#you’d think we would have learned by now

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: During a car ride Joel attempts to hide his erection from you along with feelings he knows he shouldn’t have for his friend’s daughter.]

Smut, Angst

Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

When your father was killed, before he took his last breath, he made Joel promise him he would watch over you and keep you safe. Joel did just that knowing you had no one else. He and your father had been close friends for nearly five years, but he never really saw you around because you had lived with your mother growing up until right before the world ended. Of course, one thing Joel didn’t expect was just how much he began to like you yet, he knew you were off limits.

It had been five months now since your father had died, you and Joel were traveling back to where Tommy was. Although you were twenty, you had never learned how to drive so Joel began teaching you so you both could take turns to rest.

Joel and you had stopped at a shopping center hoping to find some more supplies but of course you became distracted by a clothing section. Mesmerized by the dresses the mannequins wore…you’d kill for the black silk one right in front of you. Watching Joel distracted in the other side of the room you grabbed the dress and hid behind a wall trying it on. You knew Joel would’ve convinced you other wise telling you it was pointless to do, but it had been so long since you dressed up. Catching a glimpse of yourself in a dusty old mirror you gasped. An old ticket showing the $700 price tag on it, why not have some fun with it?

“Joel! Look what I found” you stood before him excitedly as he was hunched over looking beneath a table. The second he stood up, his eyes lighting up before realizing what the hell he was thinking.

“What are you doin’?” He asked in a slight irritated tone.

“I found it and I had to try it on, Joel. I used to love wearing dresses and it’s gorgeous! I mean what do you think?!” Innocently you turned around looking back at him, showing the revealing cut it had down to your lower back. His eyes looking at you in a way they never had, following the slit to your ass before you turned back to him. Joel was speechless, you had no idea the effect you in that black dress had on him.

“Well?” You smiled as he stood serious, struggling to find the words.

“It’s nice” he spoke low, controlling his reaction on what he really thought. Joel couldn’t deny his attraction to you but anything he felt didn’t matter, he wouldn’t disrespect his friend this way.

“It’s gorgeous! It’s a $700 dress, you believe that?”

“We gotta get goin” Joel quickly changed the topic forcing himself to look away. You shrugged silently grabbing your backpack and walking beside him when he realized you were leaving with the dress on.

“The hell ya doin’?” He asked stopping you in your tracks.

“We’re just driving, thought I’d enjoy it on for a bit till our next stop. Come on don’t be a buzz kill” You laughed before walking off, Joel gulped not knowing how he was suppose to ignore you in that dress for the next four hours.

Sitting in the passenger seat you leaned your seat back drifting off to sleep until it was your turn to drive. Joel beside you gripping the steering wheel for dear life fighting the urge to look over at you. Thoughts roaming in his head like never before, inappropriate things about you that he couldn’t control. Moving around in your sleep you softly moaned making Joel unable to resist turning to you. One movement of your leg and the dress had slightly rose above your knee giving him a glimpse of your thigh. The sight sending blood rushing to his cock causing him to quickly swell up in his pants.

“Shit” Joel cursed at himself trying to ignore the urge he felt when you began to move around slowly waking up.

“How long have I been sleeping?” You yawned rubbing your eyes as Joel adjusted his pants struggling to hide his hard on.

“Uh, I don’t know” he kept his eyes on the road with his arm on his lap. You couldn’t help but notice he sounded strange and so you pushed your chair up looking over at him.

“You ok, you wanna switch spots now?” You asked but he quickly shook his head just wanting you to look away from him. His arm awkwardly sitting on his lap you couldn’t help but notice his awkward posture.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Your question making him more nervous.

“Huh? Nothin’” he cleared his throat before swallowing hard. Getting a hard on for his friend’s daughter was not something he planned. It wasn’t something he was proud of.

“Whatever” you whispered looking away as Joel remained tense hoping his nerves would kill the erection.

“I’m so thirsty, you have any left over water in your bottle” you looked over to the full bottle against his door and reached over.

“Hey, what the hell you doin’?”

Joel panicked feeling you come near him and attempted to grab his water bottle to pass it to you before realizing he was no longer covering his very obvious bulge.

“Oh-“ you gasped as he came to a sudden stop.

“Here, take the damn water bottle” he handed it to you without looking at you in the eye knowing you had seen what he was trying to hide. You had never suspected to see this side of Joel yet you couldn’t take your eyes off it.

What could’ve made him hard?

Looking up at him you realized how much he refused to look at you…maybe it was you. About to let himself out of the car, curiosity got the best of you and you slowly placed your hand on his bulge.

“What are you doin’-” He whispered low looking down at your hands on him, the feel of you so close taking over him. You could see him trying to fight it, yet he didn’t move.

“Relax” you whispered softly. Feeling the thickness of his length through his pants, his breathing growing heavier as if he was about to burst. Slowly you unbuttoned his pants, the urge he felt for you was too strong to stop you.

“Wait-” He whispered roughly yet he didn’t want you to stop. Gently you pulled out his warm thick cock in your hands looking up at him to find him already sweating.

It must’ve been so long since a woman touched him, you could see how much he needed this. Unexpectedly you leaned forward taking him in your mouth making his hips jerk, a sound you couldn’t make out harshly coming out of him.

“Fuck-“ he leaned his head back, his hands not knowing where to go, almost afraid to touch you. Joel closed his eyes in shame, what kind of man was he allowing you to do this? Feelings that Joel realized were never just platonic for you, he didn’t know what the hell they were.

Slowly you got up and leaned over to his side getting on top of him. Straddling him you felt him place his hands tightly on your waist. His eyes darkening realizing you never had any underwear on, the tip of his cock feeling how wet you were. The look in his eyes of a man that lost control as you took him in completely.

“Shit-“ Joel squeezed your waist. Grabbing onto his button shirt you began to ride him, his jaw tensing at the feel of how tight you were, stretching for him with each stroke. A sudden loud moan from you taking Joel by surprise as you moved faster. He watched as the silk dress slipped off your shoulders giving him a glimpse of your breast jumping out with each movement you made. He knew he wouldn’t last long especially with the way you felt wrapped around his cock. Leaning close against him you held onto his broad shoulders, breathless as he looked at you completely lost in the pleasure. A deep moan coming from his lips when his hips jerked upward.

“Fuck- get up- get up-“ he choked out before he picked you up himself off his cock and came. Throwing yourself to the side you watched as he finished jerking himself off, his cum building up on his hand as more continued to spill out of him. He sat still for a minute with his eyes closed, out of breath as you watched him..

The ride continued silently, Joel was serious staring ahead not making any eye contact with you. He could feel you look over at him here and there, the guilt eating up at him. How the hell could he have let this happen? Joel was pissed at himself for giving in, for being so weak.

“Are you mad at me?” Your question catching him off guard. Of course he wasn’t mad at you, he was more angry at himself, he should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve known better but caught in the moment you didn’t think. Joel was a man you trusted, the two of you were adults and things escalated quickly, why did it feel so wrong?

“No” his response not convincing you.

Joel decided to pull up to another pharmacy to see what other supplies could be found along the way. Waiting for him to get out you called out to him telling him you were going to change. Joel turned his back to the car waiting for you not saying a word.

“Let’s go” you walked past him reaching the front door before slowly opening it.

“Hold on, dammit” Joel grabbed the door letting himself in first taking a look around as you followed. After clearing the place the two of you began looking for anything you might need. Still you watched how Joel avoided you, not letting himself get close to you until you finally had enough.

“You’re really just not gonna talk to me?”

He stood still thinking of what to say but didn’t say a word.

“Look, I never expected that to happen, Joel. I wouldn’t have just done that with anyone” you continued as he distracted himself looking around him.

“You can’t even look at me-“

“It shouldn’t have happened” he whispered looking down.

“Well it did-“

“It was wrong” his voice grew louder as he unexpectedly looked up.

“I made a promise to your father-“

“My father is dead, Joel! I’m not a little girl.”

He most certainly knew you weren’t.

“I’m not looking for you to baby me or..want something more with me so don’t worry about that, but the least you could do is not act like I’m no longer worth speaking to anymore”

“Maybe you never were” he responded rather quickly catching you off guard. Joel didn’t want you upset with him but maybe that’s what was best. Anything was better than Joel coming to terms that maybe this wasn’t just a sexual encounter. A sexual encounter that he should’ve never allowed in the first place.

“I only helped you because of your father, you think I would’ve stayed stuck with some young dumb broad just for the hell of it?” His words cutting through deep. You didn’t think for a second Joel had feelings for you, but he also had never spoken to you like this.

“You’ve only held me back” he whispered coldly, he noticed your eyes tearing up and quickly looked away. A wave of guilt washing over him as you angrily walked out slamming the door shut. Joel watched through the window making sure you got back to the car safely, he noticed you wipe away a tear only deepening his guilt.

During the rest of the car ride you didn’t speak to Joel, you didn’t even look at him. Joel taking a quick glance with the corner of his eye as you faced the window.

Once arriving back to Tommy’s you got out of the car and slammed the door shut heading to your room.

“Everything alright?” Tommy asked Joel watching you walk off.

“Peachy” Joel muttered low walking towards his brother.

Heading towards your room you ran into a few of the guys hanging out having drinks. Usually you were never one to drink but with the way you were feeling, why the hell not?

“What are you guys drinking today?” you caught them by surprise. Sure, Joel had warned you to stay away from these guys that were nothing but trouble but what was it his business whom you decided to surround yourself with.

“Whiskey, want some?” One of the guys asked.

“Please” you surprisingly grabbed the bottle from him and took a chug.

“Oh gross” you wiped your lips as the men laughed.

“Not a drink huh? Maybe you should slow down” they laughed just before you took another chug.

The night went on as the four of you laughed and talked about nonsense, you honestly were enjoying yourself. Joel having a drink with Tommy at the bar he had no idea what you had been up to outside thinking you were in your room.

“Ellie’s been alright?” Joel asked Tommy who nodded before taking a sip.

“She’s making friends easily, the kids like her” Tommy responded before they were both distracted by the sound of laughter and glass breaking outside.

“The hell was that?” Tommy slammed his glass down before heading out as Joel followed only to find the typical guys drinking together acting childish, except this time you were amongst them.

“Oh shit it’s Joel-“ one of the guys whispered hiding his bottle of alcohol, the other attempting to grab the bottle out of your hand.

“What the hell are you guys so afraid of? Joel Miller?” You laughed stumbling to the side as you took another sip. The guys standing up straight as Joel and his brother walked up to them.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel walked up inches away from your face looking down at you.

“Uh, Joel she was just having a drink and-“

“Was I talking’ to ya, boy?!” Joel quickly snapped at one of the guys beside you.

“Let’s go, get out of here” Tommy led the guys away from you and Joel which only pissed you off.

“No-where are they…going…?” You slurred as you attempted to follow them with a stumble, Joel grabbed your arm.

“Let go of me!” You pulled pack hitting the wall behind you.

“I was just…drinking with some friends”

“Ya know damn well they ain’t no friends” Joel took another step forward towering over you.

“I told you about those guys god dammit-“

“What the hell do you care!?” You attempted to shove him, yet he was harder to move than you expected. Taking another chug he unexpectedly grabbed the bottle away from you as you attempted to grab it back.

“Hey!” He threw aside breaking the glass.

“What the hell Joel!”

“This what cha wanna do? You get pissed at me so you go and get drunk with these losers?” He furrowed his brows.

“And what’s it to you?” You smirked at him.

“Maybe I wanted to get drunk and let one of them fuck me” your words making Joel clench his jaw. A hint of jealousy stinging him when he suddenly grabbed you by your legs and carried you over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” You screamed kicking and hitting him but he didn’t budge. Not saying a word he let you scream until he bought you to your room. Kicking the door open Joel lay you down on the bed, before you ever had a chance to get up he walked out and closed the door shut behind him with a lock.

“What are you doing?! Open the door!!” You slammed your hands on the door angrily. Maybe this was selfish of him, Joel didn’t like the idea of you with any of these men, you with any other man for that matter. But at the same time you were drunk, he refused to let you make a stupid mistake out of anger.

“Open the door” you screamed once more when to your surprise, he actually opened it.

“Go” he whispered.

“Go on, go fuck those friends of yours-“ he stood back giving you space to walk out.

“That’s what you want right?” You could hear the irritation in his voice.

“What do you…care…” you continued to slur waving your hands around.

“What the hell do you…care who I…fuck, or what I do“ Joel unexpectedly grabbed you by your waist pushing you into the room.

“Cause I want you god dammit-“ he shocked you with his words.

“And not just you on top of me” his eyes looked deeply into yours.

“I want you beside me, I want you with me” he whispered as you stumbled slightly off balance. Too shocked…too drunk to respond, Joel didn’t know if he’d regret admitting this to you…a part of him hoping you wouldn’t remember the next day.

“I-I need to..lay down” you whispered as the room began to spin. Joel quickly lay you back on the bed, your hand covering your eyes as the sensation of a ride began to take over you.

“I’m really dizzy..” you whispered as he sat beside you.

“I’m right here” he held your hand in his as you closed your eyes and fell to sleep. Joel didn’t know what the hell got into him to admit anything to you, he didn’t know how he felt about it. He wondered what the next day would hold, if you would recall what he had been hiding for so long…

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n

[princessbrunette]

princess!! how do you think rafe would react if reader n him are arguing and she tells him that he has some serious daddy issues.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

he gets all mean. rafe doesn’t like being vulnerable, and if he’s not in the right mood to admit to victimhood — he doesn’t exactly like having his vulnerabilities pointed out either.

you’re huffing and puffing, storming around your bedroom as you pack for the ‘weekend business trip’ that rafe had organised on both of your behalf, forcing you to cancel your plans just so he could appease to his father and the business.

“but we had plans, rafe. why can’t you learn how to say no? you have some serious daddy issues if—” you rant angrily and he cuts you off with a sudden explosion.

“hey!” he yells and you shut up, turning around with wide eyes before he storms towards you, gripping your wrist to stop you from pushing him back in instinct. “this is for the business, a’ight? know you don’t quite understand what it’s like to have a real fuckin’ job, but uh — sometimes, you gotta put aside your little social plans to do some real shit and make some money. the money i spend on your god damn nails and shopping trips so i— i don’t wanna hear you psychoanalyse me, okay?” he scolds loudly, and in all honesty— despite him being mean you know he’s a little right.

you nod, silently and he lets go, allowing you to continue on packing as he paces in irritation behind you. “its like — like you have no idea how much i’m fuckin’ hustling right now. no appreciation. whatsoever.”

“i do.” you mope and he shakes his head, going back to picking up the clothes you’d thrown on the floor due to your miniature tantrum.

“daddy issues…” he scoffs to himself. “you’re one to fuckin’ talk. can’t cum without callin’ me dad, sounds like the calls coming from inside the god damn house, kid. shit.”

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

#peachprairie #rafe cameron prompt

[duuhrayliegh]

equal and opposite (consequences, pt. 2)

a/n: first of all, yall really showed out with the comments and reblogs on the first part of this so THANK YOU SO MUCH like i haven't written anything that i felt was good in months so to have such an overwhelmingly positive response to that post felt amazing!!!!

if you haven’t read part one, i highly recommend checking that out first!!!!

anyway, i hadn't originally intended for this to go anywhere else, but as i've said before bartender!bucky & peanut just wouldn't go away so here we are!!! i hope this lives up to the expectations and if we want more PLEASE LET ME KNOW I LIVE TO PLEASE

“Can you please just sit down? I don’t understand what’s happening to us!”

“That’s the problem!”

He throws his hands above his head out of exasperation. They land on his hips as their new resting place and he levels you with a frustrated glare. A glare. Apparently, you’re not worth the energy it takes to filter the emotions from his tone or expressions. That luxury must be saved for his plethora of mistresses.

“You don’t understand me anymore!”

“Understand you?”

Going home has become harder and harder. Despite desperately wanting to fix your marriage, it seems your efforts might have been in vain. No matter how hard you try, your husband has made every effort to avoid having a real conversation with you. To say you’re at your wit's end would be generous.

“Yes! Coming home to you is too stressful for me. I’m in the office all week and then I come home to a wife who doesn’t put in any effort to make herself desirable for me.”

Your jaw dropped, as did the wooden spoon in your hand. His words float through your head on repeat. That voice you used to love, the same voice that vowed to always love and cherish you in his wedding vows. Now, you’re cooking for a man you don’t know.

“Then why stay with me? If I’m so clearly not what you want, why stay?”

There’s a drawn out silence that is accompanied by softly heaving breaths and the simmering pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“You’re what I want in a wife. You just don’t understand my needs in the way that Shelia does.”

Your blood boils. Shelia—the latest girlfriend in a string of girlfriends. How dare he? You turn to the stove and begin clicking everything off. You fume while gathering your purse and keys to a home that you no longer feel welcome in.

“This is why I didn’t want to get into this. You’re too emotional and I knew you’d play the victim whenever I’m suffering too!”

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage because you’ll only hurt yourself more. Instead, you pry the door open and slam it shut before trekking off down the hallway.

You don’t have a plan, all you know is that you need to get out. You’re lucky that you were wearing a hoodie and jeans whenever you started getting into it with John. It’s not the first time that you had to get out, so you’ve learned over the past few months.

Wind whips against your cheeks when you exit your apartment building. You pull your hood over your head and start walking aimlessly. You reach for your phone and dial the first number you think of.

You never stop walking, street lamps lighting the sidewalk with a pale yellow light. There’s an irritating sting starting behind your eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t have to listen to the trilling of the phone line for long before it’s interrupted.

“Commando’s. How can I help you?”

The music in the bar is loud enough that you can clearly make out Steve’s divorced dad rock playlist. A rush of relief shoots down your spine and you breathe a sigh while enjoying the subtle ambiance through your phone speaker.

“Hello?”

It’s only then that you realize you’ve been on the phone for the past thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Bucky?”

“Peanut?”

“Hi, uh--I didn't have your number and I didn't know who else to call."

"Hang on, Peanut. I'm here, hang on." Suddenly the music is reduced to a bouncing bass line. "Are you okay?"

You continue walking, breathing in the stale air of the city as you debate your answer. For the most part, sure, you're okay. You’re not physically harmed in any way, just a deep emotional hurt that persists through the stark cold of the air around you. But if someone looked twice, or you spend more than half a second around someone you're comfortable with, that answer wouldn’t hold water.

"The wheels, Peanut, I can hear them. I need you to answer me. Are you okay?"

Bucky's voice is soft and grounding. Your heartbeat starts to match the steady baseline of the bar's music.

"I'm okay?"

Bucky's soft laugh echoes through the phone speaker, "That sounded like a question more than an answer, Peanut." He then pauses and sighs, "What did he do now?"

You suck in a sharp breath, debating on how to answer his question. The lead weight that had previously settled in your stomach begins to lessen as you hear Bucky’s voice.

On the one hand, Bucky has become the person you feel the most comfortable with. You don't have anyone close to you in the city because you moved out here to support John's career. Your family is on the other side of the country, and it's not like you've had a whole lot of time to build a support system here.

On the other, Bucky didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for a broken wife that isn't even his! You have no connection to him outside of becoming a regular at his bar and forming a possibly misguided attraction.

“Peanut? Come on back to me."

“Sorry, Buck. I just—“ you trail off, not entirely sure how to handle yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Peanut Butter.” You laugh softly at the lengthier version of your nickname while he continues talking. “Look, how about we meet somewhere so we can talk?”

“Aren’t you working tonight though? I can just come to the bar.”

No matter how appealing Bucky’s offer is, you don’t want him to risk his livelihood for you. You aren’t worth that, not really.

“Not anymore, Pea. You’re more important to me. The guys here can handle the bar while I leave to take care of my Ps and Qs.”

You giggle again, unsure of where he comes up with these iterations.

“There she is.”

The words are murmured low, as if he was just speaking to himself. As if it’s a remark not meant for public consumption, just a murmur of his adoration.

“There’s a little hole in the wall on 115th and North. It’s called Winnie’s. Meet me there and you can talk for however long they’re serving coffee.”

"Don't diners always serve coffee?"

"They sure do. And Winnie's is a 24-hour diner. Which means," There's a loud shuffle on his end of the phone and then his voice cuts through. "you can talk to me for as long as you want, Peanut."

"Thank you, Bucky." You aren't as loud as you meant to be, but you know he hears you when he hums before you end the call.

Shoving the phone in the pocket of your jacket, you search for street signs.

And now you stand in front of Winnie's, a sixties diner straight off a movie set. Bright neon illuminates the street below, bathing you in a turquoise light that you're sure is not at all flattering. The front door is encased in chrome and vinyl covers the seating throughout the restaurant.

You push through the front doors and spy a large jukebox on the left side of the building. There's no host stand, so you peer around the seats in search of your bartender.

"Welcome to Winnie's. hun! Just take a seat, we'll be right with ya!"

An older woman yells from behind the bar top. Her graying hair is pulled into a neat bun at the base of her neck and you're just about to read her nametag when you hear a familiar voice.

"Peanut! This-a-way!" Bucky stands from a booth in the corner, grabbing your attention and everyone else in the restaurant.

A bright blush colors your cheeks as you make your way to his booth in the corner. The linoleum floor of the diner becomes increasingly interesting the closer you find yourself to Bucky. To be completely truthful, you've never seen Bucky outside of the bar, so this is a jarring, but welcome experience.

He's still wearing those annoyingly large boots and tight white shirt that never fails to distract you when you're sitting on the twirly bar stools. His metal arm is on full display, the gold in-lay catching the light as he twists a straw wrapper into a tight spiral.

Bucky stands to greet you once you reach the booth, leaning toward you and wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your breath catches at his sudden body heat, but you waste no time in curling your arms around his torso.

"This might be the dumbest and most obvious question, but," he pulls back from the hug and gestures toward the seat across from him, "how’re you doing?"

A stifled laugh escapes as you settle into the worn vinyl seat. Instead of answering, you pull a less-than-convincing smile that you know Bucky can see right through. Evidenced by the fact that he laughs sarcastically at the look of it.

"Yeah, thought as much."

"It's just all becoming too much, I think."

An older woman brings two coffee mugs to the table, gripping a half-full coffee pot in her other hand. You stop yourself before you divulge anything in the presence of strangers. You don't need to burden another random stranger with your problems, Bucky is more than enough.

“Who's your friend, Jamie?"

Bucky smiles while introducing you to the woman. He extends the same courtesy to you, placing the name of the woman in front of you.

"Peanut, this is Winnie. She's the owner and operator of Winnie's diner."

Bucky pours a healthy dose of sugar into your coffee mug and then drops a spoon into it before pushing it across to you. You're in the middle of taking a large sip of the hot drink when Bucky continues talking.

"She's also my mother."

“Oh!"

He laughs as you sputter, completely phased by his nonchalance about introducing you to his mother. To be fair, you don’t really know Bucky outside of him being a great listener and mixologist. Winnie laughs and talks with the both of you before politely excusing herself to take care of her other customers.

“Your mother?”

Bucky leans forward and locks eyes with you.

“I’m so sorry. She wasn’t meant to be working today, but you would have met her one way or another.”

There he goes again, that dizzying nonchalance that bleeds into every word he speaks. Your mouth opens to speak, but you're still in a state of stunned that has you stumbling on your words.

"I'm just kidding, Nutter Butter." Bucky laughs and you hum while picking at your cuticles.

"Sorry, just took me by surprise."

"Clearly."

Bucky glances at your hands that are resting on the table and shifts around his side of the booth. There's a brief moment of silence as you mull over what Winnie has said.

"Did she call you 'Jamie'?"

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. One of those laughs that sounds like the feeling snuck up on everyone, including the person laughing.

"That's what you focused on, Peanut?"

You're smiling more in the past five minutes with Bucky than you have in the past five months with John. Bucky stops shuffling and then removes his coffee cup from the saucer it sits on. He slides the tiny plate toward you as you talk.

"Thank you for meeting me, Buck. Like I said, I think I'm just getting too tired of his bullshit. He really came at me today with the attitude that this is all my fault." Bucky nods as you continue speaking, "As if I'm the one who asked for an open marriage."

Bucky reveals a Ziplock bag and dumps the contents of it into the saucer in front of you. You're just about to start a rant when he nudges a salty shell into your hands. You glance down for half a second before getting the ball rolling.

"John asked for this! He's the one that's causing all this... this turmoil in our relationship. I haven't gone on a single date! I haven't caused a single issue. All I've been trying to do is understand things from his point of view, but he won't even give me the time of day to do that. I can't even suggest something like marriage counseling because he runs out the door the second he sees me enter a goddamn room."

You stop to take another long sip of your coffee while Bucky sits back and lets you rant at him across from yet another counter. You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, clearly holding back from saying something.

"I don't even know what to do anymore!" You huff and shove your hair over your shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or do you want me to just be here for you?"

"I want you to be you."

"Okay." Bucky nods, you crack open yet another peanut and place the shell on a napkin next to the plate. "I think you should start considering divorcing ol' Johnny boy."

"I can't do that."

Your response is immediate. Too quick to be healthy really. The shell of the peanut cracks between your fingers, revealing the salty perfection inside.

"Alright, divorce is off the table. How do you feel about separation?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It goes against everything I was raised to believe. I was brought up under the idea that the person you marry is the person you stick next to no matter what."

"Even when that person isn't extending the same courtesy?"

"I just--" You sniffle, peeling open yet another peanut. "I just want to be loved, Bucky. I don't understand what I did to make him look for love and affection from someone other than me."

Bucky reaches across the table and covers your hand with his, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles soothingly. You found yourself in this same position three months ago. It was when Bucky first told you of his interest in dating you.

To be perfectly honest, you were about two slow blinks away from folding into his arms then. Nothing's changed. You're still half a second from completely melting for the man before you, but you can't get over the fact that you're married.

"Peanut, you may never understand his reasoning. Especially when he won't sit down and explain anything to you. I think you should do what's in your best interest. If you don't want to divorce or separate, then you need to surround yourself with people who will give you that love and affection that you need."

A soft lull coats the pair of you and you allow your eyes to lock with Bucky's. What you find there shocks you.

Pity is something that you never, ever want to experience, but with a shitty situation like your marriage, you've come to expect it. Every time you glance in a mirror or catch your reflection in a store window, or even a puddle of water, you find your own eyes layered with that sickening sadness that accompanies self-pity.

However, in Bucky's clear blue eyes, you find nothing but determination. Determination for what is the question you're now faced with. In all reality, Bucky has no dog in this fight. He has no reason to be helping you the way that he has. Bucky's expressed interest in you, sure, but that doesn't constitute going to the lengths that he does.

"I just want you to be happy."

"Do you think you could make me happy?"

"Absolutely."

You nod while popping the last peanut into your mouth and wiping your hands off on your jeans. You stand unceremoniously and then hold your hand out to Bucky. He stares at your outstretched hand in half-baked shock and then jumps at the opportunity.

"See ya later, Ma! Love ya."

"Will you be home for family dinner?"

"Nope, gotta take my Peanut to the ballgame!"

Bucky rushes you out of the diner and pulls you to a heavy-looking motorcycle. You laugh as he pries open one of the saddlebags on the bike. He reveals two helmets, one white and one black. Both have sleek features with a face cover that reflects Bucky's sharp features.

"What?" His laugh that follows is full of nervous energy as you continue to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"It just--" You snort quietly, "You would drive a motorcycle."

"Oh yeah? And why's that, Peanut Brittle?"

You wave your hand as if you're circling his whole body and shrug while smiling your ass off.

"You just gestured to all of me."

You both break into a fit of laughter, only for Bucky to break it off and unclip the chin strap of the white helmet.

"Well, does safety also fit with..." he does the same gesture as you, "all this?"

Bucky gently rests the helmet on the leather seat of the motorcycle and then leans over to you.

"You might want to pull your hair back. Trust me I love your hair down, but whenever you're riding it's easier in the long run."

"Oh, okay." You begin to pull your hair back when you remember that your hair tie is on the counter at your apartment. "Actually, I think I'll suffer the consequences."

Bucky glances at you and then asks, "You need a tie?"

He prompts you to turn around and he quickly coaxes your hair into a neat ponytail at the base of your neck. You turn back to him with wide eyes, your hand reaching back to check the hairstyle.

"Come on. I've got plans, Payday! I've got ideas to romance ya!"

You laugh while Bucky beams and puts the white helmet over your head. Once it's secured, he swipes the visor up and boops your nose. You scrunch it in retaliation and he shakes his head at you. He grips the sides of your helmet and tilts your head to the side. A loud Bluetooth signal sounds and a robotic female voice informs you that the device has been connected.

"So, basic rules of the bike. I lean, you lean." He taps on the side of the helmet he just fiddled with. "This is a microphone, so we'll be able to communicate without the visors being up. Don't be afraid to squeeze if you feel a little wobbly. I promise I can handle whatever you give me, Peanut."

You flush at his words, thankful that you're already wearing the helmet so he isn't privy to the bright red coloring overtaking your cheeks. Bucky slips on his own helmet and mounts the bike in one smooth motion. His hands glide to the handlebars and then he turns to face you and jerk his head in the opposite direction.

You release a deep breath and give yourself a mini pep talk before placing your hands on Bucky's shoulders. The difference between them keeps you grounded as you swing your leg over the back of the motorcycle. His voice shoots into your ears, a breathy fuck me that wasn't meant for your ears.

"You ready?"

This question is at a normal level, and you respond in kind. The bike roars to life beneath you and you jolt toward him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist tightly.

"Hold on tight, spider monkey."

You giggle and interlock your fingers above the waistline of his jeans. Now, you can feel every breath he takes, every minuscule contraction of his muscles from every movement he makes to control the beast between his legs. You try to take steady breaths in order to control your heartbeat and match Bucky's, but the faster he goes, the faster your heart beats against his back.

City lights blur past as you find your rhythm behind Bucky. The more comfortable you get, the looser your grip becomes around him. He takes you through downtown with all the newer, hipster restaurants inhabiting the busy streets. Bucky begins to slow and you look up to see his profile illuminated under the bright red of the traffic stop.

His feet rest on the ground beside the bike, holding it upright while it rumbles idly. Bucky leans back into you, his hands moving from the handlebars to your thighs. He traces the skin that's exposed by the rips of your jeans. The loose material allows just enough space for his fingers to burrow beneath and trace meaningless patterns into your skin.

Butterflies make themselves known in the pit of your stomach, along with another slightly less prominent heat building at his touch on your skin.

"We're almost there, Peanut Brittle." Bucky's voice is melodic through the microphone. You could fall asleep listening to him read a phone book.

The bike thunders to life again as Bucky releases the clutch. More buildings fade as he continues to steer the two of you down the less traveled streets.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere fun!"

He laughs at your little groan. Surprises aren't necessarily your favorite thing, but if it's Bucky, maybe it'll be tolerable.

Suddenly, Bucky drops his right hand from the bars and indicates his next turn. The pair of you lean in that direction slightly as he slows into a parking lot of a roller rink. The sign for the Rockin' Roller Rink has a bright yellow arrow blinking toward the building at the base of its billboard.

He rolls into a parking spot near the entrance and pops the kickstand out to steady the bike. You peel yourself off of his back and rest your hands on your thighs while taking in your surroundings. Bucky slips his helmet off and then turns his torso to face you.

"As much as I love you on my ride, Peanut, you have to get off first."

You flush red beneath the visor and quickly dismount. However, in your rush to get off, you don't realize how unstable your legs are as they bear your full weight after the ride. Bucky's hands shoot out to your waist as he remains on the bike, a wry grin on his lips.

"Sorry, should've warned you about that." He stands in front of you and dusts off your shoulders before deciding that you're okay. "It's because of the riding position when you're on the bike. If you aren't used to that, it can be a little jarring the first few times."

He takes your helmet and then removes the keys from the ignition. Bucky bends at the waist and hooks his key carabiner to your belt loops.

As he straightens to his full height, he remarks with a wink, "Plus, the vibrations don't help much either."

You squawk unattractively and smack his chest with the back of your hand while he belly laughs. His metal hand hovers over your lower back as he guides you into the double doors of the roller rink. While he pulls open the door for you, you think about all the times that your husband has failed to do even that act of basic decency.

You shake your head as you walk in, determined to put him out of your mind. That is until you remember the one stipulation of your open marriage--you both have to disclose when you go on dates. Your mind drifts to all the unanswered texts he's sent you about his various dates. Little quips that accomplish nothing but remind you that your husband sees you as less than. A relationship that he no longer has to put effort into and hasn't for some time now. You take your phone from your back pocket to shoot John a quick text, a sour look overtaking your face as you do.

On a date, be home later. You’re quick to swipe your phone onto do not disturb and shove it back into your pocket. You aren’t ready to face the hypocrisy that John will manage to cook up.

"You okay, Peanut?" Bucky's voice clears everything. All the swirling doubt, the immense turmoil that you feel when you think of John, everything negative is wiped when you focus on Bucky.

Perhaps that's also an issue. Maybe you need to be single instead of dating. Maybe you need to love yourself before anyone else can effectively love you. What if that's the real issue? The real reason why John had to seek affection outside of your marital bonds. Maybe it was because you were so unloveable to the point that it was more effort to work through your issues than find an effortless partner somewhere else.

A cold finger taps your temple causing you to blink harshly and refocus on the man before you. This man who's become your safe haven, your harbor in this horrific storm that is your marriage. The man who brings peanuts to his mother's diner because you called him to meet up. The man who knows you better than your husband who you've known for half your life.

"The wheels," your bartender reminds you as he pulls you to the side of the room. His arms envelop you until all you can process is biceps, one cold and one warm. Bucky's cheek rests against your head and you can't find it in yourself to stop from melting into his touch. "How about this," he shifts away from you just enough to meet your eyes, "you just take it one hour at a time?"

"One hour?" You ask, brows furrowing skeptically at the concept. You've never been someone who just focuses on the thing in front of you. Your whole life you had a plan--get married, have kids, and secure a stable home life. Although, now that you think about it, your way isn't really that effective. What has your way got you? A decaying marriage, no kids, and a job that you tolerate at most.

"Just one at a time. Nothing can be that daunting if it's one at a time." He smiles big and leans forward, "And let's face it, your first hour is going to be spent watching me almost bust my ass on rollerblades."

You giggle and look at the ground, only for Bucky to lift your face up with a finger on your chin. He stares deep into your eyes, making you think if you stare long enough, you'll meld into one. His grip changes so that most of his fingers cup your jaw, allowing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. His metal finger tugs downward on your lip, releasing it from the hold between your teeth.

"That's definitely one of my current favorite noises you make." He struts off to the front counter, you trailing behind with a confused look on your face at his dopey smile. The implications of his comment seeping into your bones causing a deep heat to light in the pit of your stomach.

As you approach the teller, Bucky's already disclosed his shoe size for the rental pair of skates. The teenager behind the counter makes a bored grunt at the instruction and turns to you, waiting for your size before they trot off to fill the order. Once again, you're left alone with your bartender.

You lean against the raised platform, shoulder digging into the overhanging lip of the counter. During this brief moment of solitude, you take your time taking in Bucky. He really is a mountain of a man, coming in at six-foot-five inches of corded muscle and steel, he's really nothing less than impressive.

His hair just brushes the top of his broad shoulders, though you hardly ever see it down. He always manages to have it tied securely at the base of his neck. However one time, you remember walking into the bar only to see Bucky behind the bar, as usual. Except his hair was bundled on the top of his head. Little wisps of hair fell from the looser hold, framing his forehead and neck. On top of that, he was wearing a red henley that was at least two sizes too small with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his differing forearms in the dim light of Commandos.

It's safe to say that during those few hours you spent with Bucky looking like that, you were a little slower to respond. What's interesting though is that Bucky looks nothing like John. You always thought that John was your ideal man. Based on who you married, you would have assumed you'd be more attracted to Steve than Bucky. Instead, you find yourself lacing up a pair of rental roller skates, that might give you athlete's foot if you're not careful, with the imposing dark-haired man next to you.

"Why bartending?"

The question floats between you as you take the floor. Glistening hardwood reflects the bright neon of the strobe lights and your image beside Bucky. You watch as he glances down at you before refocusing his attention on the path in front of him.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I kind of stumbled into it." He wobbles dangerously as he speaks, hand jutting out to grasp yours in an act of safety. "Shit, sorry." He apologizes sheepishly but makes no move to drop your hand.

You giggle beside him, butterflies awakening from his act of self-comfort, a feeling you haven't felt since your relationship with John began. Bucky squeezes your hand, straightens his back, and pulls you around the rink.

"When I was discharged, it wasn't so much as bartending as it was the ownership of the bar. It gave me a chance to gain some semblance of control back." He stares off into the distance as he speaks as if he's reciting words he said time and time before. You peer up at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation.

Even though you've known Bucky for as long as you have, neither of you has really delved too deep into your pasts. To say you know next to nothing about Bucky's time in the military would be generous. You hum while you ponder his answer.

"Does that need carry into other aspects of your life?"

It's a genuine question, something to move the conversation along because you honestly want to know more about the man beside you. The double entendre of the question doesn't process until you see Bucky blushing beside you with a wry grin. Your eyes bulge, words stammering out of your mouth without finding their full forms.

"Oh-- uh, n— that's not wh--" Your eyes drop to the ground beneath you, the sleek wood reflecting the neon disco of the roller rink lights.

Bucky chuckles beside you, slowly rubbing his thumb against the knuckles of the hand he still holds. He steers the pair of you to the side of the rink, locking you against the slightly sticky bannister with his strong forearms. You quickly level him with a questioning stare as he leans forward and takes a deep breath, undoubtedly getting a strong whiff of your soft vanilla and cherry perfume.

“I’m trying to be very good for you, Peanut. So I’m going to say this once and then we’re going to continue with our date and it isn’t going to come up again until you bring it up yourself.” Your nod is almost imperceptible, but considering how Bucky continues without consequence, you figure he was just mentally preparing himself for his next comment.

“I am enamored with you. I want to have sex with you. I have fantasies that revolved exclusively around you. However, I’m not putting any pressure on this relationship or you. I understand that you need time to process your grief and your marriage, but just know that I’m more than happy to help you through the process and I certainly hope that I’m the first one you go to once you get to a place when you feel confident enough to explore your sexuality.”

You flush at his words, a hot streak racing up your spine before settling in your cheeks, blossoming them into a heavy shade of crimson. Bucky’s left hand comes up to your forehead, brushing away a strand of hair out of your face.

“But not only that, I want to have a relationship with you. I want the late night cuddles. I want the early morning breakfasts. I want to come home from the bar and take a shower with you. I want to wash your hair. I want you to massage my shoulders after a long day. I want to host Saturday barbecues with you for my family and our friends. I want to drive you to the bookstore and regret driving the motorcycle after you get so many because I just can’t say no to you.”

Bucky’s hand drifts down your arm, tracing the soft skin, taking his time to lace his fingers with yours. He pulls you away from the ledge, leading you two into the hustle and bustle of the roller rink. A smile stretches across his features as he tugs you along, a slow steady silence backed by the bumping base of the house music. You fumble with who to respond to him, but you eventually decide that no words are necessary. You know that yiu’ll be able to discuss things further later, you allow yourself to fall into the comfortable company that is your favorite bartender.

Time passes by at a rate you aren’t able to fathom. One moment you’re skating circles around Bucky, laughing as his arms jut out to his sides, steadying himself as he sways and wobbles. You flit out of his reach for a beat only for his arms to wrap around your waist, bringing you to his warm front. You squeal as you clutch his arms, the difference in temperature providing a level of comfort that you’ve been craving for months now.

You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, his long hair tickling the apples of your cheek. Soft puffs of air hit your face as he peers down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. He remains stoic, only his eyes giving you any indication that he wants more out of your current embrace.

“Attention all Rockin’ Roller Rink patrons, the rink will be closing in ten minutes! Please return all skates and other rentals to the front desk before leaving.”

The voice over the loudspeaker startles you causing you to jump in Bucky’s embrace. He tightens his hold on you, ensuring that you don’t topple over on your wheels. You breathe out a heavy sigh creating a slight distance between you.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Bucky is quick to follow you to the benches on the side to you could change your shoes so you can return the skates. You’re sure to take out your phone from your back pocket before sitting down. Against your better judgement, you swipe across the screen to turn off the silencing option. The screen illuminates and dozens of notifications flood the screen and you cringe. You shouldn’t feel bad, yore only doing what constitutes an open marriage. You sent the text, that was all that was required of you, and let’s be honest even that was more than what John deserves. Bucky leans back, shooting a glance at your now busy phone.

“Wow, he sure doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everything he’s texted me the past two hours has been entirely supportive and not at all condescending or hostile.” Sarcasm bleeds into your words, making Bucky chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, ol’ Johnny boy? Nah, he’s nothing but a big old softy who knows that he’s only getting it as good as he’s giving it.” You huff at the comment just as your phone begins to buzz on the tabletop.

A groan leaves your mouth, slipping out before you can filter it. Bucky eyes you as your finger swipes the call button to accept. You haven’t even gotten the phone to your ear before John’s voice carries through the speaker, shouting expletives and derogatory remarks about you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re on a fucking date right now? I can’t believe you!”

Your whole body cringes, and you rush to shove your shoes on to take the call outside. You leave without saying a word to Bucky, unable to look him in the eye while the supposed love of your life berates you over the phone.

“John, I don’t know what you’re upset about.” You tried to remain calm while he carried on. “I followed the single rule that you set in place.”

Bucky takes your free hand and leads you to his bike, leaning against the seat while he watches you pace in front of him. Your once smooth features are now ridged and tense, worry lines aging you ten years the second you get on the phone with John. Your forefinger and thumb find home on the bridge of your nose, pinching the bone there to prevent the sudden headache. You finally stop in your tracks, stomping your foot out of exasperation and then steel your voice.

“I refuse to allow you to speak to me this way, John. You’re the one that opened our marriage, I’m simply following the precedent that you set. I honestly have no idea what your issue with this is.” Your eyes dart to Bucky, “Now, I don’t feel comfortable coming home when you’re speaking to me like this over the phone, so don’t wait up. I’ll come home when you cool off.”

Tears begin to rim your lash line as John continues to shout his lungs bloody. You refuse to meet Bucky’s eyes as you lower the phone, thumb hovering over the end call button. A dark metal palm extends your way, a silent ask for the phone that you don’t have the strength to deny. Bucky watches you as he brings the phone to his ear, listening to your husband’s rant.

“This is completely fucking ridiculous! You’re my wife and I demand you come home and we talk this out like adults. You’re being so unreasonable, right now. And the fact that you think it’s acceptable to text me you’re on a date instead of asking if you could go on one? Who the fuck do you think you are? It’s best you remember who you belong to. You’re so in for it whe—“

Bucky laughs, your head shoots up, eyes locking with his for the first time since you’ve evacuated the roller rink. The laugh is a short, sardonic laugh. One you’ve never heard him make before, almost as if he’s using it as a throat clear. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing how John reacts to being challenged in any capacity.

“Now, I don’t know who you think you are, talking to my Peanut the way that you are. But I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure, you aren’t going to be speaking to her that way ever again.”

It’s another thing about Bucky you’ve never experienced. His tone. It’s dull, lifeless, but full threats that made your skin grow cold and your spine stiffen. You knew Bucky would never cause you harm, but those who hurt the people he loved? The same respect isn’t extended.

“And who the fuck is this?”

“I’m the guy.”

He’s eerily calm, the type of calm you’ve never seen him. You’ve been a distant onlooker while he deals with rowdy bar guests, having to throw out drunk customers who reached their limit and then some. But this… this was something else. John is still yelling, sure to be disturbing your neighbors earning you yet another noise complaint, possibly the one that gets you evicted from your apartment.

“What guy?”

“The guy that’s going to rip your spine out through your throat if you threaten my girl again.”

The world stills. The noisy streets of Brooklyn fade as you search Bucky’s eyes for any semblance of a joke. His eyes have darkened, latching onto yours with a depth that you’ve never seen in them. He reaches for you, pulling you in between his legs by your belt loop. You can hear the stammering on the other end clearly, John’s never had anyone stand up to him with such sincerity.

“If you’re done being a pussy, I’m a little preoccupied. If you’d like to continue this conversation, you may do so anytime at my bar. Howling Commandos. You can Google it and me in your free time. Right now, I’m on a date and you’re interrupting it and disturbing my girl.” Bucky’s hand snakes around your waist, pressing his chin to your chest while maintaining eye contact with you. “Now, apologize to her.”

He switches the phone to speaker mode, allowing you to hear the weakness invading John’s voice. All the while, Bucky’s eyes never leave yours. Your body melts into him, his warmth something that you didn’t realize you were craving. John stammers on his end of the phone, eking out excuses as to not apologize. Bucky clears his throat once more, the action causing his Adam’s apple to bob against your breasts.

“Apologize, Johnny boy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Three monotonous beeps echo out into the silent parking lot. Wind whips against your cheeks, igniting a shiver through your body. He shoves your phone into his front pocket before wrapping his other hand around your waist. Bucky shifts again, pressing his forehead into your stomach instead of staring up at you. Your arms come up around his shoulders, burying your face into his soft hair.

“Thank you.”

Bucky says nothing in return, squeezing your middle before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Let’s go, you can stay at mine.”

He pushes against your hips so he can reposition himself over the bike. You’re quick to stop him, remarking something about him just taking you to a hotel for the night. He cuts you off before you can fully finish your sentence.

“I’m sorry Peanut, but you surely don’t think I’m about to let you spend the night at some sketch hotel by yourself. And I’m certainly not going to let you go back to that apartment with that temperamental skeeze of a husband you have.”

“Let me?” You back up, resting your hand on your now cocked hip.

“Peanut.” Bucky stares up at you, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I’m sorry. I’m only saying that I want you to be safe and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in either of those environments. I would be much for comfortable if you came home with me so that I could protect you.”

You shoulders relax, in the back of your mind, you know that he didn’t mean anything by it. John always sets you on edge, and it’s unfair of you to put those emotions onto Bucky.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just… John.” Your sentence trails off, no ending really needed because you know that Bucky understands.

“Come on. Get on, Peanut Butter. We aren’t far from my place.”

You mount Bucky’s bike, his left hand immediately going to your thigh, his fingers threading themselves between the rips of your jeans to feel the soft skin of your knee. The ride to Bucky’s apartment is quiet, the rumbling of the motorcycle beneath you is powerful and steady. Every chance he got, Bucky would slip his fingers into the rips of your jeans, aching to be close to you in every way possible. You lean forward, resting your helmeted head against his back while he drives.

If there was one thing that you never would have guessed, it’s that Bucky Barnes would have pale green wallpaper in his apartment. Not just a pale green, he proudly declares that it’s agate green, the color he spent weeks painstakingly debating between that and nurture green. You giggle as you toe your shoes off at the front door, quietly taking in his personal space.

The exposed brick melds with the dark countertops in a way that’s almost soothing. The pendant lights above the island cast a soft glow over the open floor plan. Bucky turns to face you, peeling off his leather jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. You catch his eyes, only to be distracted by the wall of bookshelves on the far end of his apartment.

“Oh my god, Bucky I had no idea you were so interested in reading.”

He laughs, shoving his hands in his front pockets while walking behind you as you approach the stacks of books he has scattered throughout his home.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. When I was deployed there wasn’t much to do other than read. I had my Ma send me all different kinds of books, from new releases to her favorite classics to stuff my little sister was reading in school.” He stands beside you, shoulder to shoulder as you glance up at him. “Guess I never kicked the habit, though there are worse vices that a person could have.”

You hum, refocusing your attention on the books, but only for a second as Bucky reaches his hand out and leads you up the stairs to the lofted bedroom. Bucky’s comforter matches the green walls that sits behind his TV. Not only that, but his pillow cases vary from overly fluffy to soft silks. The mixture of textures and fabrics is almost too much for your brain to comprehend. You’re about to question it when Bucky returns to your line of sight, a dark Henley in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

“I don’t have any pajamas for you, but you can wear these.”

He’s almost sheepish as he presents you with the clothes, a light blush casting over his cheeks. It’s so interesting to interact with him. At times, he’s the most suave man you’ve ever met, and at others, it’s like he’s a lovestruck teenager who’s just got their first girlfriend.

You thank him and follow behind him as he leads you to the en-suite bathroom. Just as Bucky begins to explain where everything is, he bends down to the bottom cabinets and retrieves a spare toothbrush.

“Planning for extra company, huh?” You joke while poking him in the side as he stands next to you in the doorway.

Bucky’s tongue peaks out of his mouth, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he stares down at you. His eyes do that thing again, the same thing he did just before he laid out his feelings for you earlier. Your breath catches in your throat, is he leaning closer? Are you inching toward him? What are you doing?

“Bucky,” the tension breaks, a dam of emotions behind held back by your dedication to your marriage. “I feel like I should explain.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, quick to silence your worries. He leans forward, dotting a quick kiss to your forehead. Bucky lingers, the soft press of his lips shoots warm and fuzzy feelings through your bones.

“Tomorrow. You’ve had a long night. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

A weight of anxiety lifts from your shoulders as you watch Bucky begins descend the stairs, lush blankets and pillows in hand. You turn back to his room, allowing yourself to sink into his private space.

You peel back the duvet and sit on the edge of his mattress, unsure if you should fully dive into his being. If you’re quiet enough you can hear Bucky downstairs, shuffling on the couch in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

Your eyeline floats over his bedside table, the lamp atop it casting a pale yellow glow over the entire room. The surface next to you is covered in items that are unequivocally Bucky—a worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a leather bound journal, the few gold rings that he something adorns his digits with while bartending. His rings clink against each other as your fingers drift over the cold metal.

Among his assorted objects is your phone on his charger. The light pink case is slightly out of place, but not enough to be obnoxious. You smile to yourself while lying back in his sheets.

You really do owe him an explanation. Bucky deserves more than some broken woman who’s in a shitty marriage. He deserves the world and then some. All you can offer is a somewhat clear thought process.

You think on John’s actions today. He really showed you his true colors. You start to wonder if he really cares about you or if just cares about having a wife. If it’s the second one, why does it have to be you?

You flip to the other side, now facing the back wall of windows. Your mind is about as calm as the city right now. New York is never quiet, even this far out in Brooklyn. You’re never safe from the light pollution that constantly blocks out the beauty that is the natural night sky.

It makes you long for your hometown, the wide open spaces with vast fields of nothingness that stretch for miles on end. Maybe it’s time you pay it a visit. It would be nice to escape the hodge podge of a life you’re currently living.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force yourself to slow your breathing. Distantly you can hear Bucky begin to snore, a low monotonous sound that you cling to. For the first time in months you feel secure. Your muscles decompress, your brow unfurls and you allow yourself to truly relax.

With everything that’s going on, Bucky deserves more. You deserve more, but that can all wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. That’s a good thought.

#bartender!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader #bucky x peanut #consequences #ray's writing #bartender!bucky barnes x peanut!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky barnes x you #bartender!bucky barnes x y/n #bartender!bucky x you

[grandline-fics]

Hi there! I hope u are doing well, can I request a strawhats crew reaction to a reader who can see ghosts or souls? It can be like their devil fruit power or just something that they're born with. It can be a short fic with all the strawhats or if it's too much it can just be the monster trio, i don't mind either way, do what you prefer! Thanks for letting me request!

DESCRIPTION:  You can see ghosts and spirits

WARNINGS: don’t think it’s too angsty but does mention dead characters. Luffy's is set just before a canon event.

CHARACTERS: Sanji, Zoro, Luffy

WORDS: 1,672

A/N:  Thank you for this request. For some reason I struggled a lot with how I wanted this to go and I hope you're happy with this outcome.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

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You didn’t really know the rhyme or reason for your gift. It was just always something you had and having grown up being able to see and speak with spirits you’d never felt the need to investigate it. Besides even if you were to learn the reason for your unique talent, it wasn’t like you were ever going to seek out a way to get rid of it. As far as you were concerned it was a part of you and it brought comfort to a lot of people once they got over their shock and in some cases heavy skepticism that you were playing a cruel prank on them. 

When you first set foot on the Thousand Sunny you had to suppress the shiver that ran up your spine as you were hit with an intense feeling that those on the crew were connected to a lost one and the weight of their grief was still heavy on their shoulders even if they didn’t realise it themselves. So you decided to keep your ability to yourself for now and help when the occasion to do so arose. As you set yourself up in your quarters you smiled softly, seeing that you truly were brought onto the crew for a reason. Idly you wondered who in the crew would be the first you would help.

SANJI

Sanji turned out to be the first. You entered the kitchen and smiled in greeting to the ship’s cook only your gaze to drift behind his shoulder. Your smile fell slightly and you stepped further into the room, peering at Sanji with intent concern. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking the chef by surprise as his own smile faltered. 

“Nothing, now that you’re here.” He insisted, adopting his charming smile once more  but you firmly shook your head, refusing to be convinced by his outward demeanour. Sanji became nervous and let his gaze fall away from you stare, finding it easier to maintain his pretence. Quickly he turned back to his chopping board and continued to prepare food for the evening meal. “What on earth would make you think something was wrong?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Your mother only ever shows this clearly when you’re deeply upset about something.” Your voice was soft but it was enough to make Sanji drop his knife against the block with a dull thud. He felt like laughing at the ludicrous statement at the same time he felt like shouting at you for the weird joke. Yet he couldn’t do either. You didn’t know anything about him or his family and he knew it wasn’t in you to say something so heartless. Thankfully he didn’t need to demand you explain yourself because you proved your honesty immediately. “You have her eyes and smile, kind and comforting. She worries when you get like this, hiding how you truly feel.”

Sanji looked over his shoulder to see you smiling fondly at something or rather someone beside him. Desperately he wished he could see what you saw, to see her again but if this was as close as he could get then he would take it a hundred times over. “I don’t want anyone to worry, least of all her.” 

“Sanji we all have bad days and hiding that from the people we care about isn’t the way to do it.” You told him, finally looking at his face again, reaching out to lightly push some of the hair from his eyes. “We have emotions for a reason and no-one expects you to suppress them. I’m always here to listen, okay?” You weren’t surprised to be brought into a tight hug by Sanji and returned the embrace, letting him hold you for as long as he needed.

ZORO

It took some time for you to finally see the spirit attached to Zoro’s heart with enough clarity to take in her appearance and hear her. It didn’t surprise you that this one took longer, Zoro’s personality never came across as being someone who clung to the past and let it cloud his vision but on a day like this it was clear even Zoro wasn’t invulnerable to the deepest of connections that you could now see had been cut far too soon. 

You’d wandered up to the Crow’s Nest to both take a break from the chaotic noise of Luffy, Franky, Chopper and Usopp and also settle in for your evening watch. This wasn’t anything new so Zoro only gave you a brief glance in greeting before going back to training against one of the reinforced training dummies Franky had made to withstand his attacks enough for a worthwhile practice. However he wasn’t moving the way he wanted, something was wrong with his movements. “You’re forgetting the fundamentals.” 

Your voice came from the seating and Zoro looked over his shoulder to see you were casually leaning against the edge, looking out at the ocean. He cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow at you. You weren’t even watching him, how would you know what he was apparently doing wrong? As if feeling his stare, you turned your head to look at him. “You’re getting too stuck in your head, just take a breath and keep it simple.” 

Zoro had to scoff at the advice. Yes, you were a fighter but not a swordsman so to be told what was wrong stung his ego slightly. It’d be like if he tried to tell Franky how to fix the ship. You seemed to read the offence on his face and it surprised him to see you laugh and hold up your hands lightly in defence. “That’s not coming from me, it’s coming from Kuina.”

Kuina? Now Zoro found himself glaring and tensing out of a fear of his private life being pried into. Where had you heard that name? Who told you about her? Not that he confided in many about his childhood friend. You sighed sadly and got to your feet. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen this kind of reaction and it wasn’t surprising that Zoro fell back onto the defensive and become distrustful. You stopped in front of the swordsman and glanced briefly at the spirit at his side.

“She’s happy to see you’ve come so far but your name hasn’t quite reached the heavens yet. You still have a long way to go and she believes in you.” You smiled and lightly punched Zoro’s arm when you saw the belief and shock appear in his no longer skeptical gaze. “Keep getting stronger but don’t forget her father’s teachings okay?”

“I won’t let her down. I made a promise.” Zoro affirmed strongly and you grinned, turning to go back to your seat when he quickly caught your arm, surprising you. You turned and looked at him questioningly. “If she’s still here do you…do you think you can help me speak to her?” 

LUFFY

It wasn’t much of a surprise to you that Luffy was the one to seek you out. He’d caught some talk from the crew about the things you just seemed to know things about their past or about someone they knew that had passed away. His suspicions were confirmed when you’d all stopped on an island for supplies and you’d helped a grieving family in a way no-one else could. You’d managed to ease their pain and reassure them that their loved one was still with them and had no regrets. When you were back on the Sunny he appeared beside you on the railings, grinning widely and already bouncing with excitement. “You see ghosts right?”

“Yeah, I see them. Not at will though.” You clarified, with Luffy being well Luffy you didn’t want to disappoint him by making him think that what you could was as easily controlled as a Devil Fruit ability which this was not. Still though your statement didn’t deflate him, if anything he only got more excited and he leaned in closer and set his hands on your shoulders. 

“What about me? Is someone with me?” Despite how excited he was you could sense a faint desperation coming from Luffy and you wanted to be able to help but as you’d already told him this wasn’t something that you could manipulate and command freely whenever you wanted. You looked at Luffy carefully and then around him in search of a presence connected to him. Suddenly you felt a warmth and made out the outline of a man standing behind your Captain and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ace.” You felt like you were saying it in greeting. You’d known about Luffy’s brother but never had the pleasure of actually getting to meet him. It was almost eerie how both Luffy and Ace grinned so happily and in sync but it was also so infectious. Luffy seemed pleased but then seemed to be eager for more. 

“Is it just Ace? Is anyone else with him? Maybe younger?” He asked and you slowly shook your head with a small frown. 

“Sorry Luffy, just Ace.” You said, disappointed that you couldn’t give Luffy what he wanted and seeing him sigh slightly and lower his gaze briefly made you feel guilty even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. Still though you couldn’t help but look to Ace, silently pleading for assistance on his part. However the brother only smirked knowingly and you began to suspect that Ace knew something you and Luffy didn’t. Thankfully that was all you needed to cheer Luffy up. “Just because I don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not with you though Luffy. Maybe next time whoever it is you’re thinking about will be there instead?” 

“Yeah you’re right!” Luffy grinned while leaping up onto the railing, his previous excited energy returning instantly. Before you could speak any more, Law’s voice called for Luffy wanting to go over the plan for when you all would be reaching Dressrosa in just a couple days time. 

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x you #zoro x you #luffy x you #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #zoro roronoa x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #black leg sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x you #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #monkey d luffy #vinsmoke sanji #op sanji #op zoro #op luffy

[nyoomiin]

roommates: part eleven.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Can't even look me in the face?” Kunikuzushi sneers. It's biting, that tone. “This is getting ridiculous.”

He stands between you and the hallway, preventing you from rushing into your room the moment you return home — a habit you had picked up on recently. It's shameful, you know. You really wish you talked it out with him earlier, but you had avoided him on pure instinct the first time you saw him and just couldn't stop.

A muttered excuse tumbles out of your lips, but it trails off, and you're left staring at him like a fool.

“I'm sorry,” you say softly, hesitantly meeting his gaze.

His arms are crossed, his brows drawn. He looks more hurt than the furious he portrays himself to be. His next words are said with stormy eyes and through gritted teeth. “I never pegged you down as the cowardly type.”

It stings, but he’s right, even if he was being rather harsh about it. You couldn't run away from it forever.

He sighs, letting his arms fall, and you watch as he brushes past you, heading for the door. Then, he pauses, turning to look at you.

“Come on,” he tells you impatiently, head cocked to the side. “What are you waiting for? I know a quiet place to talk.”

He spares you not a glance as you walk, always a step ahead as he leads you along the way. You follow him curiously, out of the city, up and down the winding paths of the forest, on a cobblestone path that turns to soil and then grass.

Crisp breeze tousles his hair, his cape flowing behind him, and starlight dusts his figure a shimmering glow. For all that it is worth, you think he looks simply angelic.

“We’re almost there,” he says, interrupting the silence.

We better be, you huff. You've been walking for ages now, and you've certainly had enough time to think over what you’d say to him.

You reach a cliff's edge, overlooking the city and the endless twilight beyond. Damn, you think. It's been a while since you've been this far out.

He sits before you do, legs dangling in the air, chin tilted up towards the skies. You lie on the grass instead, head propped up by an arm. You try not to think about how one wrong move would send you tumbling all the way down.

You tell yourself Kuni would catch you if you did.

For a second, everything is still. His eyes flutter shut, and you watch as he relaxes, as if letting something fall away. For a second, you can pretend that nothing has happened, that nothing has changed, and that you were just a dressmaker and he was just your roommate. And for a second, you entertain a ridiculous thought. You wish that you could stay in this moment forevermore.

You can't, you think. For you still had a lifetime to live.

“Will you start from the beginning?” you ask him softly.

His eyes flicker open, turning to face you almost lazily. He has a way of turning fear into confidence, you learn. He huffs. “As if you don't know the story of my creation.”

You pout. “But I want to hear it again. Pretty please?”

He relents with a sigh, and you cheer.

… It gets dark really, really fast.

“Dottore, that lunatic… He spins a ludicrous tale of how Niwa had killed you for your heart, then fled out of guilt.” Kuni's tone drips with derision, and you can tell part of that derision is directed at himself.

You shift closer to him, frowning faintly. “You couldn't have known.”

He scoffs, and to that, he says nothing.

“Ashes,” he murmurs, gaze a thousand miles away. “There was nothing left but ashes.”

You gasp, letting out a soft cry. Poor kid. Poor Kunikuzushi. Did he never get a break?

The night draws colder as you learn about the centuries Kuni — now named Scaramouche, had lived. Your eyes burn with stifled tears as you can only imagine how someone so pure was lost to time, devoured by wrath and woe, bitterness and venom.

“You should have seen me then,” he tells you, a wry smile spread across his face. “You would have hated it.”

You shake your head in protest. “I wouldn't have. Well, I mean… I would've stayed by your side, at least.”

Surely that counted for something?

“Don’t make me laugh. Someone like you could never survive an organisation like the Fatui,” he retorts. Somehow, you have the feeling he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. “You would have stayed, even if ‘Kunikuzushi’ was no more? Even if you are hurt endlessly?”

His eyes are electrifying, challenging. His face is set in the way he expects you to laugh and take back your words, in the way he expects you to say you'd leave after all. You scowl right back, resolve firm.

“Even then.”

He lets out a sharp breath of a laugh.

“I reached out for the Gnosis,” he says, and there's something tight in his tone, strained with a certain kind of grief. “Then, I fell.”

You gape. Utterly flabbergasted. What. The. Fuck.

“And you — I — How are you not dead…?”

“Don't be stupid,” he harrumphs, as if he had not fallen from twenty meters in the air. As if he had not hit the ground, as if he had not been scared and frantic and desperate. “I would never be so pathetic as to die from something like that.”

Studying him silently, you sigh, brows drawn with worry. He lies on the ground next to you after he had gotten sick of looking down at you, and he's so close you can hear every breath he takes. He had survived, that you know. How else would he be here before you, alive and well?

Still…

“Did it hurt?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Only for a second.”

You roll over closer to him, and he doesn't seem to mind when you squish against his side. “So, I've been curious,” you say. “Why were you so agitated that day? Y'know, the last day I saw you before I…”

His nose scrunches.

“Oh, then?” he laughs. It is a rather hollow laugh. “Vermin who didn’t know their place decided to cause a ruckus, is all.”

You sigh, letting both the matter and your head drop. It’s obvious he will not elaborate on it further. Maybe he’ll tell you another day.

He ends his tale rather anti-climatically, brushing off his entire life as if it were simply a pain to deal with. You remain silent, apprehensive and contemplative. You had lived a whole different life, and a whole different timeline had come and gone and now, you were one of the only people in the world that remembered it still.

He takes your silence the wrong way. Looking terribly unamused, he smirks, cocking his head. “Well, what will you do now? Maybe if you beg, that meddlesome god will wipe your memories for you once more.”

“Archons, who do you think I am? If anything, this means you’re stuck with me now,” you tell him snootily, smacking his head.

It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it? That not even death could do you part? You had liked him then and you liked him now, and there’s a small part of you that thinks you would have liked him even when he was stained with hell. Perhaps one day, this like would turn into love as well.

Whatever the case, and in one way or another, he was yours now.

“You’re a moron,” he scoffs, lips quirked up into a half-smile.

You grin. “And you’re a bitch.”

(“‘m sorry I was avoiding you,” you murmur drowsily, “I didn’ mean to…”

He glances at you just as your head lolls against his side, fast asleep. His useless heart has the gall to stutter.

The both of you had talked until day breaks, and it is when the horizon is painted pink that your fatigue catches up with you. How weak, he muses, resisting the urge to poke at your cheek. To think mortals needed something as redundant as sleep.

You’d have to continue your conversation another day, then, seeing as how you were in no shape to do so now. There were still many things he had to discuss with you.

Standing, he dusts himself off, ready to head home. He looks down at you. A beat passes. Then, he huffs, lugging you onto his back.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he mutters under his breath. Humans were weak, especially someone like you. You’d certainly fall ill if he were to leave you alone, out in the open like this. Maybe even deathly ill. “You can’t pay your half of the rent if you’re dead.”

So, you’d owe him for this. Hmph.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi @xiaosantenna @idontevenknow129 @bfajax @mostlymoth @thenyxsky @kiyiiaarchived @skyvella @theautisticduck @someonealreadyhadmynickname @wanderersumbrella @im-just-here-for-the-coffee

#—stellaronhvnters. #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #scaramouche #NOW ITS JS THE EPILOGUE LEFT THANK THE LORDS

[bullet-prooflove]

Coy: Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

Releasing early as a birthday gift to my babe @mandy426

Dean found out his wife was cheating on him when he discovered he had syphilis during a routine medical check. He tells you that after you've been trapped in an elevator together for over three hours. He’d exhausted all of the small talk options after the first two so now the you’re digging into the real stuff, the stuff you don’t even tell your best friend because you’re terrified they’ll murder someone on your behalf.

You’d already disclosed how you found your husband fucking another woman on a sheepskin rug in the cabin you owned together. So it was his turn and well that’s apparently that’s the secret he chose to disclose.

“It’s gone now though right?” You say gesturing towards the lower half of his scrubs and he gives you an offended look. “You’re not just walking around sowing your wild oats…”

“One, that would be horribly irresponsible if I didn’t get treated and secondly I do not ‘sow my wild oats’.” He says making bunny ears with his fingers.

“I just assumed, an intelligent, attractive man like yourself would have a busy social calendar.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Yea, Netflix and medical journals.” He responds before backtracking. “Wait you think I’m attractive?”

“Dean, don’t be coy.” You say, kicking him lightly in the knee with your shoe.

“I’m not.” He tells you, his cheeks colouring as he tilts his head back towards the ceiling and closes his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time someone told me they found me attractive. It’s usually grumpy, egotistical…”

He laughs before he tips his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m not selling myself am I?”

“Do you feel like you need to?” You ask him and he frowns before he shakes his head.

“No I…” He trails off before he looks at you a little differently. “I’ve never felt like that with you, it doesn’t feel like trying. Hell I’ve just told you I’ve had syphilis so I think we can discern I feel pretty damn comfortable around you.”

“Yea.” You say with a sigh, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Comfortable.”

“I’ve said something wrong.” He says quietly. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” You say softly, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just, I’m not the girl that gets the guy. I’m the weird one that cuts up bodies in the morgue.”

“You do a valuable job, we learn things from that, people get closure.” You give him a look and he realises he’s doing it again, saying the wrong thing. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“No you are.” You say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I understand perfectly.”

Silence falls between the two of you and now it’s his turn to sigh because he’s never been good at communicating, not when it comes to the important stuff. Up until three hours ago you were just a colleague, the woman he had a thing for. And now…

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” He tells you because you took a risk and now it’s his turn. “And it has been intimidating actually, because you’re also smart and funny. The perfect package.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

He can tell you don’t believe him, why would you? You’re ex-husband spent years lying to about his affairs. He knows how that feels, how it erodes at your self-worth. He also knows that sometimes actions speak louder than words.  

“I mean it.” He tells you, his fingertips tilting up your chin so that he can look into your eyes. “I never thought I had a shot with you.”

“We’re idiots aren’t we?” You say softly as his thumb traces over the apple of your cheek.

“We are trapped in an elevator.” He agrees, his nose trailing along the length of yours. “And I’m terrified what other secrets I may end up spilling if we stay in here any longer.”

“You wanna do something other than talk?” You ask him and he smiles against the corner of your mouth.

“Yea.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours. “I think I would.”

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#dean archer #dean archer x reader #steven weber #one chicago #chicago med

[itsabouttimex2]

Oooh how about some yandere headcanons of Tang , Redson and Azure lion with a reader who’s very reckless? They’re always throwing themselves into danger whenever the team is fighting, and reader just insists they’re trying to help. Please if not no worries XD

Sure thing! Also, I think I’m going to grind out a few more requests before I wipe my inbox. I let it grow shamefully out of care during my hiatuses. Then I’ll open up Character x Character (still platonic) requests for a while.

“Y/N, I find that I have warned you many times about this kind of behavior…”

You look up to the leonine demon with a frown, gripping one of your upper arms as a form of self-support. How many times have you heard this lecture? How many times would you hear it in the future? Every time that you so much as try to help him in a fight, you’re sat down for this same spiel.

But you don’t remember him ever being this stern. In fact, he seems-

“Cub,” the lion says, carefully taking your chin between two massive fingers. He says it pointedly, as though preemptively arguing his stance- you’re young and small, still a child to him. One he sees as worthy of his love and protection, even if you might try to reject it.

“Y-yes, Azure?”

“I would like you to pay close attention when I’m talking to you, please.”

Even upset, the demon remains polite and gentle, if rather firm. His fingers are soft to the touch, claws carefully sheathed. He’s never used them against you, not even once. Nor has he even threatened you with them.

His massive hand shifts to your hair, stroking the unruly strands back into place. His metacarpal pad squishes into your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into it, savoring the brief moment of warmth he offers during this long scolding.

“It seems I must switch my methods- clearly, my words will continue to fall on deaf ears if I continue down this path.”

Azure outright scruffs you- snags you by the cape attached to your pauldrons and lifts until your feet leave the ground.

“Come along, cub,” the lion says, as though you have a choice at the moment. All you can do is dangle from his blue-furred hand and try not to squirm, hoping that your cape won’t rip and sending you tumbling.

The training grounds are a familiar sight, hours and hours spent here together, learning all of Azure’s skills.

He presses a wooden training blade into your hands, then takes up one of his own.

“If I cannot teach you, perhaps a full day of training will. We will be sparring from this moment to your bedtime,” he sternly informs, a blush creeping up your face at his final word. That your mentor saw you as so young that he enforced a strict bedtime was…

Well, you tried to tell yourself it was reasonable. After all, if you were growing stronger and exhausting your body, you’d need lots of rest, wouldn’t you?

Didn’t justify the constant checking on you through the night, tucking you in every time the blankets come loose, and ensuring that all the windows were shut and locked.

And you had no doubt that was where you’d end up, exhausted and face-down on your bed, letting Azure gingerly knead out your aching muscles with his massive paws.

But all of that was for later. For now?

You had a full eight hours of training ahead.

Good luck, Y/N.

“No.”

“Wuh- what the hell do you mean, no?! I haven’t said anything yet!”

“And the answer is still no, brat.”

This is the most frequent conversation you and Red Son seem to have, constant preemptive denial of whatever scheme you’re dreaming up.

He’s viciously protective of you, serving as an ever-vigilant guard. Not only is your every move tracked and monitored, but your actions are under constant and fierce scrutiny.

“I see you went to that cheese tea stall, Y/N. After I told you that you weren’t allowed to go.”

“Red, they moved it to the inner city! It’s way safer there, so all your arguments before don’t even matter anymore!”

“…hmph. I suppose I’ll let this slide, then. But I’m not going to be so merciful next time.”

Constant restrictions on where you go and what you do, which could theoretically be lessened to some degree, if only you’d just stop being such a damn fool.

To him, your actions are proof of immaturity, preventing Red Son from genuinely trusting you or letting loose the stranglehold grip he’s taken on your life.

To you? You are genuinely just trying to help the people you love, if a bit recklessly.

But Red doesn’t see it that way, and even when you try to make a convincing argument as to why he should, it’s promptly shot down.

So with debate and brute force both proving pointless in changing his mind, you switch to stealth and subterfuge instead. Expect to get caught about fifty percent of the time, then forced back inside and placed under lock and key.

He loves you, dammit! Why do you have to be so stupid?! Why do you have to try and sneak out?! Why can’t he love any other idiotic mortal around?!

Why does it have to be you?

Red Son can’t imagine that he’ll ever find out why he came to cherish someone as small and weak and stupid as you… but he does.

And since he can’t force himself to stop caring, he’ll just have to impose harsher and harsher restrictions until you finally submit to his care.

Maybe then he’ll finally be able to berate thoroughly talk you out of your heroic ‘delusions’. Maybe you’ll crack and break down, finally discouraged from your kindness.

Just this once, he’ll let you cry into his shoulder.

It’s the least he can do for the person he loves most.

Oh, this poor man. Weak ankles, frail body, fragile heart. You are not doing him any favors by acting recklessly.

“Y/N, NO! Put that down! You- you can’t just go around swinging random swords- stop spinning it!”

“It’s fine, Mister Tang! Mei’s been teaching me!”

“Teaching you to what?! Get yourself killed as quickly as possible?!”

Yeah, he’s constantly on the verge of falling apart. Given that the scholar genuinely just wants to keep you safe and sound, it’s absolutely nerve-wracking for him to deal with you.

Expect him to turn to the Noodlefam for help eventually. Given that they cherish Tang as much as he cherishes them, it’s not hard to rally them into lending him a hand.

He’ll speak to MK about the whole matter, talking him into keeping an eye out for you. He might even convince the young hero to whip up a clone to keep surveillance on you, trying it’s hardest to keep you out of trouble.

As for Pigsy, well… if Tang sees you as a child, let’s be honest- so does the chef. Man has a ladle locked and loaded for the backside of your head, and a sharp remand to go with the sting. “Enough messing around, Y/N! Put the damn sword down and help me with these dumplings already!” And at his words you reluctantly clamber down from the windowsill you were crawling over, settling back at the counter to help the porcine demon prep a meal.

All three of them together have zero issue with keeping you under control, but Tang is clearly the most dedicated here, and sometimes on his own in tending to the matter.

You have to sit through hours of scoldings and lectures. When he’s finally done trying to impart upon you why what you’ve done is dangerous, Tang sends you off to bed with his worried words ringing in your ears.

He’ll stop by to tuck you in, of course. Even when caught in the maddening throes of obsession is Tang kind, always looking to dote on you in some way.

There’s definitely worse people to be dealing with, at least.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Azure Lion #Yandere Tang #Yandere Red Son #Yandere Mentor

[thewitchywitch]

Palmistry 101

Alrighty y’all so this is the first informational post in my palmistry post series, where I share my personal notes and information I’ve gathered through experience as a semi-professional palmist. The first post, Palmistry 100, is available here if you’d like to read it.

This post will be a bit long, so everything is available under the cut!

Okay so the first thing we’ll cover is which hand to read. Short answer? We absolutely read both hands. We do this to get a more complete and full understanding of someone’s personality. The dominant hand shows the outward personality, actions, and what they’ve done with what they were given, sorta like the sun sign in astrology. The non-dominant hand shows the more inner workings, someone’s inclinations, and more of their way of thinking/reflections, sorta like the moon sign in astrology. Think conscious versus subconscious. So what do we do if someone is ambidextrous? First, I ask them which hand they default to when it comes to writing. Most of the time, they will tell you clearly. On the rare chance that someone says they write with both, check the flexibility of their thumb—the hand with the less flexible thumb is their dominant hand.

That’s cool, now we know to read both hands, now what? How do we study this before going out into the world offering our friends and families readings? Because that’s a lot of pressure. Slow down there tiger, you’ve probably got a long way before doing an in-person reading, especially for someone with a lot of questions. The best way to study palms can be broken down into 2.5 parts.

Number 1, take a print! All you need is some paper and ink. Cover your hand in ink (one at a time of course) and push firmly into the paper. If done correctly, you should be able to clearly see the lines in your hands and even your finger prints and palmar ridges. Here’s an example:

Prints are fantastic for learning, because not only are you able to clearly see the lines and use them as a reference for study, but now you have a print that you can use to compare your hands in the future, because a lot of the lines in your hands will change over time. Having a print allows you to take your time when studying and learning to read palms, much better than asking your curious mom to check her palms and then getting a borage of “What do you see?” and “What does that mean?”

Number 2, pictures! Phone cameras have come a very long way over the years, and most people are able to capture a fairly good image of someone’s palm. The reason this is less preferred than a print is because not only will some of the minor lines and the palmar ridges be basically invisible, but you also won’t be able to measure the fingers against each other (which we’ll get into in a different post). That being said, they’re still a great resource to have, especially if you’re not able to take a print for any variety of valid reasons.

2.5? 2.5 includes pictures of celebrity hands, which can be found accompanying readings from other palmists sometimes, just like is done with celebrity astrology. I would recommend to ignore the other palmist’s reading and just study the palms, especially of the dominant hand, and try to match your findings with the way said celebrity portrays themselves, especially in interviews. For example, Hillary Clinton has a simian line, which in short, makes a lot of sense for her based on her career in politics. Jim Carrey has a long ring finger, sometimes known as the Apollo finger, which is found in a lot of people drawn to being the star of the room, and some people in the public eye like actors and comedians (and I’m not just saying that). You can also find plenty, and I mean plenty, of palm pictures on reddit, specifically r/palmistry, which I will absolutely recommend to beginners as a studying resource once you learn a few things to pinpoint.

So we’ve identified some great ways to get your hands on some other hands, which is fantastic. Learning to read for strangers helps you to build you objectivity when reading—it removes bias from your readings, which sharpens your knowledge on the topic.

In the next post, we’ll begin the discussion on the major lines of the palms, which is where I usually start my readings.

#witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #witchy #witch community #witches on tumblr #witches of tumblr #witchywitchesshit #divination #notes #palmistry notes #palmist #palmistry

[hanna-lulu]

i’ve been comparing the usa now to germany circa the late 1930s and it is not a favorable comparison.

let’s see what we’ve got:

increasing antisemitism

increasing transphobia

increasing ableism

continued oppression of indigenous peoples

laws being introduced to ban gender-affirming care and remove children from their homes if they are allowed to live as they wish

books being banned for having honest and age-appropriate portrayals of race/racism and queerness/homophobia

pushing maid (medical assistance in dying) on people with disabilities and even people who are just poor (this is more in canada but i’m including it here anyway)

a right wing that is seen as ridiculous and absurd, yet is somehow still managing to hold onto power while liberals/leftists laugh it off as if they’ll run out of steam

it’s important to note that in the 1930s, when hitler came to power, the international community thought he was a joke. his overblown rhetoric was silly, his history was laughable, and nobody took him seriously. they thought it would all blow over. also, he wasn’t saying anything that a lot of people didn’t secretly agree with. antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and racism were widespread throughout europe and the usa, and a lot of people had less of a problem with what he was saying and more with how he was saying it. (think kanye west’s antisemitic comments, which joe rogan did attempt to stop him from making so blatantly, but didn’t actually disagree with.)

the first medical and educational facility for gender affirming care was in berlin. did you know that? the institut für sexualwissenschaft (known variably in english as institute of sex research, institute of/for sexology, or institute for the science of sexuality) was founded in 1919 and headed by magnus hirschfeld, who was both gay and jewish. he helped build a library in the institute that was dedicated to the topics of gender, eroticism, and same-sex love. the research undertaken there regarded sexual health of all people, gay, transgender, and intersex, as well as counseling and treatment for alcoholism, gynecological issues, venereal diseases, contraceptives, and more. sexual reassignment surgeries were performed successfully there. the goal was to help those who were suffering because they could not live as who they truly were and to educate the common people, because people fear what they see as different, what they cannot understand.

you won’t find the books in that library today. they were burned as part of the nazis’ campaign of terror and censorship. in 1933, 6 years before world war 2 officially broke out, the institut was broken into and looted by the deutsche studentenschaft (aka the german student union). young adults who had spent their formative years surrounded by hateful rhetoric were accompanied by a brass band as they destroyed this oasis of understanding and knowledge. hirschfeld himself had fled germany years before, as he had been targeted numerous times by nationalists/far right “activists”.

berlin once had a thriving queer community. germany was a home to many jews, my own great-grandparents included. my great-grandmother’s younger brother had a learning disability. their home turned on them out of fear and ignorance, the people told by their leaders that other human beings were not really human, but degenerate filth. my great-grandparents escaped with their lives. many– my great-grandma’s brother included– did not.

the concentration camps that imprisoned and killed so many jewish, queer, and/or disabled people (as well as romani and political prisoners, and japanese-americans IN THE USA) are not consigned to the past. our prison system disenfranchises those who are placed in it and uses them for unpaid labor. refugees are caged for daring to hope that our country– the so-called “land of the free”– would take them in when their homes turned on them. indigenous people are ridiculed and attacked for wanting to help our planet heal and for asking to conserve the land that was stolen from their ancestors. almost a hundred years since the holocaust, and we still haven’t learned.

don’t look away from this. it’s not going to blow over. those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, and we are already experiencing a resurgence of fascist beliefs and rhetoric.

write to your representatives. VOTE. protest if and when you can. show them that we are HERE and we refuse to be written out of the history books, banned or burned away. we are human beings. we live and love and deserve to do so with dignity.

and if appealing to your humanity isn’t enough, remember this poetic version of a quote by german lutheran pastor martin niemöller, an early nazi collaborator and antisemite who later changed his views and opposed hitler’s oppressive regime:

“first they came for the socialists, and i did not speak out–

because i was not a socialist.

then they came for the trade unionists, and i did not speak out–

because i was not a trade unionist.

then they came for the jews, and i did not speak out–

because i was not a jew.

then they came for me– and there was no one left to speak for me.”

there is always another enemy in fascism. anyone who is different will eventually be a target. white supremacy is poison, and fitting the mold of a “perfect citizen” cannot keep you safe. queer infighting and pushing down people who you find “too weird” will not stop the people who hate all of us. to the far right, we are all wrong to our very cores. solidarity in the face of oppression is the only way to survive, live, and thrive.

#i’ve been meaning to write this post for a while #i’m so sick and tired of this bullshit #you’d think we would have learned by now #long post #history #world war 2 #world war ii #the holocaust #antisemitism #homophobia #transphobia #ableism #racism #der institut für sexualwissenschaft #magnus hirschfeld #adolf hitler #book banning #book burning #fascism #concentration camps #maid (medical assistance in dying) #martin niemöller #first they came #solidarity forever

[ramonathinks]

gojo and geto would actually be the type to slowly coax you into a poly relationship and you wouldn’t even realize it. 

they are best friends and they’re just plain rich assholes who do what they want and flaunt their money all over the place and somehow you end up doing something minor like spilling coffee on gojo’s expensive ass pants or something and now you’re trying to repay the debt and he’s making you do just a bunch of stuff for him like his laundry, groceries, cleaning his apartment, etc.

he thinks it’s hilarious and cute.

geto convinces gojo to let him borrow you from time to time but instead of cleaning he just wants to talk to you, at first. he is asking you how you feel about gojo, implying that gojo likes you and you’re suprisied but doubtful. he tells you to try to be sweeter to gojo and the more you listen to him, the more you start to like him. he even wins you over by buying a few expensive gifts just so you’ll be nice to his friend.

one day geto comes over and try to get you to come to this party with him and gojo, which would lead him to adding that your arrangement and you’d just sigh and decide to go. getting tipsy isn’t the best and you’ll learn that soon when you end up dancing against both of them. grinding all over while you’re sandwiched between them and gojo is kissing the back of your neck and geto is now kissing your lips.

you wake up with a headache and in gojo’s bed in the middle of the both of them. you’re blushing and you see that you’re only barely clothed, you hurry to leave before they wake but before you’re even down the stairs they’re calling out to you.

you get a few text messages from them saying they need to talk to you and to meet with them. you don’t reply eventually they have to come to you. they confess that they’ve been trying for more than a few months to get you to see how much they wanted you and with the coffee incident it just helped more.

blah blah blah and then they just pitch the idea and you’re just like “i guess we can try.” nervous and such.

they wouldn’t even straight up get to having a threesome they’d ease it in by one on one sex then ease you into it by one of them starting to watch while you and the other are engaging and then after about a few months of taking turns then they’d finally get to it.

Like they’re kissing your neck and hands are just everywhere and all over. You’re losing your mind and at the same time everything is coming together.

no part two. no fic. don’t ask.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #getou x you #geto suguru #satoru gojo #gojo x y/n #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x you #geto x y/n #getou smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics. #rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

[melzula]

well since requests are open i wanted to request a zuko fic?

zuko x waterbender reader in which someone from team avatar walks in on them kissing?

i feel like it’d be funny idk lol 😂

a/n: i love this trope it’s so funny. also it’s like subtly mentioned reader is a water bender since i didn’t wanna just shove it in there awkwardly. anyway hope you enjoy!

summary: a private moment between you and your boyfriend is interrupted by your unsuspecting friends

“Are you sure no one saw you come in here?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zuko says with a huff after closing the flaps of your tent. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not true,” you argue with a frown. “I just enjoy having some privacy. I know those guys are going to make a big deal about us being together, and I just want to enjoy our relationship without having to deal with any prying eyes.”

“I know,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m just tired of sneaking around. Do you know how difficult it is not to kiss you or check on you after a fight with my sister? It’s torture.”

“It’s just until the war is over. There’s a lot at stake right now, and it would be a weird time to come clean. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Zuko murmurs with a frown, one that immediately melts away at the feel of your arms wrapping around his midsection. It’s hard to be upset when you’re smiling up at him with the purest look of adoration in your eyes. Despite everything, all of his flaws and mistakes and cruelty, you love him, and it fuels the warmth inside of his heart knowing he has someone like you. Maybe he would have joined the Avatar and his friends sooner if he knew it would lead him to you.

“At least we’re finally alone,” he notes with a faint smile before leaning down to press his lips against your own in a long awaited kiss. He hasn’t been able to give or receive affection all day, and it isn’t until now with your chest pressed against his own that he’s finally able to truly feel relaxed.

Unfortunately, you’re both too engrossed in each other to notice the rustling of your tent flaps as Sokka and Toph let themselves in without a second thought.

“Hey, y/n, Toph and I are gonna head into town, do you want to- oh, gross!” He cries after catching Zuko and yourself mid lip lock.

You both jump at the intrusion, knocking your head together on accident and groaning in unison at the impact.

“Sokka!” You cry out in embarrassment. “Monkey feathers, don’t you knock?!”

“It’s a tent! There is no knocking!” He yells back defensively, equally as upset as you are. “I can’t believe you guys were kissing!”

“We weren’t kissing,” Zuko argues, his face red with embarrassment. “We were… hugging… with our… mouths?”

“Oh, spirits,” you groan, your palm hitting your forehead in embarrassment at Zuko’s horrible attempt at lying. For a Prince, he has a terrible way with words. You’d think all that time spent with his Uncle would make his vocabulary more eloquent.

“If Toph could see she’d be very upset right now!” Sokka scolds, but the girl beside him simply shrugs.

“Actually, this works out great for me. Katara owes me five gold pieces now,” she says with a grin.

“You guys knew they were dating and didn’t tell me?!” The water tribe boy says in offense.

“I had a hunch, but Katara disagreed, so we made a bet.”

“Enough already! This is mortifying enough as it is,” you groan impatiently. “Sokka, we’ll talk about this later. For now, I need both of you out!”

After getting the two to leave the tent, you shut it closed with an irritated sigh. You’re absolutely humiliated, and you don’t think you can show your face to your friends ever again.

“So much for keeping it a secret,” the fire bender mutters.

“You,” you say with an accusatory finger pointed at the Prince, “need to learn how to lie better.”

“I know,” he admits meekly, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Sighing, you open your water pouch and tend to the growing bump on his head from your previous collision. You can’t stay mad at him when he looks so flustered and sweet, so instead you merely throw your arms around his neck and pull him back in for another kiss.

You can focus on coming clean later. For now, you just want to enjoy your moment of peace with the boy you love.

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin @lora21

#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender #request

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, yandere, f!reader, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

gn reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” You sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic – heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” He sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy. 

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” He mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me.” He requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror – chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths. “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” He hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos – or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second – so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you – or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” He murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb – lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie.” He purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip – in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then – slowly, sweetly – suffocatingly so as you cried – tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” He mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” He offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters. “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” He pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe.” He soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause – a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” He feigned - sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands – whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it – psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble – toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself the more tense you get and the harder you cry. “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-” 

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too.” He coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides – feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over your plump cheeks – tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise – already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash – but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm.” He interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front – holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying. “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat – too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it – though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it – also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead. 

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~”  He whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging – looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes – so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie – desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” He swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust. “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting. 

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush – all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise. “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing – only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks – frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork – feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment – even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance. 

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before – holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul, Aizawa, Todoroki

JJK – Toji, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Sukuna, Naoya

HQ - Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, Sakusa, Suna, either Miya twin

BLLK - Isagi, Reo, Kunigami

DS - Doma

CSM - Aki

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #yandere bakugo #yandere kirishima #yandere dabi #yandere hawks #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere jjk #yandere haikyuu #yandere toji #yandere nanami #yandere geto #yandere demon slayer #yandere blue lock #yandere csm

[ghostfacd]

KISS AND MAKE UP ; CORIOLANUS SNOW

summary: when coriolanus and you argue over the sudden closeness between him and lucy gray, all hell breaks loose. but he’s reminded that in the end, it’s you who he chooses, and it’s you that will stay.

warnings: reader and coryo have a toxic relationship (are we surprised?), mentions of cheating (no actual cheating involved), fighting and yelling, some ooc!coryo, descriptions may be inaccurate ‘cause i read the book like 2 years ago 😭

“I hate you!” You scream, thrashing in Coriolanus’s threshold. “Let go! Let go!”

“Oh stop making a scene, will you?” He growls out, not appreciating your lack of awareness of the eyes that were currently watching. “She’s fine, she’s fine.” He reassures the staring orbs of eyes, “stop it now, Y/N.”

His tone makes you shiver, and you stop trying to kick yourself out of his grip. He smiles contently at this, finally letting you go, but not before shoving his hands into yours. “See, wasn’t that easy?”

“Oh fuck you.” You say, but both you and Coriolanus know that you’ll be back at square one by tonight, kissing and telling him that you love him.

“Thought I'd have to drag you away and shut you up." He mutters, clearly unimpressed with the way you acted earlier. “Maybe get your shit together, L/N.”

“I would if you’d just act like a decent boyfriend for once!” You say, throwing your arms out in the air. “You know what? I don’t care; I don’t care what you do—go get close to your tribute! Go fuck up our relationship for all I care!”

You yank your arm away from his, stomping inside of the Academy with a scowl plastered on your face. Sejanus is only a few steps behind the two of you, and was going to open his mouth to say something when Coriolanus places his index finger in front of him.

“Don’t.” The boy says. “She’s just being dramatic.” He fixes his uniform, a lavish shade of red, as it was crinkled from the way you had tried to escape his hold earlier.

The next time he sees Lucy Gray, he thinks of your little upset pout and face, your yelling ringing in his ear.

Go fuck up our relationship for all I care!

“Are you alright?” Lucy Gray was cautious around Coriolanus, he was unpredictable, and scarily cunning. She had no idea what was even one of the million thoughts that ran through his mind

“I’m.. fine.” Coriolanus says, giving her a meek smile that almost makes her feel sick. Although she had to admit he was fairly handsome and she had somewhat fell for his charm and face, he still scared her regardless.

“Coryo.” Your voice makes Lucy Gray and Coriolanus both look up. You look like a looming dark figure compared to her, towering over. “We should talk later.”

And Lucy Gray watches as Coriolanus’s once emotionless face turns into a sly grin. He nods, not saying much, which was something Lucy Gray had came to learned these past few days after he had first met and given her a rose.

“Snow always falls on top.” Coriolanus whispers underneath his breath, and Lucy Gray doesn’t question it, only continuing what they had been doing earlier.

When the two of you were walking out of the Academy, you placed your hand in Coriolanus’s. It had gotten colder than it had in the morning, and you were freezing under your uniform.

He carefully caresses your hand, looking up to watch as snow slowly fell from the sky.

“So, you’re gonna tell me what you wanted to earlier?” He asks, still looking at the sky.

“I’m sorry Coryo,” you reply meekly, feeling small under his frame. “For causing a scene earlier. I was upset.”

“Upset at me getting close to Lucy Gray?” He questions, now finally glancing down at you.

“Yes! But you can’t blame me Coryo, you don’t see me getting close with my tribute.”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes, the blue orbs bore into yours. “What did I tell you? I would never cheat on you, silly girl. I’m not a monster.”

If only he knew.

You look down, embarrassed that you two were even having this conversation in the first place.

“I know you wouldn’t, which is why I’m apologizing in the first place.”

The two of you stop abruptly, your eyes reaching his despite the obvious height difference.

“I love you, okay?” Coriolanus breathes out, you can even see his breath, the temperature dropping even lower than it was before.

And although you don’t know the extent to which exactly the words coming out of his mouth are even true, you still go on your tippy toes, shivering as you give your boyfriend a kiss on the lips.

“There’s my smiling girl,” he says as he watches your eyes twinkle. “Now let’s go, I have some ideas of ways to warm you up.”

That night, snow truly, did fall on top.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #hunger games x reader

[luvrxbunny]

little spider

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Innocence

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader knows nothing about sex or feelings of arousal, clothed clit-rubbing? cum in pants, small feelings of embarrassment (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.3k

A/N: sorry im late but im kinda proud of this one so i hope it was worth the wait! <3

Miguel didn’t think he’d end up in this position, nowhere in his wildest, most perverted fantasies did he think that this would actually be the outcome of him recruiting you but… here we are. 

You were assigned by the higher-ups to learn from him, they thought you had potential, and honestly? Miguel hated you when he met you, he felt like they were punishing him for something, that assigning him this raw recruit was just a flaunt of power. You didn't even have a suit he had to make you one, a trial suit first, to make sure all your vitals were good, to track your movements and decide what suit material would be best- or if you would have a digital one like him. 

During the weeks of his monitoring of your vitals, he began to grow a bit fond of you. You were an adorable recruit and eager to please, you were thoughtful and always gave your all, something he really appreciates. One other thing he noticed about you… your dopamine levels were elevated around him, along with your estradiol and testosterone. He ignores it when he’s writing his reports, he tells himself that he doesn’t report it because the higher-ups don't need to know, not because he knows they’d make you transfer… He should’ve requested it the first time he noticed it but the thought of you, his sweet, innocent spider, all turned on just from being around him? It ignited something in him. 

He updated your suit, saying that the data he was receiving wasn't enough, he made you wear the suit as he replaced the chip and tried to hide the smile in his voice when your spine straightened under his touch. The new chip could give him real-time tracking of all your vitals, but he set his watch to alert him anytime certain hormones spiked… estradiol and testosterone. So he conducted a little experiment over the following weeks, he’d lean into you more when you speak, holding your eye contact, he even broke out the smirk he used to use on girls when he was younger, and it worked on you. 

His watch vibrated every time he was near you, if he walked up to you, it started being an alert to when you were near, it’d go off before you’ve even approached him, he’d walk into a room and it’d go off before he even saw you. It started to have an effect on him, he started to feel a spark in his stomach every time it went off, every time he’d meet your eyes and you’d have that expression he’d grown to know so well. That weak, almost pleading- yet confused look in your eyes and the sheer panic before tearing them away from his. He started having to grip whatever was in his hands as tightly as he could to control himself when you’re breathing would stutter after he complimented you on your work. 

He started getting hard reviewing your logs after spending the day with you, watching your heart rate stay elevated, spiking along with your hormones, he can see your breathing pattern, and how irregular it is compared to when you’re not with him. How high your body temperature was… the main areas of heat. On his more weak days, he’s gotten himself off to the diagram of you, with the burning red spot between your legs as the focus of his fantasies. 

Now you’re here, avoiding his gaze as his watch vibrates like crazy. “Miguel?” He looks at you again, trying to keep his gaze neutral, hopefully, to make this a bit easier on you… and him. “Yes?” 

His voice is smooth as cocoa butter and you can feel his gaze burning into you. He started this heat inside you, one you’d never encountered before. It starts when you see him in the morning and doesn’t stop until you struggle to sleep- or at least it used to. But recently it’s been non-stop, a constant distraction that you can’t pinpoint, it feels like it’s in your hips, stomach, chest, and thighs all at once. It feels like it’s in his breath when it fans over your face, it's in his eyes when they lock with yours, and somehow on his fingertips when they brush over any part of you. You’ve spent hours a night trying to figure out what you can do about it, you’ve thought about even asking Lyla but decided the risk of her telling Miguel was far too great.  

This past week it’s just been building on it’s self, almost unbearable with Miguel’s new immersive training. He takes you away to some deserted, closed-off place and trains you with no distractions, giving you nothing to focus on other than him and forcing him to give all his attention to you. Miguel’s attention, his gaze is what causes the most… pain. That’s what it’s become, a dull, numb, thrumming at the base of your stomach, like an itch you can’t scratch that just becomes a nuisance. You couldn’t handle it anymore and if you asked Lyla she’d just tell Miguel- so why not just ask him directly? 

So here you are, avoiding his gaze because you’ve spent the entire day with him, building enough fire inside you- you don’t need to add any more. “I think…” You take a breath and turn to him a bit before forcing the words out. “There’s something wrong with me.” He puts his clipboard down, his concern, and his thick, veiny hand that comes into view piles onto the heat over-taking your bloodstream. He takes his glasses off and sits back in his chair, reaching his leg out to pull a chair beside you closer to him. You dare a glance at him and try not to collapse at his gaze, at the way his hair moves over his face for a moment as he motions for you to sit in the provided chair.

You sigh and sit down, your legs pressed tightly together, your palms resting on your thighs and your eyes focused on the back of your hands. You stay silent, your mind racing, your body warming further at the feeling of his eyes on you. “What’s wrong, little spider?” You suppress a shiver at the nickname as goosebumps rise over your skin, it’s been a problem since he picked it. “I’m hot.” The words shoot out of your mouth before you can second-guess them again. Miguel chuckles a bit, sending embarrassment through your body, sits back in his chair, and crosses his arms, prompting you to go on. 

“I can’t fix it. There’s… someone.” Miguel pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to him. “For some reason, something about them just- “ You pause for a moment, truly baffled by the way you feel, trying to find some way to explain it. “They just do something to me and it won’t stop.” Your words start to sound frantic, a bit panicked. Miguel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to examine your expression. “It’s like there's a low- like a low vibration- or a frequency? Like the ones that are so low you can barely hear but you can sorta feel them? It’s like that but- but deep inside me.”

Your eyes close and eyebrows furrow as you describe the feeling to him. He tries to keep his breathing even as he hardens uncontrollably under the suit. You don’t even realize what you’re confessing to him. “Like it’s in my bones, Miguel.” You add emphasis, your hands digging into the material of your suit before raising your head to meet his eyes, hoping he understands the state you’re in. He’s almost dizzy at the way his blood rushes to his cock. He holds your gaze and tries to convey a baffled, thoughtful expression as he tries to calm himself. 

“That’s- That’s odd. Yeah, um.” He takes a few deep breaths before sitting back again, unable to stay in your space any longer. “Do- Can you tell me who’s causing it? Perhaps it’s a side effect of their powers?” Your spine straightens and you shake your head at him gently. You twist your fingers in the fabric of your suit and your feet play with each other on the lab floor. “H-have you heard of any powers like that?” You ask him, a hopeful look in your eyes. 

Clever girl.

“No, I haven't.” He sits back, spreads his legs, and runs his hands down his thighs and back with a sigh. He holds back a smirk when his watch vibrates and he hears you take a sharp breath. “I- I don’t know what to do anymore. It- I can barely sleep.” You sound distraught, broken, and tired. He’d be the messed up one if he didn't help you… Right?

“I mean… I can try running some tests?” He offers, he keeps his tone light, trying to keep his dark desires off your radar. You perk up at his offer, already up and out of your seat, standing in front of him with a smile. He keeps his eyes on you, trying to ignore the way your scent is assaulting his nose, giving away how badly you need him. “You think we could?”

He nods and stands up, walking over to his lab table and clearing a few things. His head is already running wild with fantasies, ideas of what he could do to you, what he could teach you, how good he could make you feel. “Yeah, of course. C’mere, pequeña araña” You were already walking to him but your pace stutters and his watch vibrates when the nickname slips out. He truly didn’t mean to, he had gotten a bit too deep in his fantasies, and when your voice broke through he didn’t get fully pulled out. He’s never called you that in Spanish, not to your face at least, it’s fallen from his lips a few times before though, when he’s alone with his hand wrapped around his cock. But your reaction dissuades any fear that had shot through him before and he can’t help the smirk that makes its way on his face. 

You’re standing silently beside him, wringing your hands together and he doesn’t think you even notice the way your thighs keep clenching together. “Get on the table.” His tone is teasing, a grin on his face as you jump and scramble onto the tabletop. You lay on your back and look over at Miguel, feeling that heat rage through you at the look on his face. It’s dark and- wanting. It’s confusing. 

He takes a deep breath and your fingers try to dig into the metal table top as he walks to you. “Okay. I’m going to examine your body a bit, press into some muscles, some pressure points to see if maybe it’s a physical trigger. Is that okay with you?” Your chest is already rising and falling more rapidly at the thought, the promise of Miguel’s hands on you. You nod at him stiffly, trying to stay normal and calm as he holds your eye contact, nodding along with you. A small smile graces his face before he walks around and presses his palm into your hairline, pushing your head down to rest on the table as he stands north of you. 

His hands press into your shoulders and your eyes shut tight. He can feel all your muscles tense and his watch vibrates, he sneaks a peak at his and sees the huge spike in almost all your vitals. His cock twitches in his suit at your obvious need but he brushes it aside, if he rushes into this he might scare you off and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He may lose his mind. He moves his hands to your biceps, massaging them tightly as little whines slip into your breaths, only audible to his ears. 

He walks back to the side of the tables and your eyes stay shut. He massages the softness of your sides and his breathing kicks up a bit once he gets to your hips. He takes his time with them, admiring the way you fit into his hands and how you subconsciously tilt them toward him. His thighs jump as his cock begins to leak, dripping precum down them. He takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to move on. He forced himself to move on, he was trying to take it slow, hopefully, you’d realize where you need him and ask for it. But your thighs spread open when he massages the outside and his hands dive for the inner before he can think it through. 

You gasp, you sit up with your eyes wide and your hands gripping his wrists. You don’t do anything though, he expects you to pull his hands away but it feels more like you’re holding him there, stopping- or attempting to stop him from pulling away. So of course he doesn't. He stares into your eyes as you search his, trying to figure out if he realizes the way that made you feel, if your cover was blown, if he wants to stop but he looks expectant, like he’s waiting for something. So you loosen your grip. “That’s- I think that’s- ” You’re nodding at him lightly, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say because for some reason your brain has stopped working. 

“Yeah?” Your heart stutters at his tone and the tilt of his head as he says it. Your thighs tense around his hand for a moment before you try to calm down, un-tense them but they can’t help the way they tremble with anticipation. You’re nodding at him more frantically and his eyelids flutter. “Okay.” He takes one hand out from between your thighs and rests it on your lower back as his other hand keeps massaging, slowly moving up your inner thigh and the sensations grow more intense the higher he gets. 

Your eyes shut and your hands grip his wrists again, not pulling away, just holding him. Your eyes shut and your hips tilt into his hand, getting him so close to your pussy that he can feel the heat radiating off of her. You feel some sort of shame twinge in your belly, dampening the more intense feelings that Miguel was causing. What if this was wrong? What if you aren’t supposed to feel like this with him, without him knowing… Maybe you should stop. 

Miguel moves further up and all those thoughts scatter from your head immediately. His watch vibrates again and a noise shoots out of your mouth- one you’ve never heard before as your body folds over and your head rests on his shoulder. You shut your eyes tight and take a slow, deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I-” He cuts you off. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here, right?” He’s nodding at you, comforting and reassuring as his hand leaves your back to cradle your head. “You’re okay. I wanna help you, cariño.” Another noise leaves you at the nickname and his hand grips into your hair for a moment before sliding down to your neck and pulls your head away from his shoulder. He pushes your head against his for a moment, letting out a soft groan before letting go and pushing his fingers against your plush lips. 

“How’s that, honey?” His hand settles back on your lower back as you whine and your hands move up his arm, gripping his biceps now and pulling yourself closer to him. “Miguel.” His eyes roll back at how you sound, desperate, breathless, and gone. Your hips are grinding into his fingers and they aren’t even on your clit yet. They’re pressing against your hole through your lips and your suit, he’s keeping his fingertips flat against you so he doesn’t slip inside. 

He’s trying to ignore the mess he’s making in his pants, watching your tense face change into a relieved one, your eyebrows pulling inward as your lips part beautifully, releasing a shaky moan as he reangles his fingers to your clit. His hands are shaking as he tries to calm himself down, one of your hands slides up his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before gripping onto his shoulder and pulling him down, closer to your face. His eyes are fixed on your expression, taking everything in, every twitch and quiver, the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips before a whimper punches out of you. 

You’re ruining him and you’re none the wiser. Your hand slides up to his neck and you push your forehead against his, like he did earlier. His eyes roll back before he forces them to you again, moving his fingers over you clit faster when your thighs begin to shake around his wrist. “I think-” Your voice comes out as a whimper and he groans into you. Your fingers grip into his hair and his cock cries against him. “Something… Miguel.” 

The way you say his name fucks with him. It’s prettier than he ever could’ve imagined, he has to lean forward and press his throbbing cock against the edge of the table for relief. You’ve got him feeling like he could die, like he could implode if he doesn’t have you, if after this you realize what you need but get it somewhere else? It’ll be over for him. Your hand readjusts its grip in his hair, becoming more frantic as your spine straightens and your thighs close on his hands. “Miguel? I-” You cut yourself off with a moan and your head falls to his shoulder again, blocking your face from his view.

“No, no.” He brings his hand to the back of your neck again. “Let me see, amor.” He pulls you away from his shoulder and you moan at the nickname. Once again, it didn’t mean to slip out but you’ve got his head so cloudy he can’t help it. You’re moaning his name on repeat, like a warning and he’s pulsing at the thought, the promise of getting to see you cum, for him. His eyes can’t look away from you, he can’t see anything but your face, the way your brows furrow as you tense, and your nails dig into his arms, leaving reminders for later. He watches how you bite your lip before your jaw drops into an ‘O’ shape and his name falls from your lips one more time as a debauched cry. 

He keeps his eyes open, watching you cum for him, how your lips form around his name again and again. He wants to collapse, fall to his knees with how much you’re turning him on but he needs to watch you. He forces himself to keep his eyes on you, ignoring the way they want to roll back at how he’s flooding his pants. His hips twitch against the edge of the table as he cums for you, with you. His mind zeros into the way he can feel your clit pulsing underneath his finger tips, how breathless you sound, trying to keep up with the noises he’s forcing from you. His stomach tenses painfully as his cock unloads more cum onto himself. You sound like an angel, crying out for him. He can’t help the way he dives for you, pulling you in to kiss him and swallowing every moan you’ll give him. 

You whine into his mouth as his fingers slow down over your clit, your other hand meets the first in his hair and you keep his lips on yours. He keeps kissing you until you calm down and your breathing evens out. His hand comes from between your thighs and rubs your legs until you pull back from his lips. You have a bashful, embarrassed look on your face and it brings the largest smile that you’ve ever seen to his face. “Was that okay, pequeña araña?” You whine and pull him in for a hug, nodding into his shoulder as he chuckles and wraps his arms around you as you begin to giggle against him.      

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miggy o’hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara spider man #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 miguel o'hara #2099 #sm 2099 #miguel 2099 #marvel 2099 #miguel o hara #astv miguel #miguel atsv #miguel x you #atsv #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober smut

[augustinewrites]

satoru absolutely does not know how to ride a bike idk how i know this but i know cw: suggestive content, mdni

“that was…good,” satoru settles on, still unable to properly articulate. he whines, still a little lightheaded and breathless as you roll off of him with a laugh, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before tucking yourself into his side.

“just good?” you tease, fingertips gliding over his chest. “if i’d known there was going to be a review, i’d have done that thing with my hips that you like.”

you roll your hips against his thigh, sending a warm chill down satoru’s spine. 

“don’t do that,” he warns, but his face is flushed and he can feel himself getting hard again. “unless you want to leave the kids at your dad’s for another night.”

“oh! speaking of the kids!” your sweet movements stop abruptly, causing him to peek one eye open to send you a long suffering look. “my father bought the kids bikes yesterday, and i told him you’d teach them how to ride them.”

now, it’s no secret that gojo satoru is good at a lot of things. 

he can manipulate the infinity around him and exorcise special grade curses with the flick of his wrist. he knows the words to every avicii song and can make mug cakes that don’t always explode in the microwave. 

there’s only one thing he can’t do. 

“i remember when my dad taught me,” you sigh. there’s a fondness in your eyes as you describe the memory. it’s something special and cherished, and satoru wants that for his kids. 

_____

“this isn’t funny, shoko!” 

“you’re right.”

“thank you—”

“because it’s hilarious. gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer of our time, never learned how to ride a bicycle.” 

she trails off in a fit of laughter. satoru hasn’t heard her laugh like this in a long time, and he’d be ecstatic if her amusement hadn’t come at his expense. 

“i didn’t have anyone willing to teach me!” he tells her, huffing. “it was all cursed technique this and cursed technique that. not to mention bikes are literal death traps on wheels.”

“motorcycles are death traps on wheels. bicycles are for babies,” she corrects, though he can still hear the laughter bubbling in her response. “why’d you even agree to teach them?”

“because she did this super hot thing with her hips, but focus!” he whispers harshly. “i can’t teach the kids how to ride a bike! what if i just bought a car—”

“only you would try to buy a car for an 11 year old.”

“not for megumi. tsumiki’s basically 13. she can start learning so when she’s old enough—”

“so tsumiki is going to learn how to drive before you learn how to ride a bike? you are so tragic,” she snickers. 

well, it sounds lame when she puts it like that.

he looks up when the sound of the shower running stops. “and you’re useless,” he growls into the phone. “i’ll ask nanami.” 

_____

NOT GOJO 

[shoko]: i heard gojo’s teaching the kids how to ride their bikes

[you]: yeah :) i’m so excited!

[shoko]: me too.

[shoko]: can you send videos?

[nanami]: I would also like to see videos. 

[you]: sure. but why the interest?

[shoko]: bcs i care about them and want to celebrate their achievements

[you]: you didn’t come to megumi’s violin recital because you said you valued your eardrums. 

[nanami]: It will be a fun moment to look back on when they’re older. 

[shoko] yeah that ^

[you]: fine i’ll send videos.

______

the sun is just beginning to set and the city beginning to settle when you take the kids to the park. 

“i really think—”

“satoru, we are not teaching megumi how to teleport to school.”

“but if he uses the shadows—”

you thrust a helmet into his hands, stern look shutting him up immediately. 

“fuck,” he mumbles once your back is turned to help the kids. he shoves the helmet onto his head and buckles it tightly.

the kids walk over to him with their little bikes, the huge helmets on their head making them look like bobble heads. 

you document his torture with a quick photo before giving him the floor. 

“riding a bike is…super simple,” he tells them, patting the seat of your bike. “you get on, put your feet on the pedals, and…pedal.”

the kids only stare at him, confused looks on their cute faces. 

“maybe you should just show them,” you suggest. 

“why don’t you show them?” he quickly deflects. please please please—

“no! i’m taking the video!” 

fuck.

satoru grips the handles of the bike tightly. he’s faced the worst of the worst, died and come back to life. he could ride a stupid bike.

he kicks at the stand your bike is leaning on, getting it up on the fourth kick. he swings his right leg over so he’s straddling the seat, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

it can’t be that hard, can it?

“watch and learn, kids.”

he takes a breath, then pushes off and places his feet on the pedals.

the bike rolls forward slowly. it’s wobbly at best, but he’s doing it. he’s doing it! he picks up a little momentum, heading off into the sunset—

“satoru! don’t lead them downhill!”

sure enough, the path in front of him leads down a slight decline. he squeezes the brakes and jerks to the side, sending him toppling over the bike and into the grass.

as he lays in the grass, dazed, megumi and tsumiki bike right past him. he’s sure the former even rolls his eyes.

“they have training wheels,” he says when you run over to check on him. “they’re cheating—”

“do you not know how to ride a bike?!”

“i never learned,” he grumbles, cheeks blushing at the admission. 

“oh, honey,” you sigh, brushing some grass from his shirt. “why didn’t you just tell me?”

you kiss his brow, unable to hold back your laughter as he pouts. “you were so excited about me teaching them. didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“you could never disappoint us,” you tell him firmly. “now come on, i’ll teach all three of you.”

so you teach him, holding onto the back of his bike until he’s steady, until he’s confident enough to do it on his own. 

he’ll get the hang of it eventually.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #keeping up with the fushigojos