-show witness leaves S1 Mulder dejected; but his stakeout crosses paths with an off-duty Scully, who is confused but happy to see him.

Descension, Part 5 (Ao3)

""Scully had only known him for two years. But in this short stretch, she had come to know a man of great mental strength and always with a special vigor for things of the supernatural. This Mulder appeared too melancholy. Too accepting. He constantly drawled his words on, like the white strip of paint that danced on the roadside outside the rental car window. His interest came in brief tufts of gray like nimbostratus that lingered over a fatigued horizon line. There were fleeting moments where Scully could discern the Mulder she believed she knew from this one, of course.

Sometimes, his clouds would part to show spots of red and purple--the colors of rage and mystique. He was hiding something. This Mulder was.""

Post Ascension Scully feels trippy while on a case with a man who isn't her Mulder.

11:11 (Ao3)

""The car tasted like fallout.

Knife cloaked silence settled to the base of the car like rodeo dust. Neither of them moved. Outside the vehicle, lightning bugs flickered, creating the illusion of a distant metropolis.

Mulder eased up and away from the hot window he’d been greasing with his forehead. He flicked his eyes to Scully, tossing his cards in defeat. She was already looking at him.""

Post Drive Mulder is withdrawn; and Scully tries to pull him out of himself while on a hot, muggy stakeout.

beginning of season 6 drabble thing

""You think aliens eat cold food only?”

An expression of sheer confusion contorted her face like a snake bite. Her crimson lips pouted, mindlessly chewed swollen, now stuck outward. “Is this your weird way of asking me to lunch?”

“No, no--listen,” He said, rotating his chair towards the basement door to fully face her. “But I mean, if you want to, we could, um...”

A sigh deflated from her small frame. “Just go on, Mulder.""

Early S6 Mulder throws pencils to waste time, but he's not above teasing Scully, too... until she sends him home.

No Small Feat (Ao3)

""His coat flapped like birds’ wings, hands feverishly feeling for his gun. A short-lived relief washed over him when his fingers touched the familiar metal hunk. He sucked his lips in, dark eyes fretting from firearm to windshield.

Scully’s eyes widened. Her gun fell into her palm. Scully’s thoughts immediately tore back to the case’s pictures, and a chill shimmied up her spine like a high striker game. The victims. The trailer’s door opened, its interior was painted key-lime green. The victims were all killed on the Tunnel Of Love ride. A large boot emerged from the truck’s door, the leg that wore it stockinged. A white hand shoved the door back into its place and rocked the trailer. Scully swallowed back a bitter lump in the back of her throat. The victims. The victims were all couples.

Bozo weld an axe, shiny and polished.""

S6 Scully wants to call off the stakeout early, sick of Kersh's unreasonable mandates; but both are stopped by the sickening realization that they've been trapped by the killer.

A Drabble relating to The Sixth Extinction

""She was desperate to leave this bleached blue light and retreat with him into a natural green. She’d happily go Jersey Devil hunting now. Would she ever hear his voice again? She pursed her lips at the unsavory thought, and found herself unable to meet his seemingly lifeless eyes. He couldn’t be gone. This isn’t how it’s meant to be.

Fox Mulder, you are not an X-File.

For a fleeting moment, she could feel his pulse quicken underneath her palm.""

The Sixth Extinction Scully desperately sits by her partner, who, she is unaware, is hit over and over again by her painful reflections.

Sea Waves (Ao3)

""Mulder clings to the beaten red-and-yellow circle with a white-knuckled grasp. Scully looks down on him, and swaths of sun-baked strawberry red strands wrestle from hairpins, beat her rosy cheeks. The sun halos her, beautifully emphasizing the stray reds and yellows that flap enthusiastically behind her head. He revels in it, hugging the bobbing float, head craned up.

Mulder shouts over the warm salt that plays with her hair, threatens to unravel it even more from its bun, “Hey, water’s fine!”

Scully’s smile is subtle, and not downright toothy as Mulder’s is.""

Post Millennium Mulder lures Scully out on a boat with no case in sight. An extra bonus: he loses his ugly tie.

define humor (Ao3)

""He simply stares at her, lips sucked in. It’s not nausea, he realizes, it’s...

Hilarity.

Mulder’s shoulders are jerking up and down and his eyes are squinting. A tear tracks down his cheek, and Scully looks on in horror. Rip-roaring laughter tears through the silence. None of this is funny, none of it should be, he tells himself. My sister is dead. The thought makes his sides ignite in flames. My sister is dead!""

Overwhelmed post Closure Mulder is still struggling with conflicting sensations and emotions, cracking up and breaking down. Scully is horrified for his sake, comforting and calming as best she can.

post En Ami

""Before he can react, she pitches him against the wall with a harsh grip on his neck. The apartment is illuminated. The TV is switched on, its volume rises to the highest decibel. He sputters, colorful spots flitting in and out of his peripheral like butterflies. His eyes are going to pop out.

Mulder’s neck is squished against the glass of one of his picture frames he bought at a consignment store. He thinks now, dryly, perhaps he should have dusted it. Sweat and dust settle on the back of his neck, his hair.

A deep voice slices him like a bullet.

“Do not go to Bellefleur.""

Post En Ami Mulder sits next to Scully, trying to nail down her experiences and his feelings. All is not as it seems.

Cheap Motels and Headaches

"It gurgled low, rising from the ground like blue smoke, and traveling from his left ear to his right. Mulder’s jaw clenched and his eyes frantically jumped to the window. No sign of the Cadillac. The sound moved again. It pitched higher, ascending to the ceiling that bowed above them both, and echoed off thick fabric that wasn’t there. Wood joined the sound and clacked, as if a gate were being opened..... A female voice rose above the sound, and the wood settled. Her speech was indistinct, low and careful. However, despite the voice, It only raised its volume. Panic butterflied in his gut.

He dashed to the bathroom as quietly as possible, cold fear wringing his head mercilessly.""

On the run Mulder is pulled from his ever-present paranoia by a painful flash into William's happier life. Scully understands, and dwells on their son's peace rather than their own pain.

There is so much otherworldly beauty in this little fic that it is breathtaking (and I particularly love the reason why Scully refuses to let her partner dye his hair in support.)

One More Meeting (Ao3)

""Scully nodded feverishly, standing up with him. The sky strobed twice through the window, bleaching them white for half a second, reminding them both of something unpleasant. Celestial. Space craft were bright.

They inched near the door, Jackson slipping out with her, one hand on her upper arm. The gesture reminded her of Mulder, and she tasted copper on her lip. Bitter rain streamed freely with the salt down her cheeks.

He let go.

“This isn’t the end,” Jackson reassured her against the battering wind, “You’ll see me again in a few weeks. I won’t be dead. Stay with Mulder. He needs you.""

Post Ghouli Scully is shocked to come face-to-face with her son, answering Jackson's questions and trying to trust his reassurances.

Kennel

""Do you need any help? Any pet preferences?” The teenager asks, resting her gel pen on the granite.

“We’re just looking right now, thanks,” Mulder replies, as Scully wanders off in his peripheral vision. A small grin crosses his face, “but we’ll let you know if we need something.""

Mulder enjoys watching his partner gravitate to dogs; but he gets equal enjoyment letting others naturally couple he and Scully together.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #Collector's Edition #Curated #muldertxf #x-files #xfiles #xf fanfic #the x files #fic #mine

[greenorangevioletgrass]

i’m almost scared to ask because this song kills me but i just need to read this fic for blurb week- chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine?

bro i gotta admit... this is killing me too. i cried basically the whole time im writing this, but i hope you like it bc im pretty happy with how it turned out. also! the music here is extra special bc i sang and played it myself <333

warnings: fluff, grief, this is very goose and rooster-centric, im just a big ball of mush guys <3

***

“Man, I forgot how nice it is out here.” Rooster leans back, hands propping himself up as he sits cross-legged on the fresh green grass. The clear blue sky sprawling over his head. Maybe it’s the peace and quiet, maybe it's the fresh air, but this is one of the few places where he can actually…

Breathe.

“We’re nearly packed up now. Found this nice place in San Clemente with a nice deck out, maybe even a fire pit —you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles, resigning with the fact that he’s excited about the stereotypically dad stuff now, like decks and barbecues. 

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive to North Island, but we wanted a place somewhere in between there and LA.” It was an extensive discussion to say the least. You work in completely different fields with equally grueling and unusual hours —if not days, or weeks, or months. “I thought maybe we should keep our own places, so she can be close to her work and I can be near base, but… I don’t think I’d want it any other way?”

He’s already away from you so much. What’s an extra hour-and-a-half drive if it means he can crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms? He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Not when it comes to you.

“She’s great, by the way,” he perks up immediately at the thought of you. “She does these musicals that Mom liked, and actions and all these cool stuff —I’ve even taken her flying for one of her movies. She’s, uh…”

How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him. 

Kind, caring, funny, imperfect, human.

“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.

The earth below him is warm. Steady. The grass layers as a soft place for his hands to land. For his body to ground. White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.

And so he asks.

“Talk to me, Dad.”

******

His childhood home, a modest two-bedroom with white-paneled front, sits on a quiet street in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The maple tree out front has cuts and carvings on its trunk from when Rooster got into throwing knives (a hobby his mom had an ulcer over), and a broken branch from when he installed a makeshift swing and tried to get himself and two other friends swinging on it back in 8th grade. He hears the piano playing as he walks up the steps —the old, secondhand upright that’s a little out of tune now.

The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.

“Still think we should keep it?” he pats the flat surface on the top, leaving his keys and his sunglasses there.

“Oh, definitely. This baby…” you thoughtfully stroke the lacquered wood finish, “She’s a gem. Nothing a little tuning can’t fix.”

He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you. Both of you know there’s nothing special about this piano in particular. Not when it comes to its sound or feel or anything taken into consideration for an instrument.

It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.

“Hey, uh…” you pipe up gingerly, “I wrote something for you. May I…?”

You may be a lot of things, but shy isn’t one of them. At least not with him. He just throws you a funny look. “Babe, of course. What—”

“Okay.” With that you shift into a straighter position, fingers hovering just above the ivories. You’re quiet —hesitant, almost— before you play the first line. Pressing just one key at a time. 

“I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane.”

Rooster’s breath catches in his throat.

“I know the feeling, but I don’t know the name.”

A simple melody, floating like a question, and he doesn’t understand how you could explain it before than he himself does.

“I still play with my food, and then I… throw it away.” 

An admission so simple, it almost sounds childlike. You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself. 

“It’s so hard to believe I had to grow up this way.”

The piano picks up, a simple sustained pattern, and he can hear you try to keep the emotions in your voice at bay. A valiant effort that even he fails to do at the moment.

I moved out and I made some new friends

Sometimes when I shout it feels like no one hears it

And there are some days when I that somewhere you’re watching

As I grow up without you

I miss it, I miss you.

Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.

For letting him know that his dad’s listening.

The childhood home, now bare —save for stacks of moving boxes and an old upright piano in one corner of the living room— sits quietly in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.

Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.

And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.

“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.

“Yeah,” he answers, heady and dazed. He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.

But it’s not. It falls perfectly in place as life breathes back in, a familiar little laughter shared between the two of you. Warmth in the face of grief and hurt and loss.

He straightens up and takes a good look at you. He’s not sure why, but at the moment, it feels right. And as it falls out of his lips, he doesn’t feel an ounce of regret.

“Will you marry me?”

And he’s not sure whether he should be more surprised by his question, or the fact that you answer so easily, so surely, so matter-of-factly. “Roo… Of course.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”

“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”

“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

#the actress & the aviator #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x actress!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x actress!reader #ava writes

[folklorianhaze]

Taylor Swift Eras & Their Aesthetics

Debut — hot, humid summers in your childhood, jumping into a lake with your friends and splashing each other, butterflies, a cool glass of lemonade while sitting on the front porch, the humming of cicadas, family barbecues, summer sunsets, climbing trees, gravel driveways, worn-out sneakers, late-night telephone calls, learning how to drive for the first time, drawing smiley faces in the fog on your bathroom mirror after a shower

Fearless — vibrant yellows, doodling hearts in the margins of your notes, comparing your new class schedules at the beginning of the school year with your best friend, toothy grins in yearbook pictures, wearing lots of bracelets on your wrists, theatre kids still in their stage makeup being way too loud in a random Denny’s after their opening night show, middle school sleepovers where you’re laughing until you can’t breathe at 2 am over the stupidest things and trying not to wake your parents

Speak Now — satin gloves, strings of pearls, sparkling flapper dresses, a night sky full of stars, fireworks, a story where the princess gets to slay the dragon this time, vintage perfume bottles, crisp air, ball gowns, typewriters, burlap, lavender fields, violin music, handwritten love letters, elegant cursive handwriting, standing alone in your college dorm for the first time after your parents drop you off, stacks of fantasy books you read for escapism, a bouquet of roses

Red — party balloons and confetti drifting through the air, bright red lipstick, sunglasses, vintage Coke bottles, selfies with your best friends, the wind through your hair, baking cookies, the leaves changing color in the fall, driving with the windows rolled down, antique cars, record players, indie music stores, latte art, cuddling with a cat, reading a book that changes your perspective on life

1989 — brightly-lit makeup vanity mirrors backstage at a theatre, a glittering city skyline, the clicking of high heels, day trips to the beach, waves crashing against the surf, crop tops, clear blue skies, Polaroid pictures, heart necklaces, paper airplanes, messy buns, ballet slippers, flirtatious smiles, witty comebacks, white wine, clean, professional, confident

Reputation — newsprint, diamonds sparkling so brightly they seem sharp as knives, the sleek black scales of a snake, piles of cash, black lipstick, Hollywood glamor unraveling before your eyes, kissing someone as the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s, wintertime in the city, snow falling on your walk home through quiet streets after a party, secret glances across a crowded room, a fling that turns into something deeper, red wine, wiping off your makeup and staring at your reflection in the mirror

Lover — bubblegum, cotton candy, a giant pink flamingo pool floatie, watermelon slices, drinking margaritas at a poolside bar, the heat of mid-July, sugary cupcakes, sparklers, lazy mornings in bed, the smell of chlorine and sunscreen, white sand, laying on a beach towel and reading a book, swimsuits, a first dance at a wedding, fresh strawberries, a vanilla ice cream cone that’s started to melt, the person who gives the best hugs, Ferris wheels, touristy beaches

folklore — collecting seashells, the end of summer slowly fading into early autumn, a frayed but comfortable sweater, boardwalks, foggy mornings, clouds clinging to the mountaintops on the horizon, wet leaves under your shoes, the smell of the earth after a rainstorm, the chatter of birds in the trees, being so deep in the forest all you can see when you look up is a canopy of green, sweet tea, thinking you could swing high enough to go all the way around on the swingset as a kid, whispered secrets, the best friend you’ve grown apart from but still keep in touch with on social media from time to time, used bookstores, coffee with cream and sugar

evermore — hiking trails, pine trees, a grey sky that promises snow later, long drives from college back to visit your hometown, being in your childhood bedroom as an adult and feeling like you no longer belong there, Christmas trees with colorful lights and eclectic ornaments collected by your family over several years, champagne flutes, November skies, gold glitter, leaves being blown by gusts of wind, ivy winding up an old abandoned house, a snow-covered cottage, black coffee, braided hair, a peaceful meadow

Midnights —stumbling home at 3am still slightly drunk from the party, a hazy, smoky lounge, wood paneled walls, dramatic eyeliner, sequins, staring at the ceiling in bed, intrusive thoughts, a ticking clock, a crescent moon, feeling tired but unable to go to sleep, the entire city being asleep but you’re staring out the window awake, silver, crystals, a cigarette still slightly smoldering in one of those brown ashtrays from the 80s

#taylor swift #swiftie #fearless #speak now #red taylor’s version #ts 1989 #reputation #lover taylor swift #folklore ts #evermore #midnights