#I kind of want to play the sequel but I also don’t want my or Sam’s life to fall apart when we were both happy so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wttcsms · 3 days

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excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction.

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.”

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary.

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably.

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in.

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word.

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling.

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.)

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him.

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks.

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—”

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.”

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment.

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.”

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there?

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word.

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full.

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders.

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone.

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.”

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves.

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves.

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him.

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity.

You frown when he approaches you.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend.

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling.

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself.

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even.

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation.

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride.

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.)

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this.

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance.

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019 BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin.

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in.

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists.

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka.

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty.

“He told me he loves me.”

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.”

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her.

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first.

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night.

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home.

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do.

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud.

And rhythmic.

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too.

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then.

There’s someone knocking at your door.

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm?

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop.

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief?

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun.

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window.

This stranger must be a soldier.

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall.

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his.

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long.

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water.

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours.

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent.

Naoya Zenin is out for blood.

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you.

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches.

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal.

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one?

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in.

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too.

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three.

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom.

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her.

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again.

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.”

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals?

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer.

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back.

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him.

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all.

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words.

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.”

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl.

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run.

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment?

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself.

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up.

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister.

“...helped out Sakura.”

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl.

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“So why are you here?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment.

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement.

“She a ring girl?”

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?”

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him.

“You finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june

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ziraconarose · 4 months

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Played Always Sometimes Monsters. Very fun! The plot needs to account for people truly didn’t give a shit about the ex or the book though, bc literally all I cared about was trying to make amends with Sam after realizing the PC has committed a Max Caulfield level friendship sin TWICE. Still, I got quite fond of my pathetic, sad, wet dog author of a protagonist. They hate to see a homeless Chinese little gay boy on a friendship-redemption journey winning, yet here I am with a million dollars, a book deal, a cowboy uncle, and a clean conscience to go with the start.

#always sometimes monsters #bro I got called more slurs in this game than I have irl in a year they really do hate to see him winning yet here I am. I loved my boy #can’t believe the way I found out my rpg block man was Chinese was through that like Jesus also is it 1890???#anyway it was a fun game but I’d kill for Sam centric additions bc I didn’t give a shit about anyone else #also Casey blamed me for rigging the election when I helped the detective and didn’t??? and for Darkeff when literally I just didn’t see th #drugs - also she told me I skipped on Mark for the strip club but I literally didn’t??? whatever but like???#Korsel Ami #I kind of want to play the sequel but I also don’t want my or Sam’s life to fall apart when we were both happy so

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 5 months

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airpods

read part two (posted 4/28/24) here!!! wc: 2k reader: femme!afab (matt calls reader a "bad girl", reader is wearing a denim skirt) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also a really bonkers scenario; funny & angst -- stepcest -- inserting foreign objects -- slighttttt dub-conn-ish summary: (y/n) will only give rivalnewstepbrother!matthew his airpods back if he promises to play a little game with them

ੈ✩‧₊˚ this is a doozy lmao. pretty iconic tho if i do say so myself. i take literally no responsibility for it even tho i am 100% responsible for it. basically just wrote itself while i was in a fever dream-like state so pls enjoy. i think it needs a sequel personally but lemme know what you think!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, stepcest, insertion of foreign object into genitals (reader), kind of dub-conny, lots of taunting teasing and degradation from both characters, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, hints of dom!matt and dom!reader and also sub!matt and sub!reader we really cover the bases and lay some groundwork lmao, lots of swearing and i used the word vagina once it was for something funny not for smut but people can still be triggered by that word so! you are warned.

“matty, what the actual f*ck are you doing?” you ask as the sight of your dumbass step brother admiring his shirtless reflection in the mirror assaults your eyes.

ever since you met matthew a year and a half ago, every holiday had been ruined by your family constantly comparing you to him. why couldn’t you be more like matt? he’s so passionate and hardworking towards his craft and you’re a waitress at a bar. and not a classy one.

though you don’t see him all that much, you have to share the house with him when he comes home to visit. this particular visit, you and matthew have the house to yourselves for the night— your parents having left this morning for a little new year’s getaway.

matthew’s flexing his (admittedly defined) triceps and dancing around a bit— headphones covering his ears. but when he sees your reflection staring back at him in his bedroom mirror, he jumps in horror.

“WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME!?” he shouts, tearing off his headphones and sprinting across the room to slam the door in your face. “stalker.”

“freak,” you reply childishly, stepping back out of the doorframe to avoid a broken nose. once the door is shut, you knock sweetly.

tap, tap. tap, tap.

matthew opens it, cheeks as red (and canadian) as a pair of macintosh apples. “what do you want?”

“well, i was going to give you back your airpods that i stole yesterday so you didn’t have to wear those clunky headphones anymore, but,” you shake the airpods case in front of you teasingly before placing it back in the pocket of your denim skirt, “i don’t really wanna give them to you anymore after how rude you just were.”

“you—… you stole my airpods!?” matthew exclaims. “i’ve been looking everywhere for them!”

you shrug. “i guess not everywhere.”

“ugh, you can be such a b—,” matthew starts to curse, but he stops; a little conflicted pout forming on his plush lips. “a b—…”

“you can’t even f*cking say it, can you?” you taunt, pushing matthew’s door open a little further and taking a step inside. “too much of a marshmallow to even swear at me. afraid of hurting my feelings or something, matty?”

“as i’ve said many times before, just matt is fine,” he spits, brows furrowing in frustration. “and i’m not a marshmallow. and, frankly, i don’t give a… shit… about your feelings!”

“cute,” you mock, inching closer to him. your eyes wander down to his torso, a six-pack of well-fed abs staring back at you. “what is it with all the muscles anyway? you think they’ll distract girls from seeing how much of a dumpling you really are?”

“i’m not a dumpling,” matthew huffs through gritted teeth. “and it’s none of your business.”

you consider this for a moment and then nod. “you’re right. it’s none of my business.”

“really? that was easier than—”

“but if it was my business,” you continue, stealing another glance at his chest. your eyes trail down further— waistband of his calvin klein boxers peaking out from his jeans. you hate to admit it, but he’s kind of hot. maybe that wasn’t an entirely appropriate thought to be having about your lameass new step brother, but it was unfortunately the truth. “i’d tell you it isn’t working. not bad to look at though.”

you turn on your heel, starting to walk back out the door when matthew calls, “hey, what about my airpods!?”

“what airpods?” you reply innocently before a smirk darkens your features. you pull the case out of the pocket of your skirt again and wave it in front of him enticingly. “oh, these?”

matthew tries to grab them out of your hand, but you’re too quick— the earbuds back safely in your pocket before he can steal them. his jaw sets, eyes ripe with anger as he pushes the door shut behind you. he inches forward, effectively trapping you between him and the door. “give them the fuck back, you insufferable bitch.”

a wave of desire rushes over you. there’s just something about driving a nice boy over the edge that really does it for you.

and matthew was the nicest of nice boys— and because of that, a giant pain in your ass. but hearing him talk like that as he corners you in; hovering only a couple inches from your face…

“oh—… i—… uh… sorry,” he stutters as he realizes how close he is to you, backing up and stuffing his hands in his pockets. matthew blushes again as he looks away from you nervously.

he’s resumed his dumpling form, but the glimpse of potential lurking underneath was enough to make you want to see more.

“fine, you can have your airpods back,” you relent with a sigh. “if…”

“if?” he asks, brow raised.

“if you can find where i hide them,” you finish with a proud smile.

“i’m not gonna play that game,” matthew replies with a frown. “besides, this house is huge! you’re gonna make me tear the whole thing up to find something that small? no way.”

“that’s too bad,” you say, shaking your head. “i guess they’re mine now.”

matthew groans. “at least make the playing field more reasonable.”

you tilt your head to the side, a devious plan entering your mind. “i think i can work with that.”

matthew sighs. “i can’t believe i’m entertaining this... but where are you thinking?”

“me,” you answer. “i’m thinking you can search me.”

“like, you’re gonna hide it on your person,” matthew clarifies, ears burning red. “like, in one of your pockets?”

“yeah, exactly,” you hum happily. “my pocket.”

matthew swallows nervously, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “that sounds too easy. there has to be a catch.”

“no catch. it’ll be in my pocket,” you confirm, extending your hand to him. “you just have to find the right one.”

matthew blinks at you, then at your hand. after a moment, he takes it in his own and shakes it. “fine. deal.”

“i’ll be back in a minute then,” you say, throwing open the door and running off to hide the airpods in one of your pockets.

—

“okay, so it’s not in your hoodie pockets,” matthew deduces after reaching a tentative hand in each one and coming up empty. “that means it’s in one of these pockets?”

you smile at him encouragingly as he blinks nervously at you, gesturing to your denim skirt.

“why are you making me do this?” matthew laments dramatically. “aren’t you, like… uncomfortable with me touching you and stuff?”

“not at all,” you reply with a smirk. “i do get a lot of enjoyment out of making you uncomfortable though.”

“so i gathered,” he says, starting to reach for one of your back pockets. “is it okay if i—.”

“just do it already,” you interject, rolling your eyes.

“okay, okay,” matthew says, reaching his hand down the pocket. “sue me for trying to be a gentleman.”

he pulls out his hand. it’s empty.

matthew reaches down your other back pocket, again finding nothing.

“should probably check the front,” you offer contentedly.

“thanks for the hint,” matthew huffs, walking back around to face you. cautiously, he sticks his fingers down your left, front pocket— moving them side to side before removing them. “are you f*cking with me? you didn’t even hide them, did you!?”

his rough tone sends another wave of excitement through you, but you force a little pout. “i can’t believe you think i wouldn’t play by the rules, matty.”

he sticks his fingers unceremoniously in the last pocket, coming up empty yet again. “then where the f*ck are they!?”

you tilt your head cutely, basically euphoric over how much you’re riling him up. “in my pocket.”

“i just looked through all your pockets! they’re not—…” matthew stops yelling, seemingly lost in thought before his eyes widen in total disbelief. “wait… you—… you don’t mean…”

“ding, ding, ding,” you reply with a malicious smirk. “you know, you’re smarter than you look.”

“you—… you put my airpods up your VAGINA!?” matthew yells: confused, horrified and impressed all at the same time.

you shrug. “i’ve had bigger.”

matthew is silent as you walk over to his bed and sit down, spreading your legs just a bit.

“well, the deal’s still on,” you offer, placing your hands behind you and leaning back onto them casually. “if you can find them, they’re yours.”

“you—… you want me to…” matthew stammers, eyes locked on your denim skirt. “to...”

“you don’t have to,” you assert, pulling up your skirt to reveal your bare core to him. his lips part, eyeing your center like it’s the forbidden fruit. and it kind of is. “if you don’t want to.”

“this is ridiculous,” matthew says breathily in a way that tells you that, though this may very well be a ridiculous thing to be happening right now, he’s a bit enticed by it all. he walks toward you, pushing you back a bit further onto the bed with one hand to expose your heat more. “this is absolutely f*cking…”

he kneels down on the hardwood floor between your legs, one hand finding each of your thighs and prying them further apart. he grabs your hips, pulling your naked core closer to his face. you hope he doesn’t notice you clench around his airpods at the man-handling.

matthew swallows hard as he examines every inch of you. scandalized eyes and bottom lip drawn between his teeth, you can basically hear his conflicting, depraved thoughts.

“i really hate you, you know that?” he asks rhetorically, licking his lips as your walls pulse again. he stuffs a finger up you suddenly, pushing it in further and further until he’s tapping on the case of his airpods. “if you’ve been looking for a reason that your whole family likes me better than you, i think both of our searches can end with this.”

the tiniest whimper escapes you at the degradation. it’s exactly what you’d been waiting for.

matthew looks up at you, knuckle-deep in your pussy. his lips part in shock at the sound. “did you--... did you just...”

“are you going to take it out, or what?” you reply, maintaining your rude, slightly bored disposition.

he looks back at your center, moving his finger to try to hook around the case and wiggle it out of you. it doesn’t budge. he inserts another finger into you, stretching your walls out in hopes that the case might come out with more space.

it stays put.

“it’s not coming out,” matthew says, panic in his eyes. “what did you do, gorilla glue it to your cervix?”

“i didn’t even know you knew that word,” you snort, averting his gaze. “i guess you’ll have to find a way to loosen it then.”

matthew’s eyes bulge. “and how the hell am i supposed to do that!?”

“hm, i dunno,” you muse, locking eyes with him again. “don’t they always say to put butter on your arm to make it slippery if it’s stuck in something?”

“you want me to put butter in your...” matthew trails off as he thinks more about your suggestion. “slippery?”

“yeah,” you reply with a nod, desperately trying to maintain your dominance. “you know, like... wet.”

“wet...” he repeats again, eyes meeting your cunt again. “you want me to make you... oh.”

“just a thought,” you shrug off.

matthew shakes his head quickly. “but, we can’t--... i can’t--”

“why can’t you?” you ask, tapping his bare chest with your toes. “oh, i remember now! it’s because you’re a f*cking marshmall--”

matthew’s hands grip your thighs roughly as he pulls your pussy even closer to his face. he licks a long, teasing stripe up through your folds-- ending and circling at your clit.

this time you don’t hide your moan.

“what was that?” matthew taunts, one eyebrow arching in amusement. “feel good?”

it does feel good-- better than you could’ve imagined matthew’s tongue would feel against you. you nod, moving your hips to try to push your core even closer to him. he slaps your right thigh hard, warning you wordlessly not to make a fuss. it just makes you need to fuss more, but he reattaches his tongue to your cunt anyway.

he laps at your clit with such dedication that you’re crying out within a couple of minutes-- begging him for more.

“pl--please,” you whine, hand running through his hair and pulling it from the base. “wanna cum on your tongue.”

“f*cking hell,” he moans into your core, the vibration sending more waves of pleasure through you. he closes his eyes as he starts to rhythmically suck on your bundle of nerves, only coming up for air to say, “how can you be so desperate with a pussy this perfect?”

“matty, i--”

“didn’t i tell you not to f*cking call me that,” he growls, inserting a finger into your now dripping cunt. “so this is what you wanted, huh? stole my airpods just so you could cum all over my fingers? you’re such a bad girl, (y/n).”

you’re right on the edge, just a few seconds more and you’ll be moaning matthew’s name like a prayer.

but then you feel it.

matthew’s finger latches around the now lubricated airpod case-- pulling it free from your warmest pocket as he detaches his lips from around your clit. you stare at him helplessly, the denial of your orgasm leaving you so frustrated you’re rendered speechless.

how could you have let him get the upper hand on you?

“but i guess you forgot,” he says with a smirk, standing up and walking toward the door. “bad girls don’t get to cum.”

you blink silently at him once. twice. matthew holds open the door, pointing into the hallway.

“now get out of my room.”

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yoditopascal · 2 months

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Home

“I made it, I'm home.”

Four times Sanemi wants you to use his first name and the one time you do.

pairings: shinazugawa sanemi x fem! reader

warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, slight angst, sanemi is bad at feelings and communication, slight sanemi/giyu if you squint

a/n: first sequel is up! My Nemi is 18+ so minors DNI

The first time Sanemi crossed paths with you was the day you were introduced to him.

He’d recently become the Wind Hashira and you were requesting to become a tsugoku.

They were all gathered for a hashira meeting to discuss the next training procedures for the lower ranking slayers. As time drew on, Shinazugawa found himself mentally thankful as the meeting drew to an end.

“Before we draw this to close, I’d like to bring one last thing to attention.” Oyakata-sama paused before continuing as you stood behind him head bowed in respect as he spoke

“I’m sure you’ve heard of a demon slayer who has been performing above expectations,” Oyakata-sama said gently. “She’s an exceptional swordswoman and has been recommended by Tomioka-san.”

The training grounds remained silent as the nine hashira waited for their master to continue.

“After some thought, I have reached the conclusion ….” Oyakata-sama smiled. “I’m assigning her to one of you as a tsuguko.”

“Shinazugawa-san,” he offered Sanemi a kind smile. “Since you both trained under the same master I think she would be best in your care.”

“Not interested.”

“Maybe Tomioka-san would be interested then since he-“

That got his blood boiling.

If he didn’t want to do it, why the hell should Tomioka be the one to replace him?

“With all due respect sir,” he said, Tomioka’s head tilts in his peripheral. Sanemi’s index finger plays with the hilt of his sword. “I don’t think Tomioka can cut it.”

“Why does it matter to you Shinazugawa? You already said you weren’t interested.” Uzui raised a brow at him, a hint of teasing behind his words. Obanai nodded his head in agreement in the background.

“It's because I doubt she can handle my training.”

“I’d like to prove myself to you if you’d let me Shinazugawa-sama, '' you said, stepping forward. You were significantly shorter than him, probably around Obanai’s height.

“Cut the -sama bullshit.” He fired back, also stepping forward. He practically towered over you at this point. You were cute he had to admit albeit a little annoying.

You had to admit from your distance you thought he was attractive too. His lilac eyes and fluffy white hair were striking, his scars added a liveliness to his features that you also liked and don’t get you started on his muscles that he proudly had on display.

“Fine then if you think you can keep up with me I’ll take you.” He said snapping you from your thoughts.

“Very well, then.” Oyakata-sama said, pleased. “She will continue training from here on as Shinazugawa’s tsuguko.”

“I can’t wait to work together, I’ve heard so much about you from Giyu-san!”

Giyu?

Why the hell were you already on a first name basis with him?

“It’s Tomioka to you brat.”

“My apologies I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t let it happen again.”

The remaining hashira grinned teasingly in the background, at the commotion. For someone who had claimed to hate Tomioka’s guts he sure was defensive about the first name thing.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Did he just take on an apprentice because he didn’t want Giyu to have you?

Yes, yes he did.

Did he also correct you just because he didn’t want Giyu to have the satisfaction of being on a first name basis with you?

Of course he did.

He was Sanemi Shinazugawa after all and he had a reputation to uphold.

He had no idea how you two had even met each other with your breathing styles being so different and all or why the hell you two seemed so close to begin with but if you were to train under him he had to squash that in the butt right here and now.

Sanemi was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize that the meeting had officially ended. As the hashira began filing out of the courtyard you approached him startling him from his inner monologue.

“Are we ready to begin training Shinazugawa-sama?” You asked

“What the hell did I tell you about that honorific shit?” He groaned.

“Fine then how about Shinazugawa-sensei?” You replied cheekily

Knowing that he wasn’t getting through to you he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He decided then that he doesn’t like being called Shinazugawa by you.

The second time

“Fuck off.” He rasped. You had just reached the inn you were staying at when you noticed him wincing.

“You’re hurt.” You mumbled, noticing the blood dripping onto the floor beneath him.

“‘m fine,” He shook his head, but the state of him said otherwise.

The blood around the wound had already started to congeal, sticking to his skin and clothes. He was starting to go dizzy from the blood loss.

“No, you’re not,” You frowned

“I told you I’m fine.”

“If you’re as fine as you say, then you won’t mind me taking a look.” You persisted with a grunt he submitted to you and your examination

You were looking at the cut now, nose wrinkled as you assessed the damage.

“Well the good news is you’ll live.”

“Oh joy.”

“The bad news is this’ll probably scar up pretty bad” you said standing to gather the necessary medical supplies before returning to his side. You two had foregone bring Kakushi with you this time as you weren’t that far from the butterfly mansion.

“Let me bandage it up so it doesn’t become infected.”

Wringing a rag out, you forced Sanemi to sit as you began to dab at the wound cleaning it, little sparks of pain ate away at him at each stroke of the cloth, his muscles tensing under your delicate touch.

“Sorry sensei, I’ll get this done as fast as I can.”

Again, there it was.

“I told you to drop the formalities.”

You pulled the clean bandages tight as you began to wrap his torso with a small uneasy chuckle.

“Force of habit.”

You were warm and he could smell the soothing scent of you with how close you were to him, the proximity was getting unbearable, a knot was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

As your fingers gently brushed against his chest with such tenderness he wasn’t used to since Kanae, Sanemi felt a jolt of electricity in his chest.

What the hell was that?

“There, that should do it.” You smiled to yourself admiring your handiwork as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll get Kocho-san to take a better look at it when we return tomorrow.”

“Whatever.” He brushed you off but all you did was smile your same smile at him.

Realizing the close proximity he felt another pang in his chest as his cheeks began to dust pink.

Was he developing a heart condition? He’d have to ask Shinobu about that the next time he saw her.

Easing up from his place on the ground he stood with his back to you hiding his flustered expression.

“Get some sleep. We’re leaving early in the morning.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” You teased.

“Just shut up and get some rest.”

The third time

Sanemi pulled off your haori and tied it to your torso trying to staunch the bleeding. The feeling of the warm, sticky blood dripped down your side as you approached the Butterfly estate.

He could feel the warmth from your blood soaking through your uniform, staining his own.

Shinobu, who had been tending to the grounds outside rushed to his side at the sight of you and ushered him to bring you inside. It was hard to separate him from you, he was holding on so tightly, his grip almost like an iron vise.

A strong hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts and got him to loosen his grip. He looked to see it was Rengoku who had also just come back from a mission and was having his own injuries tended to. “Kocho’s got this Shinazugawa.”

"Don't worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine."

He didn’t know that, how could he?

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know that she’s in good hands here. The same hands that treat you and all the other Hashira when we need it most.” Rengoku said, placing a hand on Sanemi’s shoulder which he shrugged off immediately. “So just try to keep a clear head Shinazugawa.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Sanemi said, storming off in the direction they took you, feeling more irritated than he was before speaking with the Flame Pillar.

It had all happened so fast.

Both you and Sanemi had been chasing after a demon who had been kidnapping and eating children. The absolute worst of the worst.

You were losing your temper and fighting brash, something he’d never seen from you before but not something he was new to entirely.

Just like Masachika.

You were so blinded by rage over the fact that the victims were children that you could barely hear him as he directed you to coordinate your attacks.

The last thing he remembers is going in for the killing strike when suddenly the demon throws a kid at him, a little girl. He stops his attack mid swing to catch her but in doing so he leaves himself wide open to the demon.

Fucking idiot! He thought as he tried to move out of range in time, before the demon could sink her claws into him he felt a hard push and the next thing he saw was red.

Blood.

It was your blood. Dripping onto the ground forming a dark red puddle around your feet.

When had you gotten there?

You had pushed him out of the way at the last second and had taken the brunt of the attack, your side torn almost clean open.

The smell of copper fills his nose completely and he almost chokes on it.

“Shinazugawa.” Shinobu started firmly sitting at a desk chair snapping him from his thoughts. She had just finished stitching you up and had sent Aoi and the others to get you situated in a bed after you had passed out. “If you need to talk…”

“I don't need to fucking talk,” he said pacing grooves into the the wooden flooring of the hall of the Butterfly estate. “She was a fool for jumping in like that.”

“I know you’re worried about her but-“

“I’m not fucking worried!”

He was but he’d never tell Shinobu that.

His anger clouded his senses, sure he was worried but he was mad more than anything.

Who gave you the right to step in and put yourself on the line like that? For him of all people.

No. To Shinobu he wasn’t worried, he was pissed.

You’re met with the sight of a starch white ceiling as you came to, head pounding you slowly, sit up looking around the room, no one was occupying the other beds. Your body ached at even the slightest movement. For a moment, you thought you were completely alone until a familiar voice greets your ears.

“You finally awake?”

Sitting on a chair next to the bed was Sanemi, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared.

"How could you be so fucking stupid, you brat?"

“It’s okay Shinazugawa-san,” you sigh, “Kocho-san was able to patch me up.”

Shinazugawa-san. As if he wasn’t already irritated enough with you.

How annoying.

“Okay, my ass,” Sanemi grumbled, “and drop the -san.”

“You’re a Hashira sensei, your life is worth at least a hundred of mine.”

“You’re an even bigger moron than I thought if you really believe that shit!” Sanemi snapped “Don’t be so ready to throw your life away!”

“I guess I’m your dumbass then.” You mumble under your breath

“What?”

“Nothing, don't mind me.” You said waving your hand in front of you as if to dissipate the tension in the air.

Silence filled the space between you two.

“I won’t let you die. Not for me.” Sanemi said somberly, refusing to look you in the eye.

“That’s the only way I’d like to go,” you sighed dreamily, only half jokingly.

“Don’t say dumbass shit like that.”

“You’ve made bigger sacrifices. Let someone else make them for you for a change.” You nodded contentedly at what you said. “You deserve to live a full life just as much as I do so let me help you live it to the fullest.”

You would have thought that was the end of your conversation if Sanemi hadn’t stood with such force it knocked his chair over from your bedside.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit!”

“You think you’re so high and mighty talking about sacrifices when you really don’t know shit about sacrificing anything!”

Before you could say anything more, he stormed out slamming the infirmary shoji doors behind him.

He was right, what right did you have to tell him of all people about sacrifice when you knew about his past?

Sanemi hadn’t told you much himself but when you asked Oyakata-sama about him he had reluctantly told you about Genya and his mother.

If anyone had known anything about sacrifice it’d be him.

Slowly getting up from your bed you found yourself leaning against the wall as you limped through the halls searching for your teacher.

The wind whipped through his white hair as he sat in the garden attempting to meditate. He had initially come out here to cool his head by slashing at the training dummies but when he saw other slayers out there training themselves he opted to go to the other side of the grounds just to have some alone time.

He hadn’t meant to snap at you like he did, gods know you weren't wrong no matter how much he hated to admit it, so why did it piss him off so much to hear you talking so easily about throwing your life away for him.

You deserve to live a full life just as much as I do so let me help you live it to the fullest.

You reminded him so much of Masachika it made his head ache.

The wind picks up once again carrying with it the smell of wisterias and…something else he couldn’t quite place.

It was almost like it was trying to tell him something, like he wasn’t alone.

Whipping around just as the sliding shoji doors open up, Sanemi jumped up and made it to you just in time to catch you as you slipped and fell out into the garden having lost your grip on the wall.

“Dumbass! What the hell are you doing up?!”

“I was looking for you!” You cried “I’m sorry Shinazugawa, you were right, I had no right to be so ignorant!” You tried to bow but the searing pain in your side said otherwise.

He tsked as he went to sit you down on the engawa. Setting himself beside you so you could lean on him if you needed to.

“You really aren’t that smart are ya?” He asked roughly trying to lighten the mood but the way it came out made him wince at the harshness.

Thankfully after months of training at his side you could tell when he was trying to lighten the mood, so you simply smiled and closed your eyes savoring his warmth. “No one’s ever accused me of being a genius.”

It was then that he realized you hadn’t called him sensei, or by any honorific. He was simply Shinazugawa.

Maybe he was finally getting something through that thick skull of yours.

The fourth time

When the two of you arrived at the swordsmith village you split off almost instantly Sanemi muttering to himself something about needing a drink. You were so excited at the promise of hot water on your aching muscles that you hadn’t thought to ask Sanemi if he planned to bathe too.

Which was how you two found yourselves in your predicament.

This was good. Way too good. The hot springs were perfect. From where he sat Sanemi could see the steam rising off from the clear water. The atmosphere around it is breathtaking, decorated with rocks, and lush plants. The scent of it was intoxicating.

He can already feel the relaxing effects of the mineral waters soaking into his bones as he sinks further in. Sanemi’s entire body felt overly warm, whether from the springs or the sake he drank earlier that evening he wasn’t sure.

Something like a splash echoed off in the distance and Sanemi turned toward the sound only to find you, sitting with your back to him, eyes closed as you groaned in pure bliss, the hot water easing your sore muscles.

“The hell are you doing here?!” He screamed jumping up to point at your naked form forgetting to cover himself up as he did so.

“Same as you Shinazugawa-san, taking a bath!” You smiled cheerfully “you’re naked by the way.”

You said averting your eyes from his very bare form.

He quickly sank back down into the water, cheeks turning a bright red before he rolled his eyes at you.

There it was again. If you said his last name like that one more time he swore he was going to-

But before he could finish that thought he caught a glimpse of your back, almost completely unmarred and blemish free save for the gnarly scar that twisted up your side and shoulder as you moved to grab your rag to wash yourself.

Sanemi had never seen your body so exposed before, he hadn’t meant to look, he swears he hadn’t but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

That was my fault.

“It’s not your fault.” Your voice brought him back to reality before he could get lost in his thoughts.

“Huh?”

Now you were sitting next to him, back resting against the warm boulders that surrounded the springs, arms folded, covering your amble chest from his view.

“It probably would've happened either way. I was being too reckless that night.”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling any less shitty about it.”

A silent blanket fell over the two of you, the rippling of the water beneath you two the only sound that could be heard.

“Don’t get hurt again.” The request came in a tone you’d never heard from your teacher before. There was an emotion in his voice, one that you couldn’t quite place. Fear? Pity?

Nonetheless you smiled at him with a reassuring smile before answering back “I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” he began cheeks tinging pink once again as he looked away from you. “now get the fuck out.”

The one time you do

When the battle with Muzan and the remaining Upper Moons was over and the Corps had officially dissolved, you took your time to heal from your injuries, paid your respects to the fallen and moved back home.

Your childhood home looked more or less the same since you’d left, but it felt different. You couldn’t put your finger on it, maybe it had changed somehow or maybe it was just you that had changed but something felt like it was still missing.

Once you were settled in you resumed work in the family’s tea shop, your family thankful for the extra help. Soon you saved up enough to get yourself a little home on the edge of the village.

It wasn’t a spectacular abode but it reminded you of the Wind estate you stayed at when you trained under Sanemi. A place you like to think of as home.

Speaking of the devil, the arrival of Shinazugawa Sanemi to your village was a spectacle. He sent whispers and murmurs everywhere he went, the town buzzing with excited chatter and imaginative speculations but to you it fills your belly with fluttering butterflies.

You hadn't seen him for months since the final battle, a battle you hadn’t even had the luxury of sharing with him since you were with Shinobu at the time. Had he changed at all? Would you remind him too much of the past? What if he didn’t want to see you? Had you changed?

All those thoughts gripped at your head as you walked home from the store, groceries tucked tightly under each arm. It’s as you approached your home that you stopped dead in your tracks nearly dropping your bags.

There, standing in front of your door, was Sanemi himself.

He was thanking an old man, a regular of yours at the tea shop, on your front porch.

“Thanks for helping me find the place, old timer.”

“It’s no problem, oh there she is now!” The old man waved you over.

“Welcome home! I bought you a visitor!” The man cupped his hand around his mouth shouting excitedly as you approached.

“I see, it's been a long time Shinazugawa!” You smiled at them.

Sanemi looked different, he had even more scars and was missing fingers on one of his hands. Even though he appeared more battle hardened there was a surprising gentleness to his features now. As if there had been a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“It’s good to see you too.” He replied, surprising you with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t expect it by looking at him, but Shinazugawa is really good with kids.” The old man, who you both realized was still there, teased. “We found him helping out some of the village kids before he asked for you.”

Face reddening, Sanemi ears tinged pink.

“Shinazugawa-san, you’re blushing! Ah I remember my first love…” the old man trailed off, his expression dreamy despite yours and Sanemi’s vehement protests in the background.

“I’ll leave you to youngsters to it then.” He waved you two off as he turned to leave, you quickly pulled Sanemi inside, cheeks equally as flushed as his own.

You invited him in and ushered him towards the back before the old man could say anything more. The two of you soon found yourselves resting on the engawa outside as you served him and yourself tea and ohagi, attempting to awkwardly catch up with one another.

You can tell he’s tired from his eyes as he spoke, and he has every right to be. The battle was hard fought not without great sacrifice even if it was months ago, Sanemi had a lot of recovering to do still.

The two of you sat in silence for what felt like hours admiring the beautiful scenery around you. More than once you caught Sanemi’s gaze lingering on you but he always caught himself and looked away before you could say anything.

“Forgive my intrusion.” He broke the stifling silence first.

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’m glad you came to visit.”

“I really wanted to see you, I even thought about coming to visit your estate but I figured, after everything….” You paused

Maybe you didn’t want to see me.

“You might have needed some space.” There’s a pause before you continue. “Have you been to see him yet?”

“I visit his grave as often as I can,” Sanemi says with mournful eyes that can’t quite meet yours.

“It’s all my fault… Genya….” His voice sounded watery as he trailed off. “I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Please don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It feels like it is. Maybe if I hadn't pushed him away…”

He’d still be here.

If only he had taken his place. Sanemi thought as he swallowed thickly trying but failing to hold back tears.

“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, we all make mistakes, it’s what makes us human.” You said placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

How was he supposed to be going about doing this?

All he wanted was to come visit you, see how you were doing, not spill his guts out to you in the courtyard. He never meant for this to happen.

“I can see the love you had for him. I know he saw it too, otherwise he wouldn’t have fought so hard to get your approval when you pushed him away. People have different ways of showing affection." You started, Sanemi remained silent, his eyes fixed on you as you spoke.

"Genya might not have chosen the path you wanted for him, but he was with you all the way until the end and that’s what matters."

"He was a dumbass," he muttered, wiping stray tears from the corners of his eyes.

"He was your brother, and he loved you to pieces. He forgave you even when you couldn’t forgive yourself. I think it’s time you started trying to forgive yourself too." You smiled warmly. “You’re not alone in this sensei. I'm right here with you.”

“Drop that sensei crap. We’re both civilians now, we’re equal.”

“Sorry, old habits.”

A thick silence envelopes you two once again, this time a little less awkward than it was before as a hint of sadness lingers in the air.

“Please allow me to accompany you on your next visit, I’d like to see him too.” You said leaning into his side.

“I think I’d like that.”

It was getting late, the sun was starting to set over the mountains surrounding your village. The two of you had retired inside your home where you offered to make him dinner. Sanemi accepted and the two of you ate peacefully while you reminisced.

After clearing and cleaning up a bit you returned to your engawa where you sat in a comfortable silence just enjoying each other’s company.

Refusing to meet your eyes, Sanemi moved to place one of his hands over yours. The gesture has your heart thumping wildly in your chest, his too. “I very much wish… to see you again.” His words came out as though he was struggling to say them.

“I’d like that too…Sanemi.”

His name falling from your lips makes him stop in his tracks, looking up at you instantly.

“Say it again. My name.” He breathed out, he wanted to say more, but he’s too caught up in the fact that you finally called him by his first name.

“Sanemi.” you said tested it out on your tongue once more, pronouncing each syllable

At that he smoothly bridged the gap between you, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You almost forgot how to breathe. Cradling your face, he reaches his right hand around you and pulls you closer, deepening your kiss, relishing in the feeling of you.

It was then that you knew what was missing all those months ago when you returned home. It was him, he was your home and your village just didn’t feel like it had a place for you without him.

You're the first to pull away from the kiss, lungs not at all what they used to be back when you had to constantly use Total Concentration breathing, resting your forehead against his you stare into his lilac eyes with a shy smile.

“Stay with me tonight Nemi,” you murmur, fingers lightly tracing along his cheek as he hums in contentment. “Let me take care of you.”

Sanemi does not answer you, instead settling to pull off his haori while going in for another kiss, this one a bit rougher.

You admit to yourself right then that the name Sanemi rolls off the tongue so much better than Shinazugawa does.

#sanemi shinazugawa imagines #sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinaguzawa x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #sanemi

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isaksbestpillow · 3 months

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Iura Arata & Miura Shouhei interview on Modelpress

I translated an Ossan's Love interview with Iura Arata (Izumi) and Miura Shouhei (Kiku) on Modelpress! I skipped the introduction so this is just the interview part. Full article with pictures in the source.

First, how did it feel to get the offer for Ossan’s Love Returns?

Iura: I’ve already worked with producer Kijima Sari three times on Niji-iro karute, Ano toki kiss shite okeba, Unknown, and now Ossan’s Love. Joining a pre-existing team on a show with history puts you to the test. You think you have to bring something new to the table and you wonder what you came to do here, putting these pressures on yourself. It’s no easy feat to jump into the world of Ossan's Love in the middle.

However, what the roles I’ve gotten from producer Kijima have in common is they’ve all, in one way or another, discussed themes of overcoming the grief of losing someone. In my performance on Ossan’s Love I’m exploring new approaches to this theme within the show’s world.

Miura: I also first worked with producer Kijima on Ano toki kiss shite okeba. There are a few people whose offers I never decline, and she is one of those people. I had been watching Ossan’s Love before, so when I got the offer, I remember being more excited as a viewer that Ossan’s Love was getting a sequel.

What do you think makes Ossan’s Love so charming?

Miura: These older men are so serious and pure in their love. It’s both adorable and heartbreaking, it warms your heart to see it. As a regular viewer I was simply enjoying the show, but as soon as I entered the set, I understood the Ossan’s Love team is brimming with love, the cast and the staff all come together as a team to create this show. I understood the reason why Ossan’s Love is so loved by fans and resonates with audiences.

Iura: It’s a wonderful show first of all, one that has left its mark in our time, so entering the set made me feel even more strongly that I need to come prepared to face this work. Even so, the Ossan’s Love team took us in with open arms, and I feel the love and passion they have for this show.

You have worked with each other before. Were there moments when you felt reassured by each other’s presence amidst the pressure of filming?

Iura: I first worked with Miura-kun on Ano toki kiss shite okeba. We kissed on that show, so he’s my first same-sex kiss.

Miura: We’d already kissed before Ossan’s Love, haha.

Iura: Yes, haha. We also play a father and son on Hikaru kimi e, so we’ve been working together for about six months, and as our work together increases, we start thinking we want to try something new next time, putting these pressures on ourselves again, haha. But truly, with Miura-kun I don’t have to worry about a thing, but I don’t want to feel safe, that’s my mindset. It feels reassuring to be able to maintain that kind of a relationship, we can try new things, so working with him is a lot of fun.

Miura: Exactly. Conversely, I wonder how the relationship between our characters would’ve turned out if we’d been strangers. It’s already quite intimidating to join a team where everyone already knows each other to play a romantic relationship, and if your romantic partner is someone you haven’t worked with before, that makes it that much harder. But since my partner was Arata-san, I was safe and secure, haha.

You said you were welcomed with open arms on set. How was the filming?

Miura & Iiura: It’s such a wonderful environment!

Miura: Of course, there have been plenty of friendly shoots, but I hadn’t really experienced a filming like this before where the laughter is never-ending. It was probably the most hilarious shoot of my career. I mean, the director is howling of laughter behind the camera.

Iura: You hear laughter during the actual shoot, haha. Everyone is chitchatting right up until the test shoot. In my younger days I might’ve snapped at that and become a bothersome person, believing the set should be more charged, but Ossan’s Love makes me see this kind of shoots are good, too.

The cast and staff are all artisans with their own decks of cards, so when the cameras start rolling, it becomes a game of who plays their trump card. Everyone is so focused on their performance you start to wonder what was that happy chatter just moments earlier. This ability to switch between modes is what keeps the shooting fun.

Miura: It’s a fun but also a very balanced environment.

Do you have any anecdotes or scenes where you felt like you had entered the world of Ossan’s Love?

Iura: On my first day, I filmed a scene with Kei-kun’s Haruta where he does his “what’s going on???” reaction. I didn’t understand what was happening at all, but behind me Kei-kun was moving a lot, the world of Ossan’s Love and Haruta that I’d seen before were right there, and it made me think, “Oh, we’re filming Ossan’s Love! I’m filming Ossan’s Love!”

Miura: Mine is also from the first day, when I entered the shoot at a different time from Arata-san, I saw Kei-kun gracefully emerge from the studio bus, followed by Koutarou-san, and that’s when I thought, “Ahh, this is Ossan’s Love!”

Can you tell us more about your feelings towards your roles?

Iura: To Izumi, Kiku is someone whose presence he takes for granted, whose presence makes him feel so at ease he’s like air, like a married couple. But Izumi hasn’t caught on Kiku’s feelings at all, so even when their eyes meet and Kiku looks at him like a puppy, Izumi believes that’s just Kiku’s personality. Izumi hasn’t yet realized how grateful he should be that Kiku continues to be there for him and see him even though Izumi does nothing, but as an actor I feel the continuous love pouring out of Kiku.

Miura: Right now, Izumi-san can’t survive without Kiku, haha. He was incredible in the police force, but Kiku has seen his hopelessness since losing Akito, so Kiku feels like he should support him. In addition, he’s also in love with Izumi but bottles up those feelings, and as they spend time together, the lid on those feelings begins to crack open… I think that’s when this interview will come out, haha.

Miura: Izumi and Kiku’s story is going to unfold moving forward, but while grieving Akito Izumi also appears develop feelings for Haruta-san… How will this rice ball ball shaped love-triangle turn out?

What can we look forward to in the relationship between Izumi and Kiku?

Iura: Haha. Seriously a lot is going to happen, but what’s going to happen to Kiku… In any case, Kiku is hurt inside.

Miura: Since taking this role, I’ve mostly looked hurt. I make a heartbroken face at least once per shooting day.

Iura: Izumi and Kiku are both hurt in different ways, so they’re always heartbroken, haha. What will happen when they face each other? Or will they face each other? I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the story, this aspect included .

#ossan's love returns #ossan's love #iura arata #miura shouhei #my translations

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clavissionary-position · 3 months

Text

Ikeprinces As Ranked By Gilbert

**Best enjoyed after reading Gil’s route. There are also spoilers of varying degrees from some sequel routes (Chev, Licht).

1. LUKE

Luke: I’m surprised I got the top spot. Don’t you and Chevvie go way back? Gilbert: That’s true, but you’re my adorable little kid brother. I’ve carried you on my back. You’ve carried me on your back. Good times. Luke: Aw, Dad… (bear-hugs Gil) Gilbert: (pouts as he struggles to breathe) Did you even… hear a word of what I said… Luke: I heard ‘kid’. That makes ya my dad, right?

2. CHEVALIER

Gilbert: So? What do you think? Chevalier: (ignores him and continues doing paperwork) Gilbert: (high-pitched voice) “Please, oh please, Gil! Please trample my country to the ground, rebuild it in your image and then run it for me!” Something like that, right? Gilbert: (dodges pebble) Ahh, sorry, sorry. It would probably be more like “Please, oh please, Eyepatch!" Gilbert: (dodges another pebble) What is going on here? Do you roll around in the garden before coming to work every day?

3. CLAVIS

Clavis: (stiff smile) I baked you one of my most sought-after creations as thanks. I’d be honored if you’d try it, Lord Gilbert. Gilbert: Hmm, it looks as unappetizing as I expected but smells delicious. Oh, and... (sniffs) ...you even infused it with my favorite poison! Clavis: Hahaha! Well, I didn’t want you to get the idea that I’d learned nothing about you during all our years working together. Gilbert: Of course, of course. Would you like to share this with me Clavis: (stiff smile) No, no, no. It’s best enjoyed alone. Please, I insist.

4. RIO

Rio: If you’re trying to use me to get to my mistress, then I’ll— Gilbert: You misunderstand me. (Sets down two plates of pain perdu and places his hand on Rio’s) I really do commiserate with you, you know. It’s not easy seeing the one you love go off to be with another man. And yet you gladly sacrifice your own happiness. As though it were someone else's joy to give away. Rio: It is. My joy belongs to my mistress. Gilbert: Hmph? Let's see. Pain perdu means ‘lost bread’, right? Poor, poor abandoned little toast, molding under the table. Gilbert: Oh, by the way. I asked the little rabbit if I could bring these to you on her behalf. (Proceeds to eat all the pain perdu himself) Rio: (smiles brightly) So I’ve heard you love exercising!

5. SILVIO

Silvio: (kicks down the door) Where's the list? Gilbert: (innocently sips tea) So you can tear it up? Did you think I didn't make copies to send to every one of your little merchant friends? Silvio: My real friends know what's up. Gilbert: What a hurtful thing to say. I’m just honoring our friendship. And buttering you up for future manipulation. Silvio: Tch. I don’t know what game you’re playing— Gilbert: Human chess. Silvio: —but I’ll buy up every damn piece before you can get your filthy little mitts on 'em. Gilbert: Hehe, splendid. (Sits back with a smile) What’s more fun than controlling someone who controls everything else?

6. KEITH

Keith: Picked me over the other guy, did ya? Gilbert: Oh, he’s on the list too, of course. But I can’t stand how much of a do-gooder he is. And besides, you’re much more fun to play with. Keith: That right? I’m usually the one doing the teasing around here, though. Gilbert: (looks around dramatically) Around here? Where only a handful of people even know you exist? Tell me, if a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? Keith: >:0

7. KEITH

Keith: (hangs head) So you know… about him… Gilbert: Ahaha, there's no need to look so down! You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? It’s all him, right? If only he’d just disappear and stop taunting you from Spot #6. Keith: N-No! I don’t want that! I don’t… think I want that… Keith: Yes, I’m sure of it. He and I can share our friends. Gilbert: (stops smiling) Sharing only works if you can fully trust the other person to not take advantage of your kindness. You may think you can do that now, but people change. Circumstances change. The galette must one day burn. Keith: :’(

8. JIN

Jin: (thoroughly unamused) How kind of you. Gilbert: Isn’t it? But you should know that I’ve got nothing against you personally. Whatever enmity there is between us stems primarily from you. If you weren’t royalty, we might have even co-brothered Luke together. Jin: (throws up in his mouth) I don’t see how that has anything to do with this. And you’re the most detested royal figurehead on the continent. Gilbert: (shrugs) I’d say I’m sorry you can’t see past that, but I’d be lying if I claimed there was anything there to be seen in the first place. Thanks for the lollypop. Jin: What? HEY—

9. SARIEL

Sariel: (stops as soon as he enters his office) What are these vermin doing here? Gilbert: (sitting in Sariel’s chair) Just a little gift I brought so I could congratulate you for making it onto my list. Would you like to do the honors? Sariel: (plucks him up by the fur) Am I to understand you’re giving me a chance to correct my oversight before you take things into your own hands? Gilbert: (brushes himself off) I expect you to do most if not all of the work since my hands are tied while I’m a visiting guest here. But I’m happy to take them under my wing if you can’t even do that much. Sariel: “Kill them, or be forced to kill them,’ is it? (glances at the tied-up assassins) I wonder which one of us they would consider a fate worse than death.

10. LEON

Leon: (glares) I take it you only stuck me on here out of diplomatic courtesy. Gilbert: Haha, maybe. But there’s something about you that’s always reminded me of someone I know. Leon: Whoever it is, I feel bad for the guy. Gilbert: (bittersweet smile) You might be right. Maybe I need to do better by him…

11. LICHT

Licht: Do I know you? Gilbert: I was wondering the same thing, to be honest. But I’ve seen you around the palace enough times that I figured I might as well throw you on here. Gilbert: Nice eyes by the way, hehe. Licht: Oh no you don’t. My only family is Nokto.

12. NOKTO

Gilbert: Oh. There are two of you. Must be nice having an identical twin. (Resting his chin in his hand) Do you two switch places a lot? Nokto: You never noticed before today? Never received a report from one of your spies about it? Gilbert: Oh no, what sort of boring activities do you think I have my spies do all day? Nokto: Well, for starters, you sure seem to have paranormal insight into the contents of our kitchen at any given moment. Gilbert: So you'd rather I left all the carrots where they are? Nokto: ...

...

.......

................

Yves: Prince Gilbert!

Gilbert: (stops but doesn’t turn around)

Yves: I saw your list, and I couldn’t help but notice—

Gilbert: No, I believe you noticed everything you were meant to.

Gilbert: (leaves to go find the little rabbit to fix his bad mood)

#ikemen prince #ikepri spoilers #gilbert von obsidian #jin grandet #chevalier michel #clavis lelouch #leon dompteur #yves kloss #licht klein #nokto klein #luke randolph #rio ortiz #sariel noir #silvio ricci #keith howell #ikepri ranked

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

The Stroke (Marc Spector x Reader)

Author’s Note: Okay, this took me forever to write because I wasn’t sure that I should do a sequel to Domestic Adonis, but then I was listening to a mix Spotify put together and I’m like “okay, yeah, I think I’ll do a sequel.” So, yeah, be kind. And a BIG, HUGE THANK YOU TO @sexyexoskeleton for letting me bounce ideas back and forth and for beta reading! And, also, I saw this gif and my brain stopped for a good 30 seconds so it needed to be used. Also also, I used Google translate for the Spanish, so I apologize if anything is wrong. Enjoy! :)

Suggested listening: The Stroke by Billy Squier

Summary: The beard on the boys looks better every day–your heart already skips when you stare at him, and the beard added a new dimension. Since the boys were willing to do something for you, you decide to return the favor with something *spicy* for them. You have a plan set for Steven, but are in for a pleasant surprise when your boyfriend returns home and Marc is fronting.

Warnings: Fluff, smut (sexy lap dancing, reader being a bit of a Dom, Marc being flustered and turned on, cockriding, P in V sex, creampie), swearing

Other Characters: Steven Grant, Jake Lockley

Word Count: 4,121

“Did I wake you up?” Steven ask as he walks out of the bathroom, still trying to dry his hair with a towel.

“Not at all, hon,” you say with a sleepy smile as you hand him a cup of coffee.

“(Y/N),” he sighs as you let the liquid in the cup warm your hand, his tone letting you know that he knows you’re fibbing.

“I rolled over and you weren’t there. I got worried,” you say softly. “I thought you and Marc got called away in the middle of the night for some heroics.”

Steven reaches out a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing over the skin of your cheekbone, letting you lean into his touch.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he tells you as you rest your forehead on his.

“Don’t apologize. I heard the water running and I knew it was all alright.”

“I still don’t like that I made you worry.”

Steven leans forward to kiss you, letting you know that he still feels a little guilty.

“You smell good,” you hum, pulling him back into a kiss, letting whatever product he uses on his beard flood your nose.

“I hope so, or otherwise I need to pop back into the shower,” he smirks.

“I mean, if you really want to, you can and I’ll join.”

“But then this beautiful breakfast will get cold,” he hums as he places kisses all over your face and neck. “How about a raincheck on that?”

“Only because I’m a magnificent cook,” you say as you play with his damp curls.

Steven moves to the bedroom and puts on his clothes, quickly changing and joining you back at the table.

“You should be home at the regular time, right?” you ask as you dig into another pancake.

“Yeah,” he nods as he takes another sip of coffee. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to keep a smirk from pulling at your lips. “I was just thinking we could order in tonight.”

He hums, the pitch of it telling you just enough to let you know he is confused as to the finer logistics as to how and why the two relate. “That sounds delightful,” he smiles as he checks his watch. “Oh, bugger, I need to get going if I’m gonna catch the bus.”

“Hey, I got it,” you tell him as you stop him from trying to care care of his plate, utensils, and mug. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, darlin’,” he smiles as he kisses you before grabbing his bag and scurrying out of the door.

It looks good—everything looks so good, especially with the makeup and how you did your hair. You know it looks good because you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise. The only problem is getting everything on by yourself. You secure in the last hooks of the bustier and put on the finishing touches, sliding on the matching satin robe just as you hear the locks to the apartment give way to the key.

Right on cue.

“Hey, baby,” you hear Marc’s voice ring throughout our home, the light thud of him toeing off his shoes. “It’s me.”

Okay, so a slight wrench in the plan. Nothing major.

“It’s good to hear your voice, baby,” you call, hearing his footsteps make their way towards the bedroom area. “Wait, don’t!”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles. “Quite the opposite—I’ve seen you naked many times, many different ways. Sometimes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”

“I know, but, just sit at the kitchen table. The chair that’s closest to the mirror,” you instruct with a light chuckle, making sure you remain hidden from his line of sight. “And don’t touch the lights!”

“Okay,” he draws out, and you can hear the skepticism in his voice, but his feet creak along the old wood floors all the same, the chair lightly scraping against the planks as he sits down. Grabbing your heels nearby, you slide them on before you take a few slow steps out of the bedroom and towards Steven’s desk, carefully leaning back on your hands as the robe loosely hangs open.

“Fuck,” Marc breathes, a hazy smile pulling at the corner of his lips, a new twinkle appearing in his eye.

“Ah, ah!” you tut as he starts to get up. He immediately freezes at your gentle chastisement. “You stay right there.”

He does as you command, lowering himself back down as you approach him, closing the tantalizing space between your bodies.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says as you walk around the chair behind him, carefully dragging your hand along his shoulders as you move to stand right in front of him.

“Well, I figured that since you were willing to try something different for me, I should try to do something different for you,” you hum as you lean forward, so close that your lips almost touch. “Just sit back, relax, and try to control your grabby hands, hm?”

It’s like you can see Marc’s brain short-circuiting with pleasure as he looks at you, his pupils blown wide as he gives you a small nod.

“I need words, baby,” you urge. “No touching. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes,” he says breathily, a large grin soon spreading across his face. Hearing the need in his voice and trying to regain composure, he clears his throat before giving you a firm nod. “Yes,” he repeats.

“Good.”

Moving away from him, your heels clack along the old wooden floor as you make your way to where your phone is situated on the nearby bookshelf, giving it a few taps from the song you initially had queued up for Steven to change it to one a bit more Marc’s speed. The rhythmic sounds of drums thump through the apartment as you make your way back to Marc. His eyes are wide with a mix of excitement and nerves, taking in small, slow breaths as his eyes brightly look at you. You move your body to the rhythm, the constricting nature of the bustier letting your cleavage move in a more jiggly manner. When the guitar starts, you let your satin robe fall to the floor as you approach your boyfriend. You see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard, his eyes drinking in every last bit of you that he can. A bright blush burns on Marc’s cheeks as he watches you move for him. His eyes are wide and sparkling—in any other situation, it could be construed as innocent. And while that might be the the case, at least partially, you know the guilty, sinful thoughts that are running through his mind.

As you slowly run your hands down your body as your hips swivel, a flustered, breathy chuckle falls from your boyfriend’s lips. In an effort to hide your satisfied smirk from him— you mean, if he’s already this flustered, he’s in for a real treat— you turn around and let him absorb how you look from behind. Knowing that he has enjoyed the view and you have contained your expression, you whip your hair around as you turn back to him, some small tendrils getting stuck in the creamy texture of your lipstick. You notice him squirm in his seat as a blissed out grin tugs at his lips, which gives you the confidence to get closer to him. Just as he thinks you’re about to make contact with his skin, you bend over, providing him with a frontal view of the slope of your ass and a full view of your over-pushed, barely contained cleavage. You let him take in the sight as you slowly stand, running a hand through your hair as you move over to him, circling around his chair before you sit on his lap. With one hand on the back of the chair, you roll your hips on his, making him inhale a shaky breath and his eyes partially close in delight. Teasing him a bit more, you lightly grind down on him, eliciting a faint whimper from his lips. You feel him shift his legs from under you, and a quick glance down shows that he’s wrapped his feet around the legs of the chair as a way to restrain himself from acting on how you make him feel.

With a smirk, you get up from his lap and take a few slow steps away from him. Your hands weave behind your back, and you can feel his eyes drilling holes into you as he watches you undo the bustier. For as hard as it was to put on, you get it off in an impressive amount of time—the music must be giving you extra confidence. When the last hook is undone, you hold it up with your dominant hand, letting it hang for a moment before you toss it to the side on the old wooden floors. You slowly move your hips, grazing your fingertips along your sides as you extend your arms up to accentuate the line in your back. When you turn back around to give Marc the view of your bare chest, his eyes are so blown with awe and lust, you can’t even see the gorgeous brown of his irises. Improvising from your carefully-practiced routine, you squat in the heels and move your body, running your fingers through your hair when you have been in a similar position on your boyfriends.

Leaning down on all fours, you do your best to sensually crawl along the squeaky floor to where he remains painfully still. You carefully drag yourself up along his body, your nose lightly brushing against the tent in his jeans and up his shirt. You hover your lips millimeters over his before you turn around so he faces your back once more, giving him a more traditional lap dance. You arch your back as you rock your hips against him, and you can hear him sniff the lingering scent of shampoo in your hair. Pivoting once move, you move to face him as your body continues to work, this time running your fingers trough his curly locks. A proper moan falls from his lips before you feel his hands grip onto your hips.

“Fuck it,” he grunts as he picks you up, taking large strides to the bedroom after he can’t take any more of your teasing, his lips hungrily attacking yours.

“That good, huh?” you quip as he moves his lips to your neck, harshly nipping at the thin skin, pulling a mixture of a yelp and moan from you before he throws you down on the mattress.

“The stockings and heels stay on.” His voice his deep and gravely with lust, pushing a harsh kiss against your lips, sliding his tongue down your throat as he removes your panties without even looking, throwing them somewhere behind him. HIs fingers dig into the flesh of your side as he mouths along your chest, his soft lips and hot breath clouding your focus.

“I wasn’t done,” you pout as his lips latch onto your chest, feasting on the supple, fatty flesh, warming your hardening nipple with his tongue, gently tugging at it with his teeth.

“I couldn’t—I needed—fuck,” he growls into your chest, moving to try and fit as much of your other breast into his mouth. Marc takes one of his hands from your waist, harshly grabbing and squeezing the flesh that is still recovering from what his mouth did to it. You writhe under his touch, humming in delight when you feel just how hard his cock is, straining against his pants. A whimper falls from your lips when you feel his fingers move along your slit, a soft grunt joining your shallow breaths as he carefully teases you. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, baby. Did dancing like that for us turn you on?”

“Mm, you always turn me on,” you say as you lean forward to try kiss Marc. At the last moment, he dips his head and bites your shoulder, causing your back to arch as he sinks his teeth into you, your pussy involuntarily fluttering around him.

Marc runs his tongue over where his teeth left little imprints, soothing the sting before he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest as he marks up the thin skin with clear evidence that you are his. As he creates and soothes a smattering of love bites, you wrap your legs around his waist. When Marc moves to grind into you, you take advantage of the situation and flip your positions on the mattress—a trick that the boys had taught you for safety and defense.

“I told you,” you say, placing your hands on Marc’s chest. “I wasn’t done.”

You lean down and run your fingers through the beard that has grown more luscious on his face—the motivator for the boy’s little surprise. You place open-mouthed kisses on the soft hair before you move to lick behind the shell of his ear, nipping and tugging at his earlobe. You slowly pull away from him, letting your teeth carefully drag over the soft skin. Once you release it, you sit all the way back up on your knees, running your hands up and down his body.

“Will you let me finish?” you ask, your fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. Half of the pads of your thumb graze the cotton, the other half brushing against the soft skin of his abs.

“Y-Yes,” he stutters, his brown eyes sparkling as he gazes up at you.

Twin smiles pull across our lips, and you slide your fingers under his shirt, enjoying the ripples and dips of the muscle below your hands. He lets out a sigh, resting his head back onto the pillow before you slide his shirt up and off of him. With his skin exposed, you lean forward and continue to kiss every inch of him that you can, always going back to his soft hair, scratching your fingers through his curls. As you press kisses down his exposed torso, your hands follow down further. Both Marc and you enjoy your worship of his body, and he grunts when you move your hand to palm through his jeans. He’s so much harder now than he was in the kitchen chair. His moans fill the bedroom, shortly joined by the jingle of his belt as he sneaks his hands between your bodies.

Once Marc gets his belt off, you begin to make quick work of his pants and underpants, getting too eager yourself to try and tease him through his boxers. His cock is painfully red, weeping precum as his dick rests against his stomach, giving you a new idea. Crawling on your knees, you move up, positioning yourself slightly above his hips. Lowering down, you slowly rub your slit along Marc’s length, back and forth, coating him with every last drip of your arousal. Marc’s eyes pinch shut, not expecting the kind of pleasure you grind down on him. With a new song playing on the speakers in the living room, you follow the beat of the music. You let out shaky breaths as he creates the greatest kind of friction against your clit.

“Marc,” you whine softly, your hands moving along you body. One hand settles to cup your breast while the other is in your hair.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he moans, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. “You look so fucking—fuck.”

“N-No touching,” you stutter, moving your hand from your hair. Grabbing his hand, you take it and move it up above his head. You grab his other wrist and hold his hands above his head while you continue to grind down on him.

As you lean over him, he lunges forward and latches onto your breasts, his hot breath shooting straight to your core, making the slick between your legs all the more wet. As you move back down, you shift your hips to just the right angle, letting Marc slide into you. He doesn’t expect it in the slightest, unlatching from your chest to let out one of the most erotic moans you have ever heard fall from his lips. When he bottoms out in you, you rest your face in his neck, kissing everywhere that you can while you give yourself time to adjust and bask in the delight on him filling you up completely— you could have very easily kept going, having been so riled up from the evening, but you know how much Marc, Steven, and even Jake enjoy when you take your time like this.

“You ready for me?” you hum. “You want me to move?”

Marc doesn’t use his words, only bucking his hips into you and kissing you hungrily.

“Words, baby,” you kiss along his jaw.

“Yes—move.”

You happily comply with his request, beginning your movements up and down his length. Of course you can’t make it too easy for him to start—he did break the no touching rule a few times. You keep your movements slow, painfully teasing for him to endure, and while it’s a punishment for him, it’s just as much of a punishment for you. Letting go of his wrists, you sit more upright on his lap, bouncing up and down. The way he slides in and out of you sends your head into a spin when his cock hits your back-most wall—if you keep it up, you’ll be coming on him in less than a minute. Changing pace, you go down on him and rock your hips back and forth, riding him like a cowgirl on a mission into the sunset. As you increase your speed, you find yourself leaning back, putting a hand on his strong leg for support. Working on him in your new position, you pick up on a shift in his moans. This change is further confirmed when you feel his hips buck up into you harshly and repeatedly as his hands flying to place a bruising grip on my hips.

“Cariño,” a deeper voice grunts.

“Oh, hi, Jake,” you pant as he rails into you, delighted to see the broodiest of your boys. “What are you doing here?”

“You wear that—do all of this—and expect me not to come out?” he grunts as his pelvis slams into yours at a bruising pace.

“It’s for all you boys,” you whine before he smacks your ass, your skin stinging as the sound lingers in the air.

He grabs your face with one of his hands, smushing your cheeks as he pulls you in for one of the filthiest kisses you’ve ever received—there’s so much tongue involved, it’s like he’s trying to make your mouths one. He sucks on your tongue as he pulls back, but not before letting it go so he can nibble on your bottom lip.

“Mm,” you hum hungrily, leaning in for another raunchy kiss.

“Eres tan jodidamente buena,” he growls as his mouth lips, nicks, sucks, and kisses whatever they can find. “Tan hermosa.”

“Fuck, baby,” you whine as you grind down on his thrusting hips. “Fuck, just like that. Right there.”

Jake’s mouth continues to explore whatever parts of your body it can reach, sending shivers up your spine along with the feelings that he’s already creating in your belly.

“Mierda, fuck,” he grunts as you roll against him.

“That feel good, papi?” you ask knowing full well it does as you lean over and take his face in your hands for a kiss.

“You have no idea, baby.” You catch him clenching his jaw, and you kiss along the tense muscle. “Marc doesn’t like that I’ve cut in.”

“Let him back, and next time you front, we can do this again. I’ll get some new lingerie that you can tear off of me with that beautiful, strong hands.”

A wicked smile spreads across his face before he leans up, kissing you with gusto, his hips halting their assault to your core.

“Te amo, cariño,” he whispers.

“Te amo, mi amor,” you parrot, pressing a kiss to his lips. Once you pull back from the kiss, you can tell that Jake has taken a step back and let Marc back to center stage.

“Hi, babygirl,” Marc draws out.

“Hey, hot stuff,” you smirk.

“You were up to something real good before Jake interrupted,” he muses as his hands trail down the sides of your body.

“Was I?” you ask with a coy smile.

Marc smiles and pulls you in for another kiss, his hands finding home once more on your hips, lightly beginning to rock you on his cock. Taking his incentive in earnest, you wiggle your ass down on him before you begin to bounce once more. The blissed-out expression on Marc’s face lets you know he is thoroughly enjoying it, and his thumb that he snakes down over your clit makes sure that you get to enjoy it just as much.

“Oh, Marc,” you whine. “Baby.”

“I love it when you get like this,” he pants, the tight circles his rubs becoming harder and smaller. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Just like that, Marc,” you breathe, starting to loose your rhythm as he pulls you closer to your release.

A consistent flow of your whimpers and whines join the erotic echos of your skin slapping together. You barely last for one more minute before you feel that band get a little too tight in your stomach.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Marc encourages, his own breathing becoming more hitched and shallow. “Come for me, baby.”

His words are your command, and you squeeze Marc for everything he is worth. The sheer force of your orgasm makes it hard to keep going, but you continue to rock your hips against his to make sure you get him right where he needs to be. As you begin to come down from your high, you slowly roll your hips as lean forward, running your fingers through his beard as you kiss him. Marc’s needly lips chase yours as you pull back, and you can feel his unspoken confusion as you turn around on his cock.

“Relax, baby,” you tell him as you run your hands along his strong thighs. “It was sweet that you helped me get off, but you broke the no touching rule. Now, you don’t get to watch my tits bounce when you cum.”

Working your hips more, you feel him in a wondrously different way than you have all night, his cock hitting new spots deep within you. You whine with each bounce, and you can hear Marc’s barely contained whimpers as you slide up and down him. Pushing through your over-stimulation, you move your hips faster and grip Marc’s knees for stability. Just as you approach your second orgasm, Marc cries out in the bedroom, his hips jerking to meet yours as he shoots his hot, sticky cum inside of you. Once you have both calmed down, you slide off of him, turning on your knee as you collapse by his side.

“You okay?” you breathe as you run your fingers through his beard and his sweat-soaked curls.

“I’m fantastic. Jake is, too. Steven checked out when you started to ride us, though,” Marc smirks. “His mind was in such a spin from everything before, that was the straw that ended it for him. I swear, he’s gonna blush every time he looks at you now, having seen all that.”

“Was it good?” you breathe.

“What do you mean, ‘Was it good’?” Marc asks, disbelief and confusion in his voice.

“Well, I’ve never done anything like that. Not just the dance, but being that in control. I mean, well, you know I’m not usually like that and—.”

“Baby,” he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides. “You were so confident and in control, and you looked so happy. It’s a real sexy look on you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So, it was good for you?”

“That was some of the best sex we’ve ever had.”

You can’t help but blush, burying your face into Marc’s chest as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“How about I get you cleaned up, hm?” he asks gently has his thumb traces tiny circles into your hip.

“Carry me?” you ask, looking up through your lashes into Marc’s gorgeous eyes, sparkling in the twilight beams streaming into the apartment.

“Of course, babygirl.”

Translations (mostly according to Google):

“Cariño.” = “Darling/dear/love.”

“Eres tan jodidamente buena para mí.” = “You are so fucking good for me.”

“Tan hermosa.” = “So beautiful.”

“Mierda” = “Shit”

“Te amo” = “I love you”

"Mi amor” = “My love”

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psiroller · 20 days

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cheesecake date (◡‿◡✿) (18+)

slight cw for disordered eating irt chilchuck's weight management possibly being an extension of his self loathing (im being a little dramatic sorry its really not that serious here they are just boys sharing a gay meal)

another piece of a larger fic ive been working on, a more freeform, relationship-oriented sequel to break the lock

The idea had been to linger around the tavern long enough for the rest of the party to wander out on their own, but Laios’ entrée arrived and Falin had made herself quite comfortable across the table from Chilchuck. Laios munched away cluelessly at his croquette as Chilchuck slumped further and further behind the protective shield of his beer stein.

“Falin,” Marcille whined. “Are you really going to chaperone them all night?”

Chilchuck’s eye twitched and he considered, not for the first time over the course of this eventful night out, just bailing and walking home on his own. If he tapped out now, Falin would probably back off, he wouldn’t have to try to make conversation with Laios, and everyone could move on with their lives, but he also wouldn’t maybe get his dick wet, so.

“I just want to know Laios is going to be okay,” Falin said, slow and deliberate. Chilchuck could feel his movement speed and defense dropping. Could a cleric debuff somebody without chanting or touching them? Falin was an exceptional mage, of course, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“I’ll be fine,” Laios said, giving her an affectionate punch to the shoulder. “Really. Chilchuck and I were just going to—discuss the hunt, hash things out. Go over strategies to keep this kind of thing from happening again.” Chilchuck’s eyebrows raised. Even if nobody was buying it, it was a more graceful attempt to skirt the obvious implication than he would have given Laios credit for. “You’ve been wanting to catch up on The Daltian Clan with Marcille, right?”

Falin’s judicious gaze shifted to Laios; Chilchuck sucked in a breath of air, suddenly aware of how badly his lungs hurt. Marcille, meanwhile, shook Falin’s shoulder.

“Y-yeah! I have a new relationship chart drawn up and everything. We haven’t had a girl’s night in forever, Falin, please?”

Falin softened, closing her eyes gently. “Very well.”

The mood had gone icy, but Laios was undaunted. He cut out a long slice of his croquette and plopped it on Chilchuck’s plate, which had accumulated a few peanut shells over the course of the evening and little else.

“Ah.” Chilchuck waved the helping away. “I’m watching my—” “It’s a special occasion,” Laios said. “Go on.”

Chilchuck leered at Laios, took a rebellious sip of his ale before indulging him. He stabbed a hitherto unused fork into the cutlet and took a big bite out of it. His sour expression softened up as he chewed.

“Not bad,” Chilchuck ceded, and Laios seemed suspiciously happy about that. Falin stood up from the table, and Marcille hiked up her skirt to jump from the bench. She was trying to play it cool, but there was a certain giddiness in Marcille’s restrained smile that Chilchuck recognized.

“We’re meeting up next week at the usual time, right?” “That’s the plan,” Laios nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on job postings over the weekend, so I should have a lead by then.”

Marcille and Laios grinned at each other in an unspoken agreement as Marcille looped an arm around Falin’s elbow. “See you then!” she giggled, tugging Falin along. Chilchuck decided to fixate on the delicate crust of the pork cutlet instead of whatever that meant; there were a few spices he recognized from home, some rosemary rubbed into the pork.

“See you around, Chilchuck.” A heavy hand clapped on Chilchuck’s shoulder and shoved him playfully, nearly making him choke. “Don’t be too rough on the guy, alright? He’s learned his lesson.” Namari let out a raunchy laugh when Chilchuck whipped around, scandalized. Laios didn’t flinch; he dropped another slice of his croquette onto Chilchuck’s plate.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Red pulsed at the edges of Chilchuck’s vision as he was redirected off of Namari’s back to Laios’ face, flushed from drink and sporting an easy smile. Chilchuck’s blood pressure was beginning to become a problem here. “They make the breadcrumbs in house.”

“Melini pork is something else,” Chilchuck muttered around his mouthful. “It’s fattier here than it is back home. Pigs are living free and easy in this climate, I guess.”

“It’s really interesting how the environment an animal is raised in affects the meat,” Laios said, staring off into the blurry space just beyond their table. Chilchuck grimaced as he realized what he’d just done to the conversation. “Up north, the pork’s tough. We have long-haired, hardy pigs. They get lean and mean and muscular once the winter comes.”

Chilchuck chuckled, despite himself. “You were raised on a pig farm? That explains a lot.”

“We had a variety of livestock,” Laios shrugged. “I guess it still counts as being raised in a barn, though. I slept in the hayloft quite a few times.”

Chilchuck snorted into his ale. “I don’t get you,” Chilchuck leaned forward onto the table, not having to go very far, and folded his arms on the damp, yeasty wood. Laios, for whatever reason, leaned in with him.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Laios laughed, a painful edge to his smile.

Chilchuck’s throat went dry, and he washed it down with more ale. Laios reeled in the plate of cheesecake he’d been saving for dessert. The frozen raspberries on top had melted a bit, pink juice staining the immaculate eggshell white of the cake itself and pooling in the center of the plate. He thought about it for a second, then pushed it over to Chilchuck.

“You want the first bite? You paid for it.”

Chilchuck swallowed hard and coughed up some panko. “Why are you feeding me like some kind of—never mind. I have to stay light on my feet. Keeps me from triggering pressure plates inadvertently. You eat it.”

Laios cocked his head quizzically, his flushed high cheekbones pressed into his knuckles. He held out a clean fork, handle side out. Safety first. “A bite’s not going to kill you, Chilchuck. You gotta put weight back on before we head back in anyway.”

Chilchuck opened his mouth to yell, but something stopped him. Laios waggled the silverware expectantly, and Chilchuck snatched it out of his hands. He stabbed straight down the middle of the slice, through a soggy raspberry and the wedge of cake, and carved out a piece, getting the most out of his begrudged portion. Laios watched unblinkingly as Chilchuck wrapped his chapped lips around the tines of the fork. Chilchuck’s eyes glittered.

“Well?”

“It’s alright,” Chilchuck shrugged, quickly stealing another bite before handing the fork back to Laios. There was a smug look on his face that Chilchuck wanted to wipe off. Laios finally had a piece and melted when it touched his tongue.

“Tastes more than alright to me,” Laios hummed. “You’re funny.” “Funny how?” “It’s just cake, Chilchuck.” Laios passed the fork. “You bought it, you like it, but you can’t say so.” “Are you calling me a coward?” “I’m saying that we can share. It’s not such a big deal.”

Chilchuck grumbled something in his mother tongue. He scooped up another piece and focused on the sour tang of the cream cheese instead, the delicate crumbled crust soaked through with fruit juice.

“It’s probably the best cheesecake I’ve ever had,” Chilchuck admitted. Laios clapped his hands and cheered.

“There you go! Wasn’t that nice?” “It’d be nicer if you could shut your cakehole so I can enjoy this in peace.”

Laios grinned. “Why’s it so hard to admit what you want?” Chilchuck’s eyes rolled, but he wasn’t getting up from the table. He chewed on an extra-large piece and passed the fork back to Laios to finish it off. Laios took his time to savor the last, eyes closed and mind distant from the overwhelming chatter around them, drunken jeering and bubbling laughter.

“Most people don’t ask,” Chilchuck said. Laios’ eyes opened. “So I’m asking. What do you want?”

Chilchuck flushed from his ears to his throat and slammed the last of his ale.

#ficroller #dungeon meshi #chilaios #preview #laios' autistic swagger is getting to him majorly

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the-martyrfication-of-the-matron · 11 months

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Hey new to the aphmau fandom, like days old, and i was wondering what order to watch her rps as its kinda confusing to me

This is going to be such a long post because there’s so much to say! (There is a TLDR at the end if you don’t care about specifics and just want a watch order)

The inclusion of side-series and stuff just convolutes things a tad. But I promise, you will get an answer.

First;

I suggest a side series to start. Which isn’t to say that they’re all short, they’re just not relevant to the Big Two.

But, yeah, just dip your toe in the pool first.

Dreams of Estorra- never watched it. But it’s popular. It should be on the Aphmau Stories channel instead of her main one, if you can’t find it there. If someone can offer me a summary for it I would love you.

A Royal Tale- a weird mishmash of Disney and the Aphverse. A lighthearted fantasy show with some adult humour, Lo (< an icon), and romance. It will introduce you to some of the characters from the other series without overwhelming you with references you won’t understand. Aarmau, but they’re exes who hate eachother. It’s only a roleplay

Mermaids Tale- similar thing to ART, a mermaid au for Aphverse. Very Aarmau centric, there’s lesbian mermaids. I cant actually remember the plot but it got me into my train (the singer) phase. It’s only a roleplay

Mod Mod world- never watched it, but it did get a sequel that I’ll bring up later. Again, would love a summary from someone.

My Inner Demons- it’s one of the only non-aphmau centric shows and doesn’t include ANY aphverse characters. The main character is Ava, and it’s set up like a Harem Anime with a bunch of male demon love interests for her. It has quite adult humour, but it’s pretty cute aesthetically and deserves a second season. It’s only a roleplay

HeartPoint- a girl sees how much people like her platonically and romantically by little stats that appear above their heads. I believe Aphmau is the only Aphverse character, and whilst the romance is pretty obvious to me, I’ll leave who she ends up with blank as that’s kind of a part of the series… iirc. It’s only a roleplay.

There may be more… I’ll have to look.

Anyways.

So.

Onto the behemoths.

Minecraft Diaries is the first of the Roleplays to really get her popularity. It’s a medieval fantasy, with both roleplay and let’s play elements in it. It ran for three seasons, seasons one and two being 100 episodes each, however season 3 ended short. It was never completed. Season three is regarded as the worst season, and most either don’t consider it canon or haven’t watched it at all, but I consider it canon solely because it introduces us Lo, who I love. The two main ships when it was popular were Laurmau and Garmau, and if it weren’t for MyS, they probably still would be treated as such.

If you want to watch the main series in chronological order, I would watch MCD first. It is my favourite tho so maybe I’m biased. The lore can be contradictory and the quality slowly improves over time. It started to get remade with Rebirth, which you can watch before hand to get a general gist of the show before you dive into it, though it isn’t incredibly accurate to how the original is. Seasons 1-2 are on Aphmau’s main channel (I think), but season 3 is on Aphmau Stories. You don’t need to watch MyStreet but, you will probably end up watching it anyways.

Brief intermission: Void Paradox. The Mod Mod world sequel, is also a side series for MCD s1, and was made years afterwards. Very high quality, probably one of the better side series in general, and deserved a continuation. MMW isn’t required to watch it, but for context on Laurence and what’s up with him, MCD s1 is.

The next is MyStreet. It started as a modern Au for Diaries with the side stories and The Big Move, however began to be made into its own series. It begins as a slice of life, and is very light hearted with an Aarmau emphasis. It faces a genre swap for Season 4, before reverting to a slightly more solemn version of what it once was, before it goes back to a darker vibe for s6. Until s6, it existed in a separate universe to MCD, and you don’t need to watch MCD to understand it (though it does provide some context for s6)

There are prequels and side series (and a three episode sequel, which is fun). PDH is the main one, and because MyS was made first, they can contradict, however you will need to watch PDH S2 for context for MyS S4. Otherwise you won’t know the villain or understand what the fuck he’s doing. After them, there is PDH: Graduation days, and FalconClaw University. Neither are particularly important, but again, FCU offers some context for s4, so… you could watch it. It’s just not mandatory. There’s Aphmau’s year after s4, which is just a recovery mini-season, and there’s Her Wish which was released before s6, but set after it. And I will give them credit, they did preplan when they wrote her wish and watching it after s6 and realising everything they did to retain continuity… oh it’s good. Her wish does require watching MCD S3/late s2 though, it won’t make sense without it.

TLDR;

If a series isn’t Void Paradox, Mystreet, MCD, Phoenix Drop High or FalconClaw Uni, you can just watch it whenever.

MCD / PDH / MYS is my personal favourite watch order, because it’s all chronological. But just go with whatever you vibe with!

MCD is the OG and fantasy Medieval, but is a mix of roleplay and let’s play, and doesn’t have entirely consistent lore. It has a partial remake and it’s final, incomplete season, sucked.

PDH is higher quality and a highschool drama with fantasy undertones but less relevant, and is a prequel for MyS

MYS is the most popular and is a slice of life with more fantasy undertones, as well as very high quality, but suffers through genre swaps, and requires some context from the other two in later seasons.

#aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #minecraft diaries #mcd #mystreet

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alezangona · 4 months

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A Little Salaar Rant:

Rewatched Salaar again for the nth time and am just so curious as to how the sequel is going to go.

Like number one, a part of me believes that Aadhya is a misdirect as a love interest because in the nicest way, Deva and Varadha are too into each other to care about anyone else. I really don’t think that anything Aadhya says or does can make Deva prioritize her over Varadha (when it comes to matters of safety- like if someone was holding a gun to both of their heads, he’d be picking Varadha no doubt). Even in their interview where they were describing what they take away from their characters:

• Prithvi talked about how Varadha feels incomplete without Deva.

• Prabhas talked about how Deva’s priority is Varadha first, then his mother, and now Aadhya.

• Shruthi talked about how Aadhya doesn’t even belong here and how she just accidentally wandered in and how her character is important in driving the plot forward.

I feel like in the end, they’re just gonna make her a love interest because that’s usually how these films go. But that feels so weird in the context of this movie because it wouldn’t really fit into the character dynamics that have been established. A part of me hopes that she can just be a friend at the end of it all, especially since her and Deva will probably have a side quest as they deal with the asthikalu. But anything more than that wouldn’t really feel just to the story at hand. In my opinion anyway.

And number two, the plot of the next movie will concentrate on the war between Deva and Varadha. I’m so interested about how they’re going to play that out because I cannot picture either of these two wanting to actually hurt each other. It even feels like in Prithvi’s entry scene, Varadha doesn’t look excited by the fact they’ve found Deva. Instead, he kind of just looks tired/done/like there’s a burden on his shoulders. Most probably because he doesn’t want to actually kill or hurt Deva. I feel like he’d rather just turn a blind eye to his location than actually hurt him.

In terms of how the movie ends too, I know Prashant talked about how the last scene of the movie will be the same as the first scene in the movie. Which makes me think that it might end with Deva dying, because what happens in the first scene is Deva doing what he has to in order to protect Varadha. Like maybe the movie will end with the current pole! But that would be so sad… like I need both of them to survive and live out their lives together. Or, if one goes, the other goes with because with how intertwined their souls are, I don’t think either can really survive with the other being completely gone.

I think a big part of me is just hoping that they’ll end up together at the end of it all because their actions showcase nothing but love and regard for the other. It’s something that goes beyond friendship (every interaction that happened between them has literally happened before in other movies with straight couples). I don’t think I have enough faith in Indian cinema at this point in this to truly believe they’ll let Varadha and Deva become a couple.

But I really wish they would because it’s about time. Also, you can’t have a story this big and dramatic, rooted in the story of these two characters who would literally do anything for each other in a setting as bloodthirsty as Khansar, and think that it isn’t a story about love. Ya know?

Also random, but a part of was also thinking about the conflict that happened in Khansar that led to Deva and his mom having to leave a second time. Like post that is when Amma probably really got scared of the power of her son and truly realized what he was capable of in the hands of Varadha. Especially because from my perspective, whatever blood bath occurred that led to Deva feeling guilty (cuz blood on his hands) has to have occurred because he needed to protect Varadha. So even though what happened probably wasn’t directly Varadha’s fault, I kinda of want to see Varadha and Amma being able to meet each other in 2017 and there be a tension in their relationship too. Where Amma probably is wary of Varadha since she knows the power he has over her son and where Varadha probably just feels this sense of unease because how do you confront someone who was like a mother to you?

In general, this is just a rant as I watch and rewatch and try to process my own thoughts. I feel like I know mostly how the plot is going to go and what to expect out of the second film. But there’s also the bigger part of me that hopes that instead of taking the generic way out (the way most series and movies seem to be doing now) the creators will take the time to do justice to the film and to the characters by allowing it to be what it is, rather than fitting into some mold of their own expectations.

#salaar #varadeva #devaratha raisaar #Khansar #varadha rajamannar

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r0semultiverse · 1 month

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Was Celia drunk as fuck or is this something supernatural?? 👀

Who the fuck is Jack?? 👀

Alice is such a delight, I love her!

Oof so one or both of them have trauma involving grandparents then.

I love Samama & Alice so much. 💜 They have a great dynamic!

Oh shit, right, Gwen is probably still getting over Mr. Bonzo too. 👀

"I just… I dunno. When I left the coffee shop, it felt like someone was following me."

Please don't take away Alice, she's one of my faves! I hope this post doesn't age poorly. Watch me have to quote this post very soon.

OH NO, is it that [ERROR] following her??? 😰

"Don’t joke about that, mate. I was dreaming about it all day." Okay, yeah, that's a creature.

Sam & Alice are both about to run into a creature... 👀

"Classifying unspeakable horrors all night for no discernible reason?" @/entities-of-posts & @/which-entity-this-post-serves is that you? :]

Hmm, now why is this episode called "marked?" I assumed Mr. Bonzo was gonna find his mark, but maybe Alice is marked by an entity/creature that was locked in the Magnus Institute?

"giving up the ghost" okay so someone saw an apparition? Honestly not sure what entity this episode is about so far.

It's giving The Corruption ✨🧟‍♀️⚰️ (maybe The Buried)

"It’s just that one of the graves had a body in that was too well-preserved for the age it should have been." 👀👀👀

This thing is about to jump out of the grave & run off, isn't it? 🏃‍♂️

"The back was completely covered in this complicated tattoo of a ship sailing across an open sea towards an open horizon." Peter Lukas?!?!?

Oh 100% The Buried, without a shadow of a doubt.

Lots of tattoo & carvings in walls imagery in this sequel prequel sidequel, isn't there? 👀

Hey wait, that's Ink5oul from episode 2, isn't it? 👀 Ink5oul definitely feels like a conduit or vessel for The Flesh or some other kind of entity.

Okay, there's something weird going on with this place, the salt water & waves near this cemetery are kind of seemingly enticing them to come drown in it's waters. In the very least it's messing with these guys' mental states! Pretty freakkyyyy! 👀🌊

Also the repeated emphasis on dreams is interesting this episode, wonder if that'll play a part in something later on. 👀👀

"If it’s any consolation, he’s with the sea now. The deep will care for his bones." I literally called it!!

I think Gordon Alan Johnson also wants to be with David. 👀🌊🌊

I don't know, Gordie, I think you did it! Unless Ink5oul is collecting tattoos like an alternate universe version of the Leitner books. Wait yeah, what if the tattoos are like conduits for the entities of this world or even the original one? 🖌

Another way to look at this is asking... Is The Deep a new entity/fear or is it a servant of a fear like The Vast? I stg there was a colossal water monster at some point in The Magnus Archives!

Okay so yeah, there's already a precedent for this. Also feels like The Lonely, The Buried, The Corruption, The Vast, & maybe even The Flesh are all involved in this one though I don't know if Flesh (Ink5oul) is working with or against the other fears at this time.

Gwen, you can tell your coworkers what's wrong, oh my fucking god. Please. Celia, you have me so invested in whatever is going on with you.

Weird unexplained noise at 17:44 too as Celia enters the office. Wonder what that's all about, maybe it'll come up later on.

"He is one of our Externals." Okay; so, there's more of them & they have their own secret hitman title too!

Mr. Bonzo when he was on TV

"And they usually like it." I bet fear creatures do like it when you scream. That makes a lot of sense actually.

Also what's that weird "boowomp" noise as they're talking or is it just the OST? 👀

Is Gwen going to be turned into something not quite human at some point? Just throwing darts at a board with that speculation, but wouldn't that be wild?

Okay; so, these little digitized noises are absolutely important!

I wonder how many times & when people have lied so far throughout this season. 👁️👁️

#someone should draw those two ( sam & alice ) in the style of that show at this rate. I have more questions every week i stg #is mr. bonzo gonna find his mark or is Alice dyer marked by [ERROR] place your bets!#okay so themes of coffins; decay; & rotting things; feels like the corruption or maybe even the buried #I stg if that weirdly aged guy is Peter Lukas somehow I'm gonna scream; it's an AU; anything can happen #Love seeing Ink5oul again; it's cool that they aren't just a one off character & are getting involved in the greater story #leitner tattoos canon??? maybe?? is this the equivalent of jurgen leitner books?? perhaps #the big water monster is giving The Vast energy; a lot of these feel like fear entities collaborating in this world #now I'm curious who the other externals are... is ink5oul one of them? They seemed to delight in reactions.#is this government organization called the magnus institute or what do they call themselves now? also who is mr bonzo after?#I wonder if the black ops guys that showed up to that charity place on hilltop were a counter organization or the government?#mine #op #tmagp liveblog #tmagp 11 #tmagp spoilers #tma spoilers #tma #tmagp #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol

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honeyhotteoks · 2 years

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summer's end (j.yh)

summary: sequel to summer nights -- he’s your best friend and roommate, and the lines are starting to get pretty blurry between casual sex and emotions.

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i genuinely could not get the idea of these idiots being super in love and never talking about it and just being generally dumb about it, the rest is just self indulgent boyfy yunho. please enjoy x

warnings: best friend!yunho, fem!reader, and they were roommates, oral (f receiving), fingering, cockwarming (kind of?), rough sex, impact play, marking/bruising, emotional sex, angsty sex, dirty talk/use of pet names, praise, dacryphilia if you squint, classic big dick yunho, idiots miscommunicating and arguing, also super fluffy emotional soft smut - it's really a mixed bag here. please let me know if I missed any.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: college non idol au; seriously shameless smut, angst, hurt/comfort vibes, fluff

word count: 7.7K

my masterlist || read on AO3

It starts off with a bet, again. It was a challenge to each other nose to nose in the kitchen, several drinks deep with the last heat wave of summer bearing down and keeping you both distracted and wearing next to nothing. When you found out he was counting the number of times he’s successfully made you come since your first experiment two months prior, you decided he was being just a little too full of himself and you needed to make things interesting. What you didn’t anticipate is where you’d be now, and how hard it would be to win said bet.

Yunho is relaxed against the headboard, sitting fully up at an almost ninety-degree angle. You’re straddling him, legs wrapped around his waist and locked behind him, his cock buried inside you, stiff and warm. He tenses his abdominal muscles, making his cock twitch inside you and you bite your inner cheek to keep from making a sound. His expression is smug, playful and cocky, the tip of his tongue pressing into his cheek. He squeezes your hips with his large hands, his thumbs caressing the crease at the top of your thighs.

“I can do this all day,” he smiles, and tenses again.

You shift your hips the smallest amount and sigh a low exhale through your nose, “So can I,”

“Mhm,” he nods, “sure you can.”

“I don’t know,” you take the opportunity to pull his t-shirt that you had been wearing over your head and toss it aside. His eyes flick down to your now bare breasts, nipples pebbled and hard, and you watch him swallow and blink before looking back up to meet your eyes. You stretch above him, running your hands through your hair and pushing it back over your shoulders, moving your hands down your chest to cup your own breasts and give them a subtle squeeze.

“Tease,” he shakes his head.

“That’s kind of the point,” you nudge him in the ribs.

“Mm,” he’s barely listening, he slides one hand over your stomach to splay his fingers wide, carefully flexing them and noting how from thumb to pinky finger he covers the full expanse of you. He pushes you with his hand a little, silently communicating that he wants you to lean away from him and you do, reaching back with one hand to brace on his thigh.

He runs his hand up from your stomach to your chest, passing down again slowly over your sternum, fingertips tracing your curves until he’s low and brushing over your pubic bone.

“Let’s make it more interesting,” he says while he touches you softly, “instead of first to move loses, how about first to come?”

Your eyes widen at his suggestion, “You’ll lose though,”

“Wow,” he rolls his eyes, “that’s overconfident of you,”

“You’re so easy though!” you exclaim, “I’m always the one that needs some warming up,”

“I’m pretty sure I can hold out,” he smirks again, “plus, you forget I can feel how wet you are. You’re warmed up.”

“What do I get if I win?” You divert him, pushing off his leg to come back to a normal sitting position before leaning closer to him and resting your arms around his neck.

“Movie night, all your choices,” he offers.

“And if you win?”

“You finally let me teach you how to play Valorant,” he insists, “and you have to actually give it a try, not just watch me replay it.”

“How many movies?” You clarify.

“Three,” he offers.

You grin, “Deal,”

“First to come loses then,” he quirks an eyebrow, shifting to hold out a hand for you to shake.

You laugh, rolling your eyes again, but you accept his hand, giving it one firm shake and putting on your most serious expression.

Once you return the hand to his chest, he sighs, “Finally, now come here,” he tugs your arms and brings you closer, capturing your mouth. His arms wind around you, one around your back and the other slipping down low over your hip and under your ass to hold you firm. He bucks his hips, thrusting his cock deeper into you and groans against your mouth.

“I knew it,” you murmur between kisses.

He shuts you up with a harder kiss, hungry, his hands roaming over your skin and pressing on every little spot he’s learned you love.

“Come here,” he breaks away, pushing you backwards again and dipping his hand down again to massage your clit in tender circles with the rough pad of his thumb.

A coil of pleasure wraps tighter inside you, and you sigh, “That’s good,” you tell him, “but you know I never come like that,”

“Wrong,” he shakes his head, pressing a little more firmly with his thumb.

The added pressure makes you moan, soft and breathy, “What do you mean, wrong?” For all the times you’ve had sex, you rarely come from fingering alone.

“I’ve figured it out,” he smiles, holding your gaze, “you come the easiest when I’m inside you, all you need is me to stuff you full and then it’s like clockwork.”

You sputter at his words, the crass frankness doing nothing but adding to the growing needy sensation inside you. When you don’t respond and he realizes you’re flustered, he grins, “You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?” You clench your muscles down on his cock and his eyes slip closed for just a moment as he relishes the sensation.

“All you needed,” he says, pushing off the headboard and gathering you in his arms, shifting so that he’s cross legged under you and sinking his cock as far as it will go inside you, “was something my size to get you just right.”

You rock your hips, dragging him in and out softly, “Yunho, you’re incredibly full of yourself,” you tease him, even though you’re pretty sure he’s right.

One of his hands comes to the side of your face, his fingertips along your jaw, bringing your gaze to him. “You know what I think?” He says, and his thumb catches against your bottom lip, “I think these other boys weren’t fucking you right.”

A deep spike of heat lances through you at his words, and he smiles when he feels your muscles contract around him. He slides his hands down to cup your backside, easily pulling you up and down again on his hard length and you can’t stop the broken little moan that bubbles up from inside you. “I think,” he continues, moving one of his hands to cover your lower stomach again, “you needed to feel something here.” He presses down firmly with his fingers and rocks his hips, building tight heat inside you.

“Fuck,” you stammer, “when did you get so mouthy?”

“I don’t know,” he grins and pulls you in for a kiss, dragging his tongue along yours before breaking the lip lock and leaning his forehead against yours, “you make me insane, y/n, I swear to God.”

“Yeah?” You kiss him sweetly, nuzzling against him and running your hands along his back, up to his soft locks.

“You know you do,” he murmurs, “I can’t get enough of you,”

The way he maneuvers between dirty talk and soft, borderline romantic, assurances always puts you in a dizzy spiral. Every time you slept together it was getting harder and harder to stop wanting him, even now you find yourself daydreaming about it, the life you might be able to have together, but you know for him it’s just sex, practiced safely within the bounds of your quarantine bubble.

“Yunho,” you sigh against him, pulling him as close to you as you can, every inch of available skin you can press together you do. The light buzz you were feeling earlier is wearing off, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling emotional now. Dipping your head into his shoulder you kiss him softly and rest here.

His arms wind tighter around you, his hand running up and down your back soothingly, “Hey,” he murmurs, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you exhale against him, but stay hiding out of his direct view, “I’m good,”

He turns his head slightly, pressing his cheek against your head, “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“Yeah,” you nod, one of the first real lies you’ve ever told him.

“Okay,” he strokes your back again, “but you seem… off all of a sudden.”

You pull away, meeting his eyes and giving him another kiss, “It’s nothing, sometimes it’s just a little overwhelming,” you tell him, and that at least is honest.

“Intimate,” he nods, stroking your face with his thumb softly, his hand cupping your neck, “I get it,”

“Yeah?”

He nods, holding you close and kissing you tenderly, “Yeah,” he shifts again, maneuvering you down to your back on the bed, his cock never leaving you as he rolls on top of you and sinks further down, gathering you close in his arms, “you let me do anything to you,” He thrusts once and you can’t help but arch against him, “I let you do anything to me,” he thrusts again.

You grip his broad shoulders, wrap your legs around him as he presses into you. He kisses you again before murmuring hot against your skin, “we trust each other,”

You nod against him, “Yeah,”

He stops moving his hips, leaning back from your face and smoothing back your hair. He grins, cheeky and playful once more, “You’re so soft for me, look at you,”

He makes you laugh, of course he does, and you swallow down the tender moment, locking it away somewhere far deep inside you. You’d analyze that later, the way that the feeling of him filling every space of you and confessing tender words made your stomach twist. The lines are getting blurry and messy, but right here when he makes you laugh, you push it away and refocus.

“Please,” you peck a kiss against his face, run teasing fingers down his sides, “you’re the one who’s soft for me.”

“Probably,” he smirks, quirking an eyebrow and jutting his hips sharply to push his cock deeper inside of you again.

“Fuck,” you manage.

“Can’t take me?” He pulls out at least halfway before snapping his hips into you again.

You keen, gripping him for purchase, but keep your head clear. If he’s maneuvering this back to the bet, at least you could focus on that and winning to keep your mind off the way his eyes turn soft and tender sometimes when you come, the way he croons praises against the hollow of your ear when he pushes you over the edge into an orgasm, the way he calls you baby, sweetheart, pretty, his girl.

Blinking clear you push up on his shoulders, “Yunho, get off,”

“What?” he looks down at you, confusion all over his face.

“Get off me,” you gesture with your head, and he pulls out and off you immediately.

He’s not an easy man to manhandle, being so much taller and broader than you, but you slide over to the side and push his shoulders again, to get him to lay down on the bed. He realizes after a second that you’re just trying to switch positions, and his expression clears, he chuckles as you push him into the position you want. You push the pillows off the side of the bed, and he lays perfectly flat against the mattress, his long legs spread out and touching each corner of the bed, one hand comes to prop up his head.

“What’s this?” He teasingly asks.

You straddle him immediately, hovering your entrance over his stiff cock, letting the head press gently into your hole, “You had your turn.”

“I didn’t know there was a time limit,” he says, but hisses when you start to drop down on him.

His eyes are glued to the spot where you connect and the way your body takes him, his lips parting softly. “Just be quiet,” you hush him, shifting up and down his length.

“You need to focus?” He murmurs, but you clench your muscles around him intentionally and he lets out a broken pant.

You secure your hands in the center of his chest and start to work your hips, swiveled circles into a smooth pace. The feeling of him is perfect like this, touching every deep soft part inside of you, but you know for him it makes him crazier. He can never get enough of you on top, the sight alone of you bouncing up and down above him enough to get him close, let alone the sensation of your tight channel around him.

“Like I said,” you tease him, “you’re too easy.”

He’s about to respond, but you shift a hand on his chest and pass your thumb directly over his nipple. His eyes screw shut, and he groans, you know that if you work him just right you can get him there. You lower yourself down, shifting so you can still bounce your hips, and gently pass the tip of your tongue over his hardened nipple.

“Jesus,” his hands grip your hips hard, and you smile against his skin, darting your tongue out again to flick it, this time much more firmly. He shifts his legs, coming to plant his feet flat on the bed, his knees up behind you so he can thrust himself into you at the pace he needs.

With one hand teasing his left nipple and your tongue teasing his right, it’s a matter of moments. You moan against him, tensing your muscles again, and shift to look up at him as best you can in this position, “Yun,” you pant, “please, baby, will you fill me up?”

His hips stutter, his pace faltering and his mouth drops open, “Oh, fuck,”

“I need it,” you double down, “Yunnie, please,”

At your intentionally wanton moan his hands on your hips shift and he pulls you up and off him, his hands pushing yours away from his chest and maneuvering you to hover above him. He’s panting, a sheet of sweat on his forehead and you can feel how tense he is beneath you, but he caught himself just in time. You think for a moment that he might have a retort on the tip of his tongue, but instead he just pulls you forwards, “Get the fuck up here,” he directs, and drags your body up his.

You’re not sure where he’s going until he shimmies down between your thighs and buries his face into your wet heat. The sudden intensity has you reeling, and you collapse forwards, gripping the headboard for support and trying to hold yourself up above him.

Yunho devours you like he’s starving, his tongue moving from pressing inside you, to running the length of your slit, focusing precise flicks and sucks against your clit. Pleasure bubbles in your belly and you try to move off and away from him, but his hands lock down firmly over your thighs and force you further down against his mouth. He pushes your body with his hands, rocking you against his mouth, his nose bumping perfectly against your swollen clit.

“Yunho,” you grit your teeth and try to ignore the desperate vibrations of pleasure rolling up your body, “Fuck,”

He chuckles against you, working you harder and barely taking a breath. His hands slip around to palm the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing expertly and surely leaving bruises. One of his hands caresses the softest part, massaging it gently, before his hand lifts and drops down with an expert spank before returning to massage the spot. You shudder out a moan, feeling your thighs shake around him.

He breaks away from your clit for just a moment, taking a breath, “That’s what you really sound like,” he punctuates his remark with another slap, “that’s what I want to fucking hear.”

You choke out another moan, and he delivers another slap, firmer this time and you can feel yourself tense and jump above him.

“Baby,” he spanks you once more, “look at me.”

Your eyes fly open, and you look down between your legs. You can only see the top half of his face from where he’s buried beneath you, against you, but you can still tell he has a grin on his lips from the way his eyes crinkle up, pleased with himself. He delivers a sharp lick to your clit and slaps you once more, “I want you to watch me make you come,” he says, palming your ass again tightly, “keep your eyes on me.”

You have half a mind to listen, bet nearly forgotten as he returns his mouth to your swollen clit, his eyes open and locked on yours, his hands tight and holding you to him. When you rock your hips involuntarily, chasing a particular strike of pleasure that runs from your clit to your chest, he moans against you, pushing your hips to have you rock again.

When your eyes flutter shut, he delivers a punishing slap, and you refocus your eyes on him. You’re painfully close, you want to will your body to move, keep him from winning, but when one of his hands slides further around you to push two fingers inside you, everything is forgotten.

One of your hands drops from the headboard to wind into his hair, pulling on him gently as you rut your hips softly against his tongue, his fingers pistoning in and out of your wet aching heat at a punishing speed.

“Yun, please,” you cry out, “please let me come,”

His pace doesn’t slow, and when your body can’t take anymore, it tips you over the edge. The sound that leaves you is desperate, a panting sob as you rock against his mouth, gripping his hair a little too hard as your mind blanks out. You collapse over him, lifting away from his face as you hold the headboard for some semblance of support, your body shaking.

He presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh before sliding out from underneath you and coming to settle behind you, pulling your boneless body back into his arms, “Feel good, baby?”

“So amazing,” you confirm, but as he wraps his arms around you, you can still feel the way your clit is pulsing, and you’re desperate and hungry for more.

“I think,” he murmurs into your hair, his hands coasting across your slick skin, “this means I win.”

“Yunho,” you shake your head, “I don’t care,”

“What?” he looks down at you in his arms.

"I’ll play whatever game you want for however long, I don’t care,” you reach back and grip whatever part of him you can find, holding him against you, “I need you to fuck me right now.”

He grips you tighter, “Yeah?”

“Please,” you arch a little in his arms, “I have to,”

He doesn’t answer, but moves back on the bed, dragging you with him before tipping you forward onto all fours. His hands do all the work, shifting your body into the position he needs. He presses down on the center of your back and makes you arch for him before pushing your knees apart a little wider.

“You want me?” you feel the head of his cock press into you, just an inch or two.

“Now, now, please,” you’re delusional, panting, pressing back into him.

He sinks himself inside you, pressing in and staying still for a few moments, letting the thick deep feeling of him wash over you again. At this angle he is torturously deep, almost too much to take, and he knows it.

Yunho collapses down over you, forcing your hips down towards the mattress, and he tugs one of your legs up so that you’re bent at the knee, opening yourself up wider for him. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he groans, pumping into you slowly and kissing the side of your face that is turned towards him.

A whine slips through your lips, your hands tightening on the sheets beneath you. He smiles against your skin, panting, his hands running up and down your sides as he rolls his hips into you. “No one takes me like you,” he whispers hot against your ear.

You moan, reaching back to touch any part of his skin that you can, your eyes shut tight as he works you up to your second orgasm.

“Fuck,” he breathes, slowing his pace for a minute, “I’m too close, give me a second,”

Your eyes flutter open, in your periphery you can see him pressed against you, his forehead against your temple, a smile on his face. “Too good?” You murmur, teasing him.

“You know it is,” he laughs, and shifts so he can capture your lips. It’s an uncomfortable position for a kiss, barely logistically possible, but you don’t care. He kisses you with passion, like he always does, his hand caressing your hair and ghosting down your shoulders, tongue dipping into your mouth and letting you taste yourself on him.

He breaks away, sighing against you and letting you settle your head back comfortably on the mattress, but he keeps his head close to yours, his mouth by your ear again. He starts to rock his hips faster again, isolated snaps downwards into you like he just can't help himself. Yunho groans against you, “All I want,” he kisses your ear, “is to feel you like this forever,”

His words make you clench, and he continues, “Would you do that, sweetheart?” He croons, brushing your hair away from the side of your face and neck with his free hand so he can kiss your skin, “Would you let me have you like this forever?”

“Please,” you stutter out, but the intimacy of his words rushes over you. The feeling of him stretching you deliciously, filling you and brushing against that tender part inside of you, and his whispered words send you spiraling.

“God, I,” his hand tightens on your hip, “love this, love your body, look at how you take me,”

The word love against your ear does it, emotions swimming up again and making this harder and harder. You twist beneath him, hiding your face in the sheets, letting the curtain of your hair come down and conceal you so he can’t see the way you blink back the sudden rush of tears. You can’t take much more. “Harder,” you choke out, needing him to give you space, needing to feel him everywhere and push these thoughts away.

His upper body lifts away from you, “Is that what you want?” He thrusts into you to punctuate his words, hard and deep.

Your legs are shaking, breath nearly knocked out of you, and you nod, frantic and wanting, “Harder, please, harder,”

At your cries, he obliges. Yunho shifts positions, his forearm across your shoulders, forcing you harder against the bed and his other hand bracing on the mattress beside you. Every deep push of him inside you has you coming apart at the seams, pleasure hot and tight inside you, the sound of skin connecting on skin with every downward snap of his hips.

He’s muttering curses, panting, sweat across his brow, and he moans when you clench down around his length before managing, “Let me see you, baby,”

You’re biting down hard on your lower lip, forehead safely tucked into the mattress, tears still in your eyes though you’re not sure if they’re from his whispered tenderness or the sharp pleasure radiating up your body. Either way, you can’t face him. “Harder,” you beg again, “Yunho, please,”

“God,” he chokes, his pace faltering, “baby, if I fuck you any harder, I might literally break you in half,” he laughs lightly and pulls up and out of you completely, repositioning.

“I don’t care,” you shake your head, pushing your body back up to all fours and arching deep to open yourself up, “I’m so close, I need it,”

He uses his fingers to help guide his cock back inside you, tugging your hips back to sink in completely. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes, please,” you press your body back into him, begging him to pick up the pace. You’re past wanting him to be soft, past wanting him to be funny. You want him to pull you apart, to push any thoughts out of your mind, to make impossible to feel anything but him.

Moments ago, you weren’t sure if he could go any harder, any faster, but the pace he’s setting now is relentless. The sound is lewd, your choked moans, his heavy breaths and pants, skin connecting, the bed creaking, the wet sound of you abused core.

At a particularly sharp thrust you collapse forwards with a cry. He winds a hand into your hair and pulls you up to steady you, but his hand doesn’t leave your scalp. “Let me see you,” he asks again, but this time he takes control, pushing your hair off your face and into his hand.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him.

“Are you close?” he manages.

You try to nod, constricted by his hand in your hair, and he yanks you up, far enough that your hands can’t reach the mattress anymore. He holds you suspended, one of his large hands coming to hold you by your stomach and keep you up, the other in your hair, and he leans back to perch you on his hips. The loss of control ties the knot inside you tighter, the sound of his broken breath and the feeling of his hands on you brings you right up to the edge.

“I’m,” he starts, and you feel his hand across your front tighten. The hand in your hair slips, and for just a moment you feel like you’re going to fall forwards, but he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. He holds you with a bruising grip, thrusting recklessly upwards as best he can from his position on his knees. He bites down on your shoulder when he comes, desperate and hazy, his release hot inside you.

He barely recovers before he’s pressing a hand between your legs. He doesn’t pull out or shift positions, just secures his middle and ring fingers to your clit and starts to circle them, harsh and quick. The tip over the edge is immediate, your body spasming without control as you arch against him, your nails digging into his forearm and thigh. Your head is back against his shoulder, his lips at your ear again, “There she is,” he pants, his fingers never stilling to help you ride it through.

The sound that leaves you is broken and somewhere between a cry and a moan, tears rushing hot down your temples, your legs shaking. “That’s my pretty girl,” he soothes you, slowing his hand once he’s sure you’ve come, easing you down before removing his hand entirely and instead just holding you against him.

As you blink your eyes open you can feel that you’re both shaking, bodies slick with sweat and weak from the exertion. Yunho’s breath starts to even out, and he kisses the side of your face, humming pleasantly, satisfied. The ringing in your ears from the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had starts to fade, and your brain starts to connect with the whispered words against your temple.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, stroking your skin, “I love watching you come,”

You don’t respond, you can’t. He recovers enough to lift you off him, before he slides out from under you and collapses into the sheets with a deep exhausted sigh. He looks up to you, eyes expectant, and you know he thinks you’ll just cuddle up to his chest, fall asleep like always, but you don’t. You get off the bed, legs weak but still working, and head straight to the bathroom, shutting the door tight behind you. You throw the sink on high, letting the sound of the water hopefully muffle up the tears that are bubbling back up. This night had started out fun, cooking in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine, traded jabs loaded with innuendo and hasty kisses. In the middle somewhere it turned into a different kind of wanting.

It takes a few minutes to recover, but when the sudden rush of tears fades, you take a few deep breaths and resolve to go back. It wasn’t really his fault that you were falling in love with him. After the first time, you had convinced yourself so perfectly that you could compartmentalize it, that the feelings you had for him were because you were friends, and friends cared about each other, but you were never very good at separating sex and emotions.

You finish up quickly, using the toilet, splashing cold water on your face, and wrapping your hair up into a bun. You pull on your robe that hangs on the back of his bathroom door and tie it tight around you. Your hips hurt, your legs are weak and sore, and you’re glad the robe covers the bloom of bruises on your thighs. You finish cleaning yourself up and pull the door open to step back into the bedroom.

Yunho’s sitting on the edge of the bed, boxers back on, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes downcast. When he hears you reenter the room his head snaps up, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a little confused, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

He looks instantly relieved and reaches for you, “You disappeared and didn’t say anything,”

“I just wanted to get cleaned up,” you tell him, and that’s not entirely untrue. You move across the room to him, where he reaches out to you and let him pull you into his arms.

He’s gentle now, his hands softly holding your hips, massaging little circles into them through the fabric of your robe. “I wasn’t too rough?”

“No,” you shake your head, resting your hands on top of his, “no, it was good,”

“Okay,” he turns his hands and intertwines your fingers, leans forward and presses a kiss to your chest where the robe is parted, “come here then,”

“Yunho,” you say, with no real plan, you just know that getting back in bed with him and letting him hold you is going to break you in two.

He looks up at you, squeezes your hands and furrows his brow, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you assure him.

“So come to bed,” he tugs your hands gently to coax you forwards but you don’t move.

“Yunho,” you shake your head, dropping your eyes, your voice small. Maybe it was now or never, maybe you could say it and your friendship would survive it. Maybe you could go back to being roommates, friends and nothing more. You swallow tightly and meet his eyes, “I think we should stop.”

You weren’t prepared for the look of abject panic that crosses his face, “What are you talking about?”

You break your hands apart, stepping away to get some distance, “I think we should stop having sex,”

“What just happened?” he says, standing and crowding you again, taking your face in his warm hands, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you shake your head, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your face.

“I mean, something’s going on,” he interrupts, reaching for you again, “because twenty minutes ago we were having some of the most intense sex of my life, and now you’re saying let’s stop. So, either I hurt you and you’re not telling me, or something’s going on with you, and I’ve got to be honest I’m really hoping it’s the latter.”

“You didn’t,” you assure, but keep him at arm’s length, “Yunho, I promise.”

He looks you over head to toe and nods, “Then tell me why you won’t come to bed,”

Tightness builds in your throat, but you push it down, “I just... I thought about it, and I think we should stop fucking around.”

When you look back up to him, his jaw is set tight. He shakes his head, “Is that what we’ve been doing? Fucking around?”

“What?”

You’ve never seen him so worked up before, and he locks eyes with you to ask again, “Is that all we’ve been doing, just fucking around?”

“I don’t understand,” you manage.

“We spend all day together, we eat dinner together every night, we have sex every day,” his brows are knit tight together, confusion all over his face and he keeps going, “you’ve let me do things to you I can’t spell, we sleep together every night, and we wake up together every morning. That’s fucking around?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your understanding of casual sex must be really skewed, because I’ve never done any of those things with a hookup.” He pulls away from you, crossing the room so he can grab a t-shirt and throwing it on over his head. He’s frustrated, the muscles in his arms jumping when he grips his fists tight for a second.

“I’m confused,” you confess, “you said you wanted us to help each other out since we’re trapped in quarantine,”

“I know what I said,” he fires back.

The last thing you expected was for him to react this strongly and to start a fight. You’ve never had one with him, you’ve only ever seen him ruffled by a video game and even then, he doesn’t look half as pissed as he does right now. “Yunho,” you drop your voice down soft, “I didn’t mean to upset you,”

“Upset me?” His eyebrows shoot up, “No, you’re just making it perfectly clear what you think. I just didn’t realize,”

“I should have waited to say something,” you look down, “I just don’t want to ruin us, our friendship.”

“Our friendship,” he repeats.

You look up to meet his eyes, “Yeah, I just,” you flounder, “I know it’s always been important to you, and I just think we’ve been blurring the lines, and I,”

“The lines are well past blurred,” he interjects, “I just didn’t know you cared this little. You could have fooled me.”

“This little?” You take a step forward and he takes one back, a hand out to tell you to back off, that it’s not the time, “Yunho, I care about you so much, you know that.”

“Tell me,” He says, “with the other men you’ve fucked around with, was it like this?”

Tears spring to your eyes as he twists your words back on you and you blink furiously to clear your vision, sweeping the fallen ones away with the sleeve of your robe, “Was it like us?” You clarify.

“Yeah,” he nods. He opens his mouth to say more, but shuts it again, holding his tongue.

You shake your head, “Nothing’s been like us,”

His relaxes and he sighs, “Then tell me, just be honest with me. What changed? From twenty minutes ago to now.”

Blush heats your cheeks, and you sniff, swallowing back more tears. You reach for him but don’t move forward, an upturned palm asking him to come just a little closer. He rests his hands in yours and waits, not coming any closer. “It’s,” you don’t know where to look, but when his gaze softens, and his thumb runs over your knuckles you meet his eyes. You try again, “Somewhere in all of this it started to feel real for me,”

“What?” His hand stills.

“I’m sorry,” you can’t help the tears that spill over now, your stomach in knots, “I tried to separate it, I really did, but it started to get twisted in my head and I can’t help how I feel. You’re amazing, and my best friend, and I should have stopped us a long time ago before I felt this way, but I couldn’t.”

He drops your hand and your heart plummets, “y/n,” he blinks, taking in a breath.

You can practically feel the soft let down, and you wonder if he’s ever had to do this before. It hurts, you realize, far more than you thought it would. You interject quickly to keep his words at bay, “It’s okay though, honestly. It just turns out I’m not as good at casual sex as I thought, and I mean, we live together and we’re in each other’s space so much, of course it’s hard. To be fair to me though, you didn’t help either, always calling me pet names during sex and being so sweet,”

“y/n,” Yunho says, a little louder, this time, “how exactly do you feel?”

“What?”

“You said you should have stopped before you felt this way. What way? Tell me,”

“Oh,” you exhale slow, and your stomach flutters as you try to find the words, “Before I wanted you like this,” you explain, “before I fell in love with you.”

Now, with it out in the open, you feel like you could hear a pin drop. Yunho grins wide suddenly, an immediately laugh on his lips as he steps towards you, “I can’t believe you,” he crowds your space, pushing you back towards the wall suddenly, “you are such a fucking idiot sometimes,”

Your brain is firing a mile a minute, but everything clicks off when he presses his lips to yours, his hand cupping your head when he pushes you into the wall. He holds you tight, pulling you up on your tip toes while bending low to kiss you. When he breaks to take a breath you push him backwards, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t believe you seriously just tried to break up with me because you love me,” he dips in for another kiss, but you dart out from under his arms and spin to face him.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he throws his hands up, still grinning and you can’t understand the incredible stark tonal shift between how angry he was a moment ago to now.

“Wait,” the wheels in your head start turning, things clicking into place, “what do you mean break up with you?”

“Maybe I should have been more clear,” Yunho takes a step towards you, “I didn’t want to just fuck around. I don’t want to just fuck around at all. I want you, entirely.”

“Oh,” your breath leaves you in a rush.

“I thought it was obvious,” he continues, “and I should have said something, but I thought you knew. I mean we’ve slept in the same bed for two months, and I’ve never not woken up without you in my arms, I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t,” you say quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” he says simply, his eyes shining, crinkled upwards with his smile, “so when I say want you forever, I mean with me.”

“You love me,” you repeat, turning the words over in your mouth, knots in your stomach releasing.

“I do,” he steps into your space, reaching for your face again, “I love you and I can’t believe you just tried to break up with me.”

“You could have told me we were dating,” you grin.

“God, come here,” he pulls you up into his arms, locking his lips on yours and squeezing you tight. He stumbles forwards until he finds the edge of the bed and tips you both down onto the mattress, situating himself above you again.

“Yunho,” you mumble into his mouth when he moves his hand down your hip to your inner thigh and pushes it to the side to open you up to him. You can feel him growing hard again against you and you break the kiss, “again?”

“I can’t help it,” he peppers kisses down your jaw, your throat, nipping softly across your collarbones, “you said you love me,”

“Yeah,” you sigh, threading your fingers into his hair, “I really, really do.”

“Then I need you,” he shrugs, and starts to part your robe.

“Wait,” you stop him.

He looks up to you, expectant, waiting.

“Let’s take it a little slower,” you squeeze his hand, “I’m pretty sore already.”

He nods, but you see him thinking. He pulls the tie on your robe free, opening up the fabric and he looks over you. Your thighs are bruised, your hips too, and he softly passes his hand over them. “Why did you want me to fuck you like that?” He murmurs.

"Hey,” you shake your head, tugging his hand to pull him back up to your face, “I liked it, I asked you to. I’m just sore, that’s okay,”

He nods and kisses you soft, his wide hands running over every inch of your skin. You sigh into his mouth when he pushes open your legs a little further and runs his fingers softly down your slit to check you. Yunho presses his middle finger inside of you, softly brushing along your walls with his fingertip.

“Yunho,” you murmur against him, “come here,” you tug at the waistband of his boxers, and he kicks them off, tossing his shirt over his head too.

He eases over you slowly before helping you position your hips right and starting to push inside you again. Your hips ache in their tilted position, but it’s a good ache, the familiar stretch of him warm and welcome. He’s watching your face carefully, clearly a little hesitant after being so rough with you earlier, and you wrap your legs around him to urge him deeper.

“Yun,” you murmur, brushing your fingers through his hair, “I’m good, I want you,”

“I just want to take care of you,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek.

“I know,” you pull him towards you, bringing his length to fully seat inside you. “I love you,” you tell him, now that you’re flush against each other, nose to nose and sharing the same breaths.

He smiles, kissing each cheek, your forehead, your lips, the tip of your nose, “I love you too,” he murmurs, “you’re my girl,”

You nod against him, “I’m all yours,”

Yunho starts to roll his hips, slow and easy and your body responds instantly, getting wetter with every little thrust and your overstimulated clit sparking with pleasure where it catches against him softly. He dips his tongue into your mouth, sliding against yours and deepening your kisses, his free hand cupping your breast and brushing his thumb over your stiff nipple.

“Oh,” you sigh pleasantly into his mouth, your fingers tightening on his back.

He works you quietly, softly, every stoke inside you and brush of your nipple adding pressure to the heat low in your belly, bringing you closer and closer with every move. He holds you to him, your body soft and pliant for him. He rolls against you, sucking softly against the pulse point in your neck and you arch up, the shifted angle of his cock inside you now massaging your g-spot steadily with every rock.

“Please,” you whimper against him, “just like that,”

“Right here?” he rolls again, delivering a pointed flick to your nipple and you tense up, body locked with pleasure.

“Please, more,” you duck your head into his chest, letting your eyes slip closed as you focus wholly on the warm stretch of him inside you and his hands caressing your skin.

He gathers you closer, holding you against his chest and bracing himself with one forearm against the mattress. He cups your head, fingers sinking into your hair, his lips against the top of your head. He picks up his pace a little, chasing his release just as much, and curses softly into your hair.

It only takes a moment more for you to spill over the edge, holding him tightly and arching up in his arms, your lips pressing against the bare skin of his shoulder. As your muscles contract down on him, he falters, rutting his hips quickly and bringing himself up and over the precipice. “Come, baby,” you urge him on, stroking his back.

He moans softly, clutching you tightly as he comes, filling you again, whispered words against your skin you can barely make out. The gentle wave of your orgasm has passed, leaving you hazy and warm, and you lean back into the sheets.

“Don’t go anywhere this time,” he slides his weight of you and nuzzles you with his nose, kissing you lazily and pleased.

“I’m staying right here,” you assure him, letting him pull your back to his chest and wrap around you.

“I’m never letting you go,” he sighs.

“We’ll have to get out of bed sometime,” you tease him softly, letting your eyes slip closed.

“That’s a tomorrow problem,” he reaches to the side and grabs the edge of the comforter so he can drag it up over you.

You cuddle into him and the blankets, your skin chilled from the air conditioning unit passing cold air over your sweat slick skin. He sighs, his hand coming to rest on your chest, his thumb stroking soft and even patterns into your soft flesh. “Yunho,” you murmur and he hums in response, though you know he’s rapidly approaching sleep, “I love you so much,”

Now that you’ve started to say it, you can’t stop, and neither can he. The giddy rush of the early days of love sending butterflies through you. He shifts, bringing his lips close to your ear, and he presses a kiss there before saying, “I love you too,” His voice warm and low.

He gives you a squeeze and you sigh into his embrace, letting your body relax wholly into him. You won’t be able to stay awake much longer, but as the thought enters your mind you have to ask, so you softly shift your hand into his, “So I guess you’re my boyfriend now, hmm?”

“I was your boyfriend two months ago,” he says, squeezing your hand, “you just didn’t know it yet.”

a/n: thank you to everyone who left me extremely kind messages on the first part to this two-shot, summer nights. i love writing for non!idol yunho so much, so this one was very fun. feel free to drop me an ask if you have any requests <3

#yunho x reader #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho fic #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez #ateez ff #ateez x reader #honeyhotteoks fics #ateez two shot #ateez series #yunho x you #yunho imagines

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chaos-is-beautifvl · 2 years

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𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐩 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after the first accidental and absolutely horrid incident with your dad, eddie isn’t all too keen on the idea of meeting him officially. spoiler alert: he has every reason to be worried || part one

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: hopper!reader, fluff, tad bit of angst, ‘freak’ used derogatorily + affectionately, assumptions, hopper being this close 🤏 to having a heart attack, joyce being the best mom (besides steve), slight mean hopper bc he cares about his kids, mike again being a little shit, el being confused, jonathan needing to learn how to read the room & mentions of sex

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4596 (these are my blood, sweat, and tears - no actually, i think i got a paper cut)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: the long awaited sequel of doac is here! also, you guys are absolutely insane. 2,000+ NOTES??!! thank you so much! i hope you all enjoy part 2 as much as you did the first. feedback is golden, so please let me know what you think. feel free to send me a request. guidelines here and check out my other eddie fics here!

stay tuned for bonus chapters & maybe a part 3???

“I don’t think I can go through this again... Once was enough, but twice? No, no, no.”

Hopper was strewn across the couch, arms over his head and legs splayed out. He slumped over like he was tired of carrying the world’s weight on his shoulders.

“Can’t do what, Hop?” Joyce questioned, replacing the clothes in the dryer with the clothes in the washing machine. “Let your kid grow up?”

“Grow- Hold on, you’re on her side?”

Joyce rolled her eyes, starting the dryer and bringing her laundry basket over to the table to fold the clothes. “There are no sides.”

“No, no, you are. You’re on her side.”

“Okay, fine. I’m on your teenage daughter’s side, who has done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong-?” Hopper sat up, ignoring the instant head rush that followed. “Joyce, she had a boy in her room - a boy - and if I hadn’t gotten there when I did, who knows what would have happened? I swear, it’s Mike all over again.”

Joyce tossed a pair of mismatched socks on the table, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. She loves the man, but he constantly pushes her buttons. “I mean, she is at that age. It was only a matter of time before she got curious and started exploring her sexual-”

“Joyce!” Hopper groaned, covering his face with his palms as though that would prevent his ears from hearing her words. “Why the hell would you say that? You know something I don’t?”

She shot him an annoyed look, not withholding her eye-rolling. Heaving a sigh, Joyce turned to her laundry, taking note to sew the hole in Will’s shirt.

“She’s almost an adult. Do you expect her not to know or be interested in those things?” She refrained from using the forbidden ‘S’ word to prevent Hopper freaking out. Again.

“No! What kind of question even is that? What? Do you expect Jonathan and Will to be doing those things?” He threw his hands in the air, returning Joyce’s annoyed look.

“Will, no. Jonathan, yes. I mean, c’mon, Hopper, you saying you weren’t like that when you were their age?”

The man could only grumble. Joyce was right. While he was significantly older, he hadn’t refined much since his teenage days. The problem was that even though he was as wild and free as ever, that didn’t mean he wanted to imagine or see his kids doing the same. The thought was grossly unfathomable to him.

Joyce sighed as she cast a glance at Hopper. She could see his inner turmoil, and although his reaction was overly exaggerated, she offered him some solace.

“Look, Y/N is a good girl. I’m sure nothing is or was going on. It’s likely just what she said - they were playing around. Kids do that, you know. If you can somehow pull your head out of your ass, you’ll see why she didn’t tell you about him.” As Joyce was speaking, Hopper opened his mouth to spew what she knew were more excuses. She held her hand up, effectively shutting his mouth.

“You don't even know the boy. He’s sweet, and he seems to care about Y/N a lot. That should make you happy.”

It did. Hopper wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was glad that the little punk treated his daughter well, even if the man thought the boy had other intentions.

Joyce snapped as an idea came to mind. She turned to Hopper with a coy grin, and he didn’t like where she was headed. “Dinner. We’ll have dinner. And if you decide you still don’t like it, fine. But you have to try at least.”

After a few contemplative minutes, Hopper begrudgingly resigned, sinking further into the couch. “Fine. Dinner it is.”

——

You don't think you’ve ever seen Eddie so skittish. His eyes were wide and alert, and he constantly looked over his shoulder so he would be prepared if your crazy dad came charging at him again.

“D-Dinner?” Eddie sputtered over his words. “You want me to go to dinner with you and your dad? Your dad tried to kill me!”

The nearby patrons of the cafeteria stopped talking after Eddie's outburst, turning their full attention to you two. You smiled sheepishly, waving a hand dismissively. You were granted a reprieve when someone yelled across the cafeteria, and all staring was redirected.

You sighed, turning back to Eddie. “Look, I know my dad was…”

“Crazy, insane, deranged? Murderous, maybe?”

You grinned at Eddie's interruption. While you felt bad, seeing him so frantic was adorable. You hid your amusement behind your hand, clearing your throat and trying to get back to the issue. “You’re right. He was a bit murderous, but if he got to know you, he would love you.”

Eddie sent you a skeptical look, and you adjusted your words. “Love might be a bit strong, but he would definitely like you. I’m sure. I like you, and I happen to have very great judgment.”

“That’s debatable.” Mike interrupted as he plopped down in the seat next to you.

You rolled your eyes, “Funny. Don’t think I asked for your opinion.”

“No, what’s funny is how Hopper tried to kill Eddie.” The boy opened a can of Coke, and the sizzling annoyed you just as much as he did. “He was like, ‘I'm going to kill you for dating my daughter’.”

Mike’s impression of Hopper wasn’t that far off, but his levity of the situation deterred your endeavors of convincing Eddie to come to dinner. Eddie was back on alert, not that he’d ever stopped being overly cautious.

“Dating?” Gareth asked as he and the rest of the crew joined the party. To say that you wanted you and Eddie to be alone was understated. “Congrats, guys. I didn’t even know.”

“Thanks, man. Just let me know if you see a man about yea high with a murderous look in his eyes.”

“Context, please.”

“Can we just leave it alone? Yes, Eddie and I are dating. No, you will not get any context.” You quickly shut down the impending questions that would follow once you and Eddie started explaining.

You don’t think Eddie was paying much attention to the conversation anyway. He resorted to virtually sitting in your seat, hoping you might save him if your dad came around. You wanted to reassure him by explaining that even though your dad was homicidal the first time they met, he wouldn’t actually kill him. But, as you thought about it, you honestly didn’t put a thing past your dad. It is Hopper you're talking about.

You overheard Dustin asking how nobody caught on to you two dating because he caught on after the first few times you hung out together. You couldn’t help but agree silently. You and Eddie had not been subtle about liking each other at all.

Pushing the conversation to the back of your mind, you rekindled the one with Eddie. “He said he’d give you a chance, and, believe it or not, my dad hardly goes back on his word.”

Those were the wrong choice of words, it seemed, with how Eddie finally stopped glancing at all the available exits for his escape plan and whipped his head around to look at you with widened eyes.

He was progressively looking like a deer in headlights the more he thought about being brutally murdered by the chief of police. “So, he was, like, serious? About, you know, killing me?”

“Eddie, he never said he was going to kill you.” He didn't exactly say the words, but his actions proved otherwise. You didn't voice those thoughts, though.

Sighing, you grabbed Eddie’s hand. “I really like you, and it would take so much more than my, like you said, deranged dad to change that. And you totally don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I want my dad to see you the way I do.”

Your words seemed to do the trick. Eddie laughed, and his grin resulted in one of your own. “Could’ve just told me you were obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away from you, “Shut it, Munson.” Pursing your lips to hide your smile, you squeezed his hand, “So... dinner?”

Eddie leaned his head back, hair sweeping behind his shoulders. He hummed before sitting up and wrapping an arm around you. “Dinner.” He held up a finger before you could thank him. “But only because I feel bad you’re terribly infatuated with me.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Aww, aren’t you guys cute?”

“Shut up, Mike,” both of you groaned, resulting in laughter from the group.

——

You think that inviting Eddie to dinner was a grave mistake. Hopper had been staring Eddie down the entire time, which made for an awkward conversation.

Just when you were about to ask your dad to stop terrorizing your boyfriend, he stabbed a fork in his mashed potatoes. “So, Munson, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Dad!” You groaned, sending him an annoyed look.

“What? It’s a simple question. It shouldn’t be too difficult for him to answer. Or maybe it is with all those extra years in school.” He grumbled the last words under his breath, and you were so close to giving him a big piece of your mind when Eddie replied.

“It’s fine, Y/N. And, uh, sir, I have no ‘intentions’ with your daughter. I just think she’s really cool, and she’s such an amazing person. So, yeah,” Eddie glanced over at you, offering a grin. “No intentions, but I really like her, sir.”

You took a sip of water, hoping the coolness would diminish the heat that swarmed your face at his compliments. Eddie was never one to shy away from telling you how he felt, but your heart skipped a beat or two faster with how he looked at you.

Eddie’s response was a good one, and there was nothing Hopper could say as much as he tried, so he only grumbled as he ate his potatoes.

The conversation went back to normal - talk about school, the new mall they were building, blah, blah, blah. Then it took a surprising turn.

Jonathan was pretty quiet during the entire span of dinner, scarfing down as much food as he could. You knew it was due to the hefty amount of purple palm tree delight Argyle left him with on his last visit.

That’s what led to him speaking. “Hey, Eddie…” Jonathan squinted as if he wasn’t sure Eddie was the one sitting in front of him. Eddie hummed, and Jonathan nodded, convinced that Eddie was indeed sitting in front of him.

“You still, uh, you still coming on the trip with us, man?”

Eddie’s head shot up so quickly you would think he got whiplash. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. You sent a wild look to Jonathan, waving your hands to get him to stop talking.

You hadn’t exactly meant for it to be a secret; you just never got around to telling your dad about it. And, in light of recent events, you decided it was best to wait until things blew over, but Jonathan seemed intent on ruining that plan.

Mike raised an eyebrow at your frantic movements, and you coughed, reaching for your water when Joyce sent you a concerned look. It seemed you weren’t transparent enough because Jonathan continued, despite your attempts at diffusing the situation.

“This chicken is so good, Joyce,” was said as you picked at the piece to prove your point.

“You know,” Jonathan blinked slowly, mistaking Eddie's nonresponse as confusion. “To the Cali trip. I talked to my man, Argyle, and he can’t wait to meet you, you know, thinks you’re pretty rad.”

The silence that followed was loud, terribly so. Your fork was lifted halfway to your mouth with the chicken you suddenly didn’t have an appetite for anymore.

Mike’s expression developed into shock and slight amusement, which pissed you off, but it wasn’t the time to reprimand him. Will’s widened eyes caught your gaze, sharing your mortification. Joyce looked like she might be close to laughing with how her lips rolled together. You wanted to be annoyed, but honestly, you can’t fault her.

And El, not knowing why the table’s facial expressions ranged from mortified to humorous, tilted her head in confusion. Her brows furrowed, and you made a special note to start explaining things more. She was lost most of the time, and it’s your job as her big sister to direct her on the right path. That’s something you’ll worry about later, though.

Meanwhile, Eddie looked like he might shit a brick - a perfectly rectangular one. You’re sure you look the same.

And Jonathan, the cause of the array of facial charades, was just as confused as El until it settled in. You wonder if some genetic thing makes the Byers form similar expressions. His face morphed into shock, like the rest of the crowd. The next he made was guilty, and you’re so glad he feels that way about the mess he created. His shaggy hair flipped around as he turned to you. You could barely understand the words he tried to mouth, but they were apropos of the situation, like ‘I’m so sorry.’

He should be.

A harsh clang of silverware on the table made everyone jump, removing them from their stupor. You don’t know how you or anyone else could have forgotten about Hopper. You slowly dragged your eyes over to your dad, and his expression exceeded all your expectations of what it would be. It’s comical and terrifying, and the way Eddie’s face paled, you think he might have actually shit that brick.

Hopper’s face was red, resembling the color of the salad bowl. Like the first unpleasant time he met Eddie, literal steam came from his ears and nose, nostrils flaring as he gripped the table.

You were trying to think of anything that could appease the situation. You screwed up. Majorly. Totally. Tragically. Your heart attempted to flee your chest cavity in hopes of escaping what appeared to be a perfectly disastrous situation.

“What. The. Hell?!” Hopper’s words came out in disgruntled anger, interrupting your meticulous planning, and you wished you hadn't tried to introduce the two. After all, you are the daughter of a cop, and this cop is notorious for taking things over the top.

“Dad, wait, I can explain-” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you thought of an actual explanation.

“Oh, you sure can, missy. Please tell me why you not only lied about who was going on the trip, but you were going to sneak off with him and do god knows what.”

You blubbered over your words as you twisted your fingers. You knew your dad had a temper, that much was evident when he tried to attack Eddie, but this was worse. You hated when he was mad, even more so when he directed it toward you.

“What, you have nothing to say? Go on, tell me! Tell me why my daughter has become someone completely different since meeting this freak!”

Any thought of not talking back in fear of making your dad angrier disappeared. You could handle him being mad at you - you didn’t like it, but it was tolerable. What you refused to tolerate was him treating Eddie like shit.

Standing up, you slammed your hands down on the table, rattling the silverware and the people at the table. You weren’t known for your outbursts so seeing you in this state was surprising to everyone, even your dad, who raised an eyebrow.

“You do not get to talk to him like that. God, Dad, you wanna know why I didn’t tell you? I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d do this - overreact.”

Hopper’s eyes widened, and he stood as well. “You think this is overreacting? Oh, trust me, you haven’t seen overreacting yet.”

“Don’t you hear yourself, Dad? You haven’t even given him a chance, and yet, somehow, your mind is all made up. Do you see the problem there?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see everyone itching to get away from the table, and honestly, you wished you could do the same. But instead, here you were, arguing with your dad about your boyfriend while said boyfriend was sitting next to you, looking petrified.

Hopper sighed frustratedly, dragging a hand down his reddened face. “No, Y/N, the problem is with him. I don’t want my daughter dating someone one step away from being his dad-”

Eddie stood up this time, and all eyes shot to him. He cleared his throat, “You know what, I think I’m gonna go. The food was great, Mrs. Byers, but I have a chemistry test tomorrow. And, well, I wanna pass, so yeah.”

“Ed-” You felt terrible. You wanted this dinner and practically forced him to come even though he was reluctant, and now he was leaving early because your dad couldn’t keep his so wrong opinions about Eddie to himself.

“It’s okay, really,” Eddie grinned at you, trying to show that he wasn’t affected as you were. He whispered the last words, “Hey, at least I know what it’s like dating the daughter of a cop.”

His reassurances did little to reassure you. So, when he left, and everyone at the table was trying to make it seem like they weren’t there, you turned to your dad. There was so much you wanted to say to him. You would have told him how much of a literal asshole he was.

But all you could say was, “You didn’t even try, Dad. You said you would.”

With that, you walked off, following after Eddie, hoping your dad hadn’t ruined your relationship with the one person you didn’t want to lose.

The front door slammed shut, and Hopper had half a mind to tell you to come back inside, but he kept it to himself. It was tense then, and Joyce, who needed to have a lengthy chat with Hopper, told the kids to give them some space.

They hurried away, mumbling, "I have to use the bathroom anyway," and "do you guys wanna play video games?"

Once the table was clear, Joyce turned to Hopper, awaiting an explanation. Hopper plopped down in his chair, covering his face with his hands as he groaned vehemently.

“Do you see what I mean? And she says that I’m overreacting.”

Joyce’s muted response prompted the angry man to remove his hands from his face and send her an inquisitive eyebrow raise. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“C’mon, Hop, do I really have to say anything?”

“So you agree? I mean, I can’t be the only way that sees a major problem with-”

“Jesus, Hopper, are you serious?” Joyce furrowed her eyebrows as she glared at the man sitting next to her. She had put up with his initial disinterest in Eddie because most dads are like that, but she was annoyed now with him actively being an asshole.

“Look, I get it, she’s your daughter, but you’re going to ruin your relationship with her if you continue acting like this.” Hopper opened his mouth to no doubt spout a series of excuses when Joyce held up a hand, signaling him to shut up. “Do you really want to know why Y/N didn’t tell you? She was scared, Hop. Scared of how you might react because she likes a boy you wouldn’t give a first chance. And she hid it because she didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“But, Joyce-”

“No buts, Hop. Eddie, who is very sweet, by the way, hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re letting your judgment get in the way and doing the same thing you did with El to Y/N, and you saw how that worked out. So, you tell me, what is your problem?”

Hopper didn’t answer the question everyone was asking, instead sulking in his seat like a petulant child. He pulled out a cigarette and didn’t even bother to light it, just letting it hang between his pouting lips.

Joyce shook her head, crossing her arms, “We can sit here all night until you fess up, or you can just pull your head out of your stubborn ass and tell me what’s going on.”

The man rubbed his forehead, sitting up in his chair and hanging his head low. He stared at the chip in the floorboards before heaving a dreary sigh. “She’s my girl, Joyce. She’s my little girl, and yeah, maybe I was overreacting-”

“You think?” Hopper didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes.

“Just- look, I know that she’s getting older. They’re both getting older. But she’s my girl, Joyce, my little girl. What if she gets older and she-” Hopper choked on his words. “What if she gets older and forgets all about her old man?”

“Hop…” Joyce sighed. “Our kids - they’re gonna get older. We can’t change that. But if there’s one thing I know about Y/N," she ducked her head to meet his eyes. “She is never going to forget her dad... as long he stops acting like an asshole.”

Hopper chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his face, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Give him a chance, Hopper. He makes her happy.”

“Okay,” he resigned. He lit his cigarette, furrowing his brows, “How come you’re always right? Is it like a woman’s intuition thing?”

“No, you’re just a moron most of the time.”

——

“So,” Eddie inquired as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, “Got a place in mind?”

After storming out the front door, you made your way to Eddie’s van, thankful it was still there. You thought he would be long gone after your dad practically bit his head off, but no. He had just started his vehicle and was contemplating if this time Hopper would actually kill him when the passenger side door flung open.

“Please don’t kill me!” The words were frenzied as Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and held his hands in front of him as if that would protect him from Hopper’s rage.

You grabbed his hands, laughing as you slid into the van. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“I don’t know. Anywhere with you is good.”

“M’kay, how about…” He hummed before taking a right turn to a lookout point. “Here?”

“Here’s good.”

For the first time, the air was awkward between you two. You didn’t like it, but you didn’t know what to say. What do you say to someone after your dad was an asshole to them during dinner and then proceeded to call them a freak more than once?

Eddie’s “so…” was said simultaneously with your “I’m so sorry.”

You made eye contact, and he let out a laugh you couldn’t help but copy. “Sorry,” he said after catching his breath, “you can go first.”

“My dad,” you started, looking away from him and instead focusing on the view outside. “My dad was an asshole to you, and I know that I can’t make up for that, but I am so sorry, Eddie. Believe me, if I knew he would act that way, I would have never pushed for dinner.”

“Y/N-”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to make eye contact so he could see your genuineness. “No, Eddie. He said some really hurtful things, and I’m really sorry. And, uh, I would totally understand if you, I don’t know, didn’t want to be with me anymore because, well, who wants to deal with a dad like mine.”

“Do you-” Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “You don’t actually think I want that… right?”

You shrugged, toying with a stray thread on the hem of your shirt. “I would understand if you did.”

“Okay, let’s correct that, yeah? I definitely don’t want to break up. I wasn’t lying when I said all that to your dad.”

You stammered, trying to list all the possibilities why Eddie not wanting to be with you was reasonable. All of which included your dad.

“I thought it was pretty hot, honestly.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally directing your gaze to him. He smiled sheepishly again, embarrassed. “Your dad is… he’s a work of art, but that has nothing to do with you. And I mean, the way you stood up to him - highly doubt anyone in their right mind would do that - I don’t know, it was interesting seeing you riled up over little ole me.”

“Pretty hot or interesting? Gotta pick, Munson.” You cracked a grin at the red tint that rose to his cheeks

“Hot,” he nodded, certain of his answer. “Definitely hot.”

Then the air was back to normal, and it felt good to breathe it in. You tutted and shook your head, “Who’s obsessed with who, now?”

“Oh, I’ve always been obsessed with you, sweetheart. You’re just in denial about being obsessed with me.”

You could only roll your eyes, turning to face the door so he wouldn’t see the smile on display. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the night settle over Hawkins until Eddie spoke.

“What about you?” You acknowledged his question with a hum. “You sure you still want to be with me? I mean, I know you’re completely infatuated with me." That made you chuckle. “And you’re also pretty close with your dad. Believe me, I don’t want to stop what we have, but I also don’t want to mess that up.”

“I don't want that either.” Eddie frowned slightly, and you realized how your words sounded, so you corrected them. “What I mean is, I don’t want us to end. My dad means a lot to me, and I love him, but I also love you. And I really don’t want to lose you. I meant what I said before. It would take so much more than my crazy dad to make me not want you. Screw this whole goddamn town. I could care less what they think.”

You finished your rant with a huff. You felt relieved, finally having said everything you’ve been holding in since this whole fiasco with your dad and Eddie began.

You don’t know what you were expecting Eddie’s expression to be after your winded rant, but you certainly weren’t expecting to be met with a budding grin. Raising your eyebrow, you questioned why he looked so amused.

“You love me, huh?” You were confused until it hit you. You accidentally told Eddie, of all people, that you were in love with him.

You’re never going to live this one down.

“Shut up.”

Eddie dramatically splayed himself across your lap. He threw his arm over his head, fanning himself with his hand as if he was but a distressed maiden.

The brunet opened one eye, keeping the other squeezed shut. He held his hand up to his ear, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I quite heard you the first time. Could you repeat that again?” You rolled your eyes, looking away from his simpering grin before you gave in and wore one yourself.

“I said I hated you.”

“I can’t believe that you, Y/N Hopper, love me, Eddie the freak Munson.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, you’re my freak.”

Eddie smiled up at you, and this time, you mimicked him. “I guess it’s time to tell you that I’m in love with the daughter of a cop.”

——

🏷 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @this--is--music , @riotkayla , @lili-pond , @murnsondock , @ecikilljoy , @salembridger , @boomhauer , @under-the-clouds , @insssanemind , @reidstea , @th0rswh0res , @graywrites20 , @tracymbcm , @chrisevansangel , @lizziesfirstwife , @wiieiei , @iloveeddiemunsonnnn

——

#chaos-is-beautifvl #chaos.writes 🖋#eddie munson x reader #daughter of a cop #daughter of a cop pt.2 #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader

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eemcintyre · 1 year

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Behind Closed Doors (Tom Cruise)

A sequel to my inaugural fic, "The Door is Open." This is my first one to get a little bit saucy, so use caution and please, I beg of you, be kind. As always, I hope you enjoy! I also want everyone to know how much I appreciate the positive comments on my last fic; I was extremely touched, thank you <3

TW- heavy makeout sesh?

Summary- over the last several weeks since you met Tom on the movie set where you both work, you have discovered an undeniable attraction to each other. Although neither one of you is sure where it will lead, you've been getting the tension out of your systems with secretive meetings in his trailer.

If Y/N could only tell her friends back home that she was making out with Tom Cruise. Their mouths crashed hungrily together as he had her up against the wall of his trailer. One hand caressed her back, while his other was looped under her leg, sweeping her off the ground, while her hands ruffled through his hair. Soft rock music from the 70s played gently in the background from a small radio on the table. Soon, they transitioned from their spot on the wall, across from the door where they had practically fallen in the trailer out of enthusiasm, to the small sofa. He positioned himself over top of her, kissing her neck as she giggled softly.

“What?” he asked, pausing, and glancing up at her crossly as she disrupted the passionate mood.

“It’s your beard, don’t you know by now I’m ticklish?” she shrugged.

His gaze shifted mischievously as he drew back in to kiss her on the lips, taking the advantage to tickle her sides while her guard was down. She thrashed around under him, smacking him in the arm until he relented, slipping his tongue into her mouth before she could complain. Her cut-off complaint turned into a pleasured gasp and she went limp in his arms.

This had become a daily habit over about the last week. After the coffee-spilling incident with Bill, which had occurred several weeks ago by this point, and Y/N’s first invite to Tom’s trailer to clean up, she and Tom had coincidentally started running into each other a lot more. As the days went on, their brief conversations, taking place in the trailer he had invited her back to, grew longer and laced with innuendos. It reflected a tangible tension that neither one would explicitly admit due to the concern that they were simply imagining things and the other person did not return their burgeoning feelings.

But Tom was fascinated by the shy yet tenacious Southern girl who not only came from a modest background like him, but also possessed his same desire to learn new skills and gain new experiences. And Y/N was equally captivated by the man who, while being the most successful actor in the world, was also exceptionally generous and hardworking, who seemed to simultaneously express his thoughts and feelings very openly, while remaining mysteriously guarded.

Eventually, regardless of their respective fears, they became unable to stand the tension any longer. Tom, in his stereotypically daring fashion, had taken the initiative. They had been sitting together in his trailer at the end of a particularly long day of shooting a particularly strenuous scene, and had ended up collapsed next to each other on the sofa. Her hair was mussed from the great deal of running around she had done, and Tom was covered in a drying layer of sweat from the fight scenes he had been performing.

They gradually moved closer and closer to each other until their legs and shoulders touched, and when she had turned her head to respond to something during their conversation, they came closely face-to-face with each other. The look in her eyes appeared to silently encourage him to advance, as she glanced fleetingly at his lips, and he decided to seize the chance, consequences be damned. He closed the gap between their faces and pressed his lips firmly against hers, and she didn’t pull away. When they parted to catch breath, her face was flushed and her eyes were hazy, and she managed to smile faintly through her surprise and confusion.

“W-why…?” Y/N breathed, unable to prevent a beam from surfacing on her face in her bemused state.

Tom paused to contemplate his response. “Well, I suppose could blame it on the exhaustion, the stress, or the fact that I forgot to eat lunch today,” he chuckled, “But I think I just really like you, Y/N.”

Ever since then, they could hardly keep their hands off of each other. The last few weeks developed into a routine of them sneaking away at every available chance, during lunch breaks and other lulls in the day, to engage in brief conversations and mostly kiss in his trailer. Anxious about how the rest of the cast and crew would react, that was the one place where they could be alone and genuine toward each other, and not have to abide by the professionalism of the workplace, pretending that they were nearly strangers.

On another somewhat related note, luckily, Bill mostly left Y/N alone after the coffee incident and the resulting verbal smackdown. His cold, condescending attitude stubbornly remained, unable to even be publicly scolded out of him, but he hadn’t yet attempted to touch her again. Y/N and Tom were somewhat concerned, however, that Bill seemed a bit suspicious of their interactions, as if he could sense something more intimate was going on behind the scenes.

Speaking of which, back in the present moment, Tom murmured apologetically in Y/N’s ear “I feel guilty. This isn’t very romantic, is it?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll let you take me on a real date sometime,” she replied, stroking the back of his head in mock comforting.

“I just feel like I’m taking advantage or something,” he laughed nervously under his breath, nuzzling her neck.

“Of what?” Her eyes crinkled with laughter and she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access and using her hand that was still at the back of his head to guide him closer. “I’m a full-grown adult who is here willingly and actively urging you on.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair, her head falling back involuntarily as he found the sweet spot on her neck.

“I guess that’s true,” he hummed, creating friction between the rest of their bodies by moving his hips back and forth.

At that moment, a door shut somewhere in the distance, and muffled voices could be heard. Y/N and Tom froze, listening to see if the voices came closer to their direction or retreated further away. To their relief, the voices quickly faded away.

“Why does this somehow feel like the most dangerous stunt I’ve ever pulled?” he joked.

“Hey! You’ve jumped out of a plane.” Y/N popped him on the shoulder.

“But I like danger,” he continued, unfazed, resuming his movement.

“Oh, does it turn you on?” she smirked when she, in an uncharacteristically bold move, elicited a small groan from him by matching the motion of his hips with her own.

“You know what they say…” he panted, “Ain’t no adrenaline rush like the adrenaline rush of making out with your PA in your trailer…”

They continued in this manner for a few minutes longer, until Y/N abruptly stopped, fixing Tom with a solemn expression. “Tom, what are we going to do if someone finds out?”

Tom stared down at her, disoriented by the abrupt change in topic.

“What if Bill, or anyone, figures out what’s going on? I don’t think we can go on like this for the rest of the production. They’ll either think that I’m trying to move up in the industry the easy way or that, like you said, you’re taking advantage of the vulnerable PA.”

Tom opened his mouth, but no words would come.

“Where is this going?” she continued. “Am I just a means to an end for you to feel good? Would you be ashamed if people knew about us? Are you just trying to get into my pants and then you’ll ditch me and act like you never knew me?”

As she began to go down this tangent, Tom finally found the words to speak up.

“Whoa there, okay, hold on.” Though still situated on top of her, he shifted slightly back onto his legs so he could take her firmly by the shoulders. “Believe me when I tell you this- if I had it my way, I would let everyone know. I don’t even want to hear you joke about me being ashamed to be seen with you. Okay?”

Y/N nodded, eyes wide, taken aback by the strength of his reaction.

“Now, honestly, I have no idea where all of this is going. I would’ve never expected anything like this to happen,“ he grinned, “And there’s so much going on right now.” He glanced toward one of the covered trailer windows, thinking about all of the work on the movie that still had to be completed. “But we’re both enjoying ourselves- right?” He brushed her cheek and the smile returned to her face. “So I think we should just focus on the fun we can have here and now; there’s plenty of time to think about the future later. Do you think you can do that?”

Despite her misgivings, which stubbornly refused to dissipate, Y/N managed to maintain her smile and push her anxieties out of her mind for the time being. She supposed Tom was right; there really wasn’t much they could do until the end of the film project, so why put too much thought into it? Why ruin an otherwise good time? Worry about it when they got there.

“But we will have that real date sometime?” she inquired, looking up at him with pitiful eyes. She suddenly looked very small and fragile to him, pressed down under his form.

“Yes, we will have that real date,” he said decisively and kissed her tenderly.

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retrievablememories · 1 year

Text

lady cab driver | seulgi (m)

pairing: chauffeur!seulgi x celebrity!fem!reader genre: smut, pwp word count: 2.1k warnings: car sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, slight power play? (employee-boss dynamic) a/n: don’t let me listen to prince songs past 12 a.m. or this is what happens. also, hurray for the first (completed) gay fic on this blog despite my years of posting...how embarrazzing. this was fun to write

sequel to this fic is here!

---

you don’t know how you’ve currently found yourself crawling between the legs of your attractive new chauffeur in the backseat of a limousine, both your clothes disheveled and hair already out of place.

or maybe you do know. all of her flirting and subtle moves over the past few months have paid off, surely, for the both of you. the way she smirks at you now as you peel up the hem of the pencil skirt that fits her so perfectly, exposing her underwear, says it all.

her chauffeur's hat has long slipped off, landing somewhere on the floor for the both of you to forget until your tryst is over. the first few buttons of her blouse are loose and bare the cleavage underneath. her blazer still hangs off one arm, forgotten in the middle of your earlier make-out. you had thought of the whole chauffeur getup as a bit silly and on-the-nose when you first hired seulgi. your past drivers hadn’t bothered with the formality of a uniform, instead wearing whatever business casual clothes they desired. but, seulgi seemed to know what effect this uniform had on women—including you—if the glowing praises from the other stars she’d driven around said anything, and so it stayed.

it all began about a half-hour earlier, with a fairly simple statement.

“if you’re often lonely, i’m more than happy to provide you with any company you desire,” seulgi says. you stare at the back of the headrest as if that will make her see you, and when it doesn’t, you look right into the rearview mirror, but she keeps her eyes on the road. convenient for your safety, but annoying in every other way.

“do you think i’m lonely?” you ask, unsure whether you should feel offended. you’d made an off-hand comment about your frustration of not knowing who to take as a plus-one to an upcoming event, but you didn’t think it would inspire this reply. plus, you’re pretty sure this statement couldn’t be considered professional—though you could guess many of your past interactions with seulgi weren’t exactly professional either, with the barely-veiled flirting.

“you seem lonely, if you’ll forgive me for mentioning. i’ve noticed there are always other people accompanying you on your rides, but you don’t seem very moved or engaged by them.”

you sit back further against the cushy seat, like it could envelop you and shield you from view if you simply tried hard enough. “i don’t know.” you shrug. “i don’t care. i just don’t like being bothered much. i interact with people daily because i have to. nothing else to it.” seulgi hums and nods to your answer, apparently not going to push her assertion—which is fine with you. you are relieved to have quickly shut down that line of conversation because you aren’t in the mood to be psychoanalyzed today, but something inside of you is still curious. “but what kind of company are you offering, anyway, that would be different from theirs?”

“any kind you’d like. the way we’re talking right now and have been doing for months now, if that’s all you need. or anything else.” her eyes flick to the rearview mirror to look at you when she says or anything else. it’s a quick glance, but you see the rise of her cheeks as she smiles subtly, and you suddenly feel exposed.

you let a stretch of silence settle in the air between you after she says that, wondering if you want to go there—if you want to change things in this way between the two of you. a moment of cold apprehension creeps into your chest when you wonder if maybe you’re misinterpreting her meaning, but there have just been too many signs to say otherwise. the gentle way she holds your hand when she helps you out of the car, how her palm settles on your lower back to steady you when you’re balancing in those wretched high heels, the knowing glance she gives when she catches you watching her adjust her hat or the collar of her blouse in the limo’s mirrors.

“anything…else?”

“you’re the boss here, aren’t you? i merely do what you ask of me,” seulgi replies, her voice low, the words delivered emphatically.

that simple statement makes you throb, your crossed legs tensing. the promise of seulgi letting you take control of the situation… surely, over these past few months, she’s picked up on your need for having control of everything all the time. which is often framed as a major character flaw by most, but you don’t really care as long as you’re getting what you want.

you’ll be arriving back home soon, and you feel like you’ll miss your chance if you don’t respond now. If you don’t—she’ll just let you out of the car, letting her hand linger the slightest moment in yours, and you’ll go inside your big empty house, slumping onto your bed and fishing your vibrator out of your drawer once again. perhaps there will be other chances later, but this one feels like it needs to be grasped immediately.

finally, you unglue yourself from the seat, shuffling forward so you can look through the window where the partition would otherwise be raised. you lean your arms against the seat backrest and try to sound casual.

“stop the limousine, please.”

seulgi is silent for a beat, then says, “anywhere?” like she’s trying to hold back a smile you can practically hear in her voice.

“anywhere.” then you consider this. the car has blackout windows, so it shouldn’t matter, but… “okay, maybe look for a back street or something?”

back street secured, engine cut off, legs spread. you look up at seulgi with her body sprawled across the seat where you were just sitting, legs askew and face painted with anticipation. you laugh quietly at the blended stain of your brown lipstick and her own red shade on her lips; your mouth must look similar. her eyebrows furrow intensely as she watches you press more kisses up her inner thighs, leaving stark traces of lipstick on her flushed skin.

“i’ll admit, this wasn’t quite how i imagined it happening,” she says, voice already a little breathless and catching on certain words.

“how did you imagine it, then?” you ask, pressing yourself closer between where her thighs meet and pushing a thumb against the dampened seat of her underwear. you rub your thumb slowly over her clit, eliciting a low exhale from her.

“that i’d be doing all the work of pleasing you. which i still wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“what a cute way to say you’re eager to taste me, but you can have that later,” you reply, circling the pad of your thumb steadily. “right now this is how i want to solve my loneliness, since you’re so concerned about it.”

“i only want to…” her voice trails into a low moan, her body slouching when you push her underwear to the side to make room for your fingers and mouth. you delicately spread her open with one hand while pressing your mouth against the throbbing bud in a kiss. “...make you happy.”

you feel one of seulgi’s hands slide across your back, which is freely exposed to her touch from the barely-there halter top you’re wearing. the sensation sends a shiver up your spine as you push your tongue against her entrance, only teasing and not entering.

you want to ask her why, but you’re unwilling to separate your mouth from the warm and inviting space between her legs to do so. that may also be too much emotion for what’s supposed to be a quick and dirty fuck in the back of a limo, so you let the question rest and focus on finally slipping a finger into her, ears perking up at the gasp that follows. smirking at the sound of it, you allow your tongue to circle around her clit a few times before you pull your finger back out, and seulgi’s hand stills on your back.

“why’d you stop?” she asks, and it sounds like her voice is edging into petulance but she’s trying very hard to keep it from reaching that destination. you shift away, and your hands go to her hips so you can hurriedly pull her underwear down, leaving it in the growing array of strewn clothes on the floor.

“better access,” you mumble, pulling her closer by the hips and putting her legs firmly over your shoulders. her moans bounce off the interior of the limo when you bury your face back in between her thighs, pressing your tongue flat against her clit and using your finger to search for the spot that will make her scream.

you know you’ve found it when her thighs tense and twitch around your head, her voice pitching up in a new way you haven’t heard yet. you crook your finger into that area a few more times to recreate that sound, smiling to yourself at how easy it is to get a reaction. then you slide in another finger to intensify the effect, still suckling her clit all the while like it’s a sweet little candy made just for you.

“oh–y/n–” she lets out another quavering, desperate moan before biting the sleeve of her shirt, seemingly remembering you’re still technically in public and not wanting to make too much noise.

with your free hand you tug the sleeve away, stopping your actions on her increasingly sensitive core to speak. “no one’s around to hear,” you murmur, “and if they do, it doesn’t matter.”

she makes a sound that’s something like a scoff or a whine but doesn’t attempt to cover her mouth again. rather than being preoccupied with quieting herself, other things are busy calling for her attention, like the mounting tension throughout her body. the restlessness of her legs increases as she nears the precipice, and you must go back to trying to hold at least one of her legs still while your other hand asks her for more with the hurried strokes of your fingers stimulating her g-spot.

her head lolls back onto the seat and her body tightens even more, and you feel an abrupt shiver of pain from her nails raking your back—not enough to be injurious, but enough to make their sharpness known. you watch every one of her reactions, both miniscule and overt, as that glorious electricity running through her expands until it can no longer be contained, and you feel a sudden sense of pride that you’re the one responsible for it all.

she comes with a moan that, if someone were to ask you later, sounds like the personification of “overjoyed.” it’s pure pleasure concentrated in the form of her voice, and it provokes the heat between your own legs, but you ignore that to guide her through her orgasm. you continue kissing her lower lips sweetly and fingering that spot as she comes in your mouth, her hands grasping onto you for dear life and her thighs posing the continuous threat of closing entirely around your head.

it ends when seulgi cries out that she can’t take anymore and you finally pull away from her, easing up your tight hold on her leg and sliding your fingers out of her. you’re satisfied, especially when you study her wetness sticking to your fingers and subsequently suck it off, but you’re already beginning to miss the experience.

seulgi presses her hand against the window to steady herself, her chest heaving as she tries to stabilize her breaths. you sit back on your heels, your hands trailing away from her thighs, and push back some misplaced strands of your hair. you know your silk press must already be sweated out by now. “did you enjoy the ride?” you ask. you scoff at your own silly joke, rolling your eyes when you realize how corny it sounds as soon as it’s said.

seulgi sits up and places her hands on your shoulders for balance, pressing her lips on yours in the next second. you readily accept her kiss, your tongue slipping against hers as she tastes herself on you. your embrace deepens as her hand settles on your neck, the other hand finding itself at the back of your halter top and finally pulling the strings holding it together apart.

when she separates from you, her hand still on your nape and her lips a pale pink from the mere memory of her red lipstick, she says, “i’d tell you yes, but it’s not over yet.”

#red velvet smut #seulgi smut #red velvet fic #red velvet imagines #seulgi fic #seulgi imagines #red velvet reactions #seulgi reactions

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