#I mean most if not all of these new songs sound the same and are either profane or about sex | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 11 months

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𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world.

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you.

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses.

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy.

He asks you something.

"What? I can't hear you."

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?"

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there."

"I think that's someone's desk."

"It's really not."

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles.

He's not mean, he's cranky.

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here."

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call."

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius."

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says.

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done."

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?"

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you.

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you.

He definitely does.

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you.

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it."

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry.

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end.

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology.

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness.

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all.

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel.

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling.

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors.

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?"

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores."

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask.

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says.

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt.

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen.

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks.

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict.

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends."

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you.

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck.

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils.

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks.

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me."

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?"

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me."

"I've upset you."

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter."

"No, I've said the wrong thing."

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home."

"What's wrong with home?"

"Is there ever much right?"

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?"

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively.

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?"

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash."

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean.

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–"

"Eccentric?"

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring.

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up.

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point."

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now."

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?"

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?"

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together.

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?"

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection.

"I want us to be friends, too," you say.

"I thought we were more than that."

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared.

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…"

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual."

"Miguel–"

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends."

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?"

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now.

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you.

"We can be friends," he says.

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page.

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?"

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold— "infatuated."

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much."

"But you–"

"Yeah. I did."

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control.

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly.

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn.

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him.

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt.

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast.

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin.

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist.

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high.

"Excited?" you ask him breathily.

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound.

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls.

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?"

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted.

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad."

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go."

"What? Where are you going?" he asks.

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit."

He rubs the space between his eyebrows.

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet.

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it."

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before.

You and I have a secret, it says.

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?"

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice."

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

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jjkamochoso · 15 days

Note

How do you think jjk men would court their crush? Feel free to add anyone you want but I would love to read about Choso.

OMG SO CUTE!!!! Thanks for the request and I hope you like it <3

JJK Men Courting Their Crush

A/n: okay so for this, I chose to depict most situations as their first time doing a certain courting activity with you so they’re a lil nervous and haven’t made their crush on you explicitly clear🫣 I hope that’s alright and makes sense!! And I can do a part 2 of them doing the same courtship things but with a confession, just lmk if that’s something you guys want🫶 please enjoy below!!

JJK men x gn!reader

Warnings: none

Yuji: cooking for you

“So, y/n, what do you think?”

Yuji was standing over you as you took a bite of the dish he made. Nervous energy was radiating off of him. He didn’t have much experience in the romance department but knew that usually the quickest way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. He wanted to treat you to some of his favorite dishes as a way to show you that you mean a great deal to him and hopefully get to know you better over a good meal. He had prepped in the school’s kitchen all day after spending hours trying to decide which entrees you’d like the best. He thought back to the times you all went out to eat in the city and what you ordered, then thought about what recipes he knew that were similar. As he was cooking, he hoped you liked what he made enough to where he could eventually do it for you every night.

As soon as it hit your tongue, you felt the warmth of the lovingly cooked food spread through your body. You could tell he spent lots of time on this for you and you were extremely flattered that he would go out of his way to do something like this for you.

“Yuji, it’s absolutely divine. I haven’t had something this yummy in years.”

Yuji put a hand on the back of his neck, sheepish from your compliments.

“I’m really glad you liked it. I have some more recipes that I’ve been meaning to try out and you would be the perfect taste tester if you’re up for doing this often.”

Your eyes lit up. “That would be amazing! But are you sure you wouldn’t mind cooking for me that much?”

“Of course,” he said earnestly, “it’d be tons of fun. Besides, I really like hanging out with you.”

And I really like being the cause of your adorable smile! he wanted to say, but decided to save those words for another time. Chatting and laughing with you was enough for now—maybe he’d cook up enough confidence one day to tell you how he really feels about you.

Megumi: making you playlists

Megumi couldn’t stop fidgeting as he waited for you to meet up with him before class. You had mentioned that you wanted new songs to listen to so when you asked him for recommendations, he took the collecting of songs very seriously. He was never good with his words so maybe you’d get the hint that he had a crush on you from some of the songs he chose. He heard your steps coming down the hall and it was like he forgot how to stand and breathe like a normal human being. He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied a stray rock lying on the ground to look busy.

“Hey Megumi!” you greeted, making him jump slightly. He mumbled out a “hello” and immediately dug into his backpack, a CD emerging from its inky depths.

“Well, I, uh-I didn’t know if you used Spotify or YouTube or something else but I know you mentioned having a CD player so… yeah. Here.”

He thrusted the CD into your hands without meeting your eyes. The plastic case held a disc that said “Y/n’s Playlist” in sharpie.

“Thank you so much!” you said, inspecting it, “I’ll give this a listen after class. I really do appreciate you taking the time to do this for me.”

“It’s nothing,” replied Megumi, running his fingers through his hair.

“Oh wait, I won’t know the song names or artists when I listen to this. Wanna come over later and help me make a track list?”

Megumi felt his face burn up with a blush. “Y-yeah. That, uh, sounds great.”

He’d definitely have to make you more playlists and keep forgetting to include that pertinent information!

Yuta: complimenting you nonstop

“Y/n! I like your shirt!”

“Y/n! Great fighting form!”

“That joke was hilarious, you’re so funny, y/n!”

These were things you were used to hearing when you were around Yuta. He was always showering you with compliments, not that you were complaining. He had a major crush on you and wanted to start letting you know that he saw, appreciated, and admired you without revealing his full feelings for now. You and your classmates were training on the field and Yuta was your sparring partner.

“Wow, you really pinned me down quick! That was amazing,” Yuta said as you extended a hand to help him up.

“You’re always so sweet, thank you,” you replied. “You were really good, though, too! I’m sure you’ll get me next time. You’re super strong.”

Yuta felt his breath hitch in his throat. He was superb at giving compliments but horrible at receiving them.

“Geez, that, umm… it means a-a lot coming from you because you’re so great. Thank you.”

“Please, I’m not that cool! You’re awesome as well,” you told him.

“Yeah, but not as awesome as you!”

It seemed that you two were stuck in a never ending cycle of compliments. After a few more rounds of back and forth, you agreed that you were both cool and strong and whatever other positives you could think of. Yuta left the field in high spirits, thinking of all the creative ways he could tell you how cute you were the next time he saw you.

Inumaki: giving you flowers

Toge stood, clippers in hand, eyeing the flowers in front of him with an intensity rarely seen from the blonde. He was trying to decide on which flowers to cut to make you a bouquet. Taking flowers for personal purposes would normally be extremely frowned upon but he was the plant caretaker and figured he could get away with snipping a few here and there. He thought back to all of your previous conversations, wracking his brain for any moments you might have mentioned a favorite all those times you walked here together. He remembered you’d said you liked them all so he really couldn’t choose wrong. When he made up his mind and clipped his picks, he smiled under his pulled up collar. He walked over to your dorm, an extra pep in his step.

“Toge! Hi!” you greeted kindly as you opened your door. His collar was now pulled down and you felt your heart swell at seeing his cursed marks curled in a happy expression. You were afraid you were about to get pranked when you saw he had his hands behind his back, but your fears were quelled when he presented you with a small bouquet of flowers.

“These are for me?” you asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “Salmon.”

“You’re the best! Thank you!”

You grabbed him into a hug, careful not to crush the flowers. He’d keep bringing you bouquets until either you got the hint that he liked you as more than a friend or he got the courage to write out his feelings.

Noritoshi: writing you letters

It was hard to make friends at the Kyoto school since your classmates were always so on edge about letting people get close, but you and Noritoshi had somehow bypassed that fear and your acquaintance turned into something deeper over the years. Unfortunately for Noritoshi, his feelings now dove even deeper than that, finding himself in the throes of a crush. Unsure of what to do, he’d tried ignoring the nagging feelings in heart every time you spoke to each other, but it never work. After much introspection and consideration, he determined that it would be wise to see if you felt the same. If you did, great. If you didn’t, he’d be released from the constant “what if’s” running through his mind. As he started putting pen to paper, he felt his confidence falter. Who pours their feelings into a letter instead of speaking face to face? Is that cowardly? He changed gears; this letter wouldn’t be of romantic intent, per se, but just of a way to get to know you better and show you he cares about what you think, how you feel, and whatever else he managed to write before his fingers failed him. When he nervously slipped the sealed paper under your dorm door a few days later, he anxiously awaited to see when you would mention it in your face to face conversation with him—you didn’t.

Imagine his surprise when he was greeted with his own letter hours later! You had expressed your delight in his letter and wanted to keep him as a consistent pen pal for the near future. Noritoshi’s hands grasped your letter, fingers tracing your words. With this new open view of each other’s hearts, your private conversations safe from prying ears, he yearned for the day he could tell you the truth of his heart before it was spilled in ink.

Todo: carrying/lifting things for you

Aoi knew you were more than capable of handling things yourself but he wanted to show you that he’d be your perfect, strong protector so he’d always offer to carry whatever you were holding, no matter how big or small. At school? He’d carry your books. Grocery shopping together? He’d lift all the heavy items in and out of the cart. Need to move your car but you’re too lazy to get up? Consider it done—he just picked it up and moved it. He hoped that by continuing to show up for you like this, you’d see how much he really likes you. Of course, he wouldn’t be afraid of speaking to you about his crush on you, but he would rather go out of his way to impress you first before stating his obvious attraction to you.

“Y/n! Let me get that for you!”

Your dorm room door was propped open and Aoi had shown up, seemingly out of nowhere, when you were struggling to move some furniture around in your room. He lifted the couch with ease and shot you an award winning grin and wink.

“Just tell me where you want it.”

You pointed to a spot near the window and he put the couch down gracefully, barely making a sound.

“Anything else I can help with?” he asked eagerly. He’d rearrange the layout of the entire school if you asked him to—anything to make you happy!

Gojo: buying you gifts

Satoru was not the type to outright tell someone he had a crush on them. You know, the whole “love is the greatest curse of all” thing? He’d much rather ignore those feelings in hopes of them disappearing. So when he found himself fawning over you nonstop, he didn’t know the right way to convey his desire to connect with you on a deeper level. He might’ve been running on empty in regard to romantic skills, but his bank account was severely overflowing. He began to take mental notes on everything you looked at and put back while in Tokyo during your shopping trips and visited those places to buy all of it on his own.

“I got this for you.”

Satoru had several bags by their handles that he gently nudged toward you. Confused, you opened them, greeted by multiple items that you had taken notice of but didn’t have the funds to purchase. You didn’t remember Satoru even being there when you were browsing them in the first place.

“Satoru, how did you-”

“I pay attention more than people think,” he shrugged, glad to have his blindfold covering his eyes so you couldn’t see how they softened when they met yours.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said, trying not to cry tears of happiness.

He chuckled. “I know. You deserve nice things, though. If you can’t treat yourself, then allow me to.”

He was glad he turned infinity off to feel your arms wrap around his in a tight hug. Even if the words evaded him at the moment, he’d be sure to keep showing how much he cares for you by giving you things to remember him by.

Geto: taking you to the farmer’s market

“Come, y/n, I have a fun morning planned for us.”

Suguru had texted you and invited you to the local farmer’s market. You, of course, accepted readily, and now that he was here to pick you up, he was starting to feel a little nervous. Your friendship was a wonderful thing but Suguru craved to get to know you better and see if you shared the same romantic affections he was feeling toward you. He figured that going somewhere low key like a farmer’s market would be great to cultivate easy conversations. As you two walked together, admiring the handiwork of the local artists, you shivered from a cold breeze that kicked up. Suguru was quick to remove his outer layer and drape it over your shoulders.

“Oh, Suguru, I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’m alright, I promise. I’d rather be a little chilly than see you freeze on my behalf. May I buy you a warm drink as well?”

After that, you were nice and toasty and he glad he could help in any way he could. When the market was closed and you two walked back home, you decided to make a visit here an every week occurrence. Suguru was sure that in a few weeks’ time, he’d prove to you that he’d be a great partner.

Nanami: cooking with you

Kento wasn’t sure how to approach the topic of his romantic feelings toward you. He valued straightforward communication, but he couldn’t find it within himself to outright express his desires for romance right now. Instead, he opted to show you he cared by inviting you over to cook a meal together. He had asked you to pick a recipe and went shopping for all the ingredients. Now that you were finally over at his place, he felt his palms getting sweaty as saw you chopping vegetables, looking extremely cute while doing so. You gave him a sweet smile when you noticed him staring and he quickly looked away, a blush apparent on his cheeks. You dropped the veggies into the hot pan and he started cooking them. You two worked well together, never in each other’s ways and able to partake in conversation while keeping the task at hand. When dinner was ready, you were ecstatic that everything tasted delicious.

“Is it alright if I ask you to join me again sometime soon?” Kento asked.

“I would love nothing more,” you replied sweetly, his stomach now teeming with butterflies.

Choso: stargazing with you

Choso had zero experience with any type of romantic love. He was the expert in familial loyalty, a prime example of being a great big brother, but being a boyfriend? Not his forte. However, his desire to woo you outweighed his nerves so that’s what led him to call you and tell you to meet him outside one night. He read online that looking at the stars is a good way to induce romance and he was determined to prove to you that he’d be a worthy partner. You were taken aback when you saw he had set up blankets on the ground and put out picnic baskets of snacks. He had even wrapped you up in another blanket so you didn’t get cold! Once you were settled, you both chatted about anything and everything as you gazed at the wonders of the night sky.

“Choso! A shooting star, quick, make a wish!”

It was quiet for some time.

“What’d you wish for?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m not supposed to say or else it won’t come true,” you teased, nudging his arm. “What about you?”

He was studying the sky before he looked back at you. “I wished to keep having the privilege of sitting here with you as many days as I can.”

You felt yourself go shy at his confession but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. After that, you had plans in place to meet up again in a few days to do it all over. Choso was hoping that his next wish would also come true—that he’d be confident enough to bring the true feelings of his heart to light.

Toji: inviting you to local music shows

There was nothing better to Toji than a cheap activity, an attractive person by his side, and the promise of alcohol. That’s what led him to extend an invitation to you to join him at a small concert being held by a band you both liked. When you met him outside the run down venue, Toji felt his heart rate pick up as he saw how good you looked. His calm and collected demeanor didn’t change a bit, though, as he lazily threw an arm over your shoulder and walked with you inside.

“This place is super cool, Toji,” you said, taking in your surroundings.

He smirked. “I knew you’d like it. Wanna get something to drink?”

Toji wasn’t known for having tons of money but he liked you enough to pay for the first round of your drinks. As the band finished setting up their equipment and started playing their first song, you had a blast dancing along while he kept stealing glances at you between sips of his drink, relieved that you were having fun. You were able to convince him to dance with you after a few more drinks (not that the drinks affected his decision making—he just couldn’t deny a request from someone as hot as you). As the night wound down and he walked you home, he felt an excitement spark in his heart that he hadn’t known in a long time. He hoped that one day he’d stop being a coward and tell you he really liked you, but for now, he’d be content just holding you in his arms—and definitely keeping an eye out for flyers with information for the next show.

#jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jjk x gender neutral reader #yuji itadori x reader #megumi x reader #yuta x reader #inumaki toge x reader #noritoshi x reader #aoi todo x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader

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magics-neptunes-things · 3 months

Text

Good 4 U

Hello there!

I hope you’re all great. This story is just out of my imagination, but enjoy anyway, I guess ♥ Also Caitlin and Lia are always a thing in this word.

TW: Reader! Wälti, no other I think.

PART 2 | PART 3

______________________________________________________________

Unlike your older sister Lia, you are not wise and quiet. You have trouble concentrating and you aren't necessarily interested in the idea of landing somewhere. You and Lia don’t have the same character, but that never stopped you from loving each other a lot. You’d do anything for your older sister who’s only 10 months older than you. And you know she would do anything in return for you. You and her were almost like twins and even if you wasn't planned, you parents always loved you the way they love Lia.

You travel all the time, leaving one place when you're getting tired to visit another corner of the world. You are sociable and have no trouble making contacts with anyone, to find a job or to make new friends. You are lucky to be able to remember the different languages in the countries you visit. You speak German from birth, you are bilingual in English and you talk other new languages like spanish or italian.

For now, you are in London with your sister for a week. The last time you stayed in London with Lia was last year when her life was a little more complicated than now. This time, you decided to come to see her just because you missed her and wanted to be with her for her birthday. You contacted Leah to help you surprise her, and you congratulate yourself for filming Lia's reaction when you walked into her living room following Leah.

When Lia told you about a karaoke night with her friends, most of them from Arsenal, you didn't hesitate a single second before accepting. You already know Caitlin obviously and Leah, who you met when she came in Switzerland last year. You met some of the girls last time you came in London, but you don't know all of them. This is a good occasion to met them.

Despite the time set at 9pm, not everyone arrived on time but this didn't prevent the people already present from starting to have fun. You’ve already shared a song with Steph and another with Leah. And you’re choosing the song you’re going to sing with Lia when Katie finally makes her appearance in the establishment.

When the music started, Katie was greeting everyone and sat at one of the tables surrounded by a bench, reserved for the night.

She's sitting with Caitlin, Leah, Kyra and Alessia when her gaze mechanically refers to you when you start singing. And her gesture stops immediately when she looks at you, her arm halfway between her mouth and the table as she was getting ready to drink.

"You alright mate?" laughs Kyra

"Who’s the girl with Wally?" Katie asks, blinking.

"Her little sister. Why?" asks Leah, bowing her eyebrow.

But Katie doesn’t answer, completely hypnotized by you. She just can’t take her eyes off you, your face, your body and anything else that can be part of you.

"It's Wally’s sister?" ended up repeating Katie before glancing at Caitlin. "Damn, you’re shagging the wrong Wälti, Caitlin."

"You’re disgusting" Caitlin says, rolling her eyes.

Leah laughs softly next to Katie and the Irish girl seems to reminding something. She turns herself a little to look at Leah before talking.

"Wait, this is the sister you met last year?"

"Yes?" answer a frowning Leah.

"And you didn't try anything with her?"

Katie’s tone let perfectly passes the disbelief she feels at this idea. But Leah rolls her eyes again.

"She’s Lia’s little sister. She would have killed me. And she’ll kill you too if you try anything with her"

Katie responds with a throat sound before finally bringing her drink to her lips. And from then on, she won’t leave you until your song is finished. Katie recognized Olivia Rodrigo’s song "Good 4 u" and she briefly wonders if it means anything to you and Lia.

When the song ends, Lia approaches the table where Katie is installed while you take the opportunity to go to the toilet. If Caitlin greets your sister with a big smile, making her sit on her lap, Leah can’t help but drop the information to Lia.

"Your sister caught Katie’s eyes" Leah announces with a big smile.

This causes a growl from Katie who hoped to try a discreet approach with you and a frown from Lia, who quickly takes off from Caitlin to lean towards Katie.

"Stay away from her Katie, I’m not kidding"

Katie raises both hands as a sign of abandonment, not without rolling her eyes.

"Looks like I’m the devil in person" Katie growls before finishing her drink.

"She was hurt once and since then has been traveling around the world. I want to see her again before Christmas 2025."

"Okay, okay, I get it" sighs gently, Katie. "I’ll get myself a drink."

After asking if anyone wanted something, Katie gets up to order herself a drink, deciding to go to the other side to have less to wait. And Lia will not be able to tell her anything, because it's finally you who approaches her first. You come to order yourself a drink too and you have no trouble recognizing the teammate of your big sister, that you watch play as soon as you can.

"You're Katie, right? I'm Y/N, Lia's sister" you smile before reaching out to greet her.

"Yes, that's me. Nice to meet ya" Katie grins, taking your hand in hers, squeezing it maybe a little to long.

Your eyes cross and you find yourself becoming aware of the beauty of the young woman who stands before you. You first notice her blue eyes and then her smile that you quickly find mesmerizing.

You are interrupted in your moment by the server who finally takes your orders. And, while Katie passes her command, you discreetly let your gaze slide on her forms. How did you not realize before how breathtaking she was?

"Lia told me you travel a lot" Katie says, turning to you to resume your conversation.

"Oh, yes… I just came back from New Zealand" you explain with a smile, before starting on an explanation of your last trip.

The minutes pass quickly as you chat with her and then you find yourself interested in her and her life. There’s something about Katie that hypnotizes you and you could honestly spend hours listening to her and laughing at what she’s telling you. You like her humor, the sound of her voice and it’s a little destabilizing for you to find yourself so impacted by someone so quickly.

"Do you want to get some fresh air?" Katie says after realizing you’ve been talking for a while.

You accept with pleasure and you follow her on the outdoor terrace of the establishment, Katie seems to know this place very well. Which is probably not surprising since Lia told you they come often.

"Here" simply makes Katie by dropping her jacket on your bare arms after seeing you shiver.

"Thank you" you answer with a sincere smile.

You move a little away from the entrance to not be in the way and you lean against a wall looking up to look at the stars. However, you gently frown when you see that they are not visible. You forgot they’re hard to see from central London.

"When are you leaving again?" asks Katie while looking at you.

You leave the sky with your eyes to carry them over her before gently shrugging your shoulders with a smile.

"I haven’t decided yet. Why?"

"I was wondering if you would give me your phone number so we could meet again, before you leave."

You bite your lip briefly while observing her. You are not sure if it's a good idea, you will probably leave soon and you know that it would probably not lead to much. But you’d be lying if you said the Irish girl didn’t tease your curiosity.

"Okay" you end up answering before you pick up her phone and put your number on it.

A big smile is born on Katie’s face and you don’t know her enough yet to realize that it’s a frank smile and not the sufficient smile she likes to have to provoke her opponents. Her phone in her pocket, Katie settles next to you, leaning against the wall like you.

"Do you like to look at the stars?" asked Katie.

"It’s probably one of the things I prefer to do" you admit without hesitation. "But it’s difficult from here"

"I know a place where they can be seen. You want to go see?"

********

"I just ran into Katie running away with a pretty blonde" laughs Victoria who just arrived while sitting at Lia’s table.

"I’m going to kill her" the Swiss woman announces, noting that you have also disappeared.

Kyra’s sigh sound out at the same time as Leah’s facepalm. Caitlin masks her amused smile behind Lia’s head, but she is nevertheless surprised by Alessia who smiles back at her.

********

You suspect a little the annoyance that Lia must feel and you feel in spite of yourself a slight guilt at the idea of not enjoying her birthday party with her. But you take a look at Katie after you get out of her car and you quickly realize that she’s genuinely happy to show you this place.

"What’s your favorite constellation?" Katie asks you when you’re both sitting in the grass.

"Aquila" you answer by pointing to the place in the sky where it is. "And you?"

"I didn’t have one until now, but it could become my favorite" Katie replies with a smirk.

You laugh slowly and you turn your head in her direction, to see that Katie rolled to the side and that she’s looking at you. You feel yourself blushed and you’re pretty glad it’s dark and Katie can’t see it. But you don’t let her out of your sight and you decide to play her game.

"What is your astrological sign?" you ask.

"Virgo"

"Well maybe my favorite constellation is going to be Virgo then"

Katie laughs softlyand, taking a sudden aspiration, you gently take her hand in yours. Katie lets you and you find that her skin is pleasantly warm and soft against yours. You shift your attention to the sky above you, feeling Katie’s gaze stay on you. But it doesn’t bother you, it’s not the kind of heavy look that makes you uncomfortable. You feel good and safe with her, despite what Lia seems to think.

It’s almost two o'clock in the morning when Katie takes you home to your sister, whose keys you have so you can get in and out whenever you want.

"I hope I’m not interrupting a private celebration" you grin maliciously at Katie, who insisted on accompanying you to the front door.

"If there is going to be a celebration tonight it will probably be to celebrate my death" laughs Katie before explaining, when you turn an interrogative look in her direction "I was not supposed to approach you tonight. Lia has warned me"

"Why did you do it then?" you ask curiously while searching through your purse while looking at it.

"Technically, it was you who approached me" Katie replies with a satisfied smile. "But I’m very happy about it."

You smile back at her and you probably look at each other for a few seconds too long, before you come out of your trance and regain your self-confidence.

"I’ll defend your cause, if you want" you joke softly.

"See me again and it will have been well worth it."

You smile again and bite your lip briefly. You really want to kiss her, but maybe it’s too early for that. You step forward and put a kiss on her cheek instead before backing away again and opening the door.

"Go home safely"

"I will" answers Katie with a smile. "Good night"

"Sweet dreams"

The house is empty when you enter and you assume that either Lia is not back yet, or she went to Caitlin’s. You go undress and remove your makeup and it's when you are writing to your sister to inform her that you came home when you receive a message from an unknown number.

From Unknow I came home safely. Sleep tight beautiful x

From You Sleep well too. We talk soon x

********

Lia looked at you with skepticism when you told her that nothing happened with Katie, unless looking at the stars and learning to know her. Since her breakup, Katie had a lot of fling and Lia obviously didn't want you to fall for the Irish girl before being ignored by her.

Katie and you wrote to each others a lot during the past days and you find yourself smiling every time she texted you. When she asked you on a date, you accepted with a second thought.

Katie take you to an Irish restaurant, she looked almost outraged to learn that you have never been to Ireland during your many travels. You had a great evening and when she brought you back you vaguely hoped for a kiss but Katie just gently kissed your cheek before smiling with affection. She then waited until you go inside to leave. Then you started texting each other almost all the day, every day.

From Katie ✨ u going to the game today?

From You I am :) why?

From Katie ✨ Would you let me take you for a brunch before ?

From You I would love to

From Katie ✨ Great. I'm taking you at 10 xx

You almost turned the cupboard in which you installed your clothes in your sister’s guest room to find a proper outfit. You ended up opting for a simple outfit, comfortable but nevertheless different from what you can wear every day. Once ready, you go to the kitchen, in which you find only Catlin in the company of her cup of coffee and a toast with…

"Vegemite?" you ask with a smirk

"Lia always has a jar for me in her cupboards" replies the Australian with amusement.

"How romantic" you laugh softly

You take a glass of water, realizing rather quickly that Caitlin observes you over the cup of coffee that she holds with two hands. Since she and Lia got together, the Australian has taken on the role of your big sister too. You obviously can’t compare the connection you have with her with the one you have with Lia, but you appreciate her enormously.

"Are you going out?"

"Yes" you just answer

"With Katie?"

You don't have time to respond with the positive or negative that Lia’s voice is heard behind you. Obviously she must appear when the name of the Irish is pronounced.

"What, Katie?" Lia asks, bowing her eyebrow.

"I'm going to a brunch with her" you explain softly with a sigh. "Look, don’t make that face, I know you don’t want anything but to protect me, but if it makes you happy… Nothing ever happened between us, if it turns out she’s not even interested in anything but friendship with me"

You gently shrug your shoulders and carefully avoid Lia’s gaze. You don’t necessarily want your older sister to see how depressed you are about this idea. But it's Caitlin who speaks again, although she's peacefully returned to reading her diary.

"Or she takes the time to do things right with you because you mean something to her" she points out without looking at you.

You frown thoughtfully at her, but Caitlin doesn’t add anything. Lia gets closer to you though, gently laying her hand on yours.

"What would make me happy is that you are too. I just want you to be happy and make sure no one can hurt you any more."

"I’ll be fine, Lia, I promise" you assure her with a little smile. "I learned from my mistakes"

Lia pout a little and when your phone vibrates in your pocket when Katie writes to you that she has arrived and that she waits for you, you take your big sister in your arms.

"I love you" you say before you kiss her cheek.

"I love you too. See you at the game?"

With a smile you nod before leaving the house. Your smile widens when you see Katie waiting for you, leaning against the front of her car.

"You look stunning" Katie smiles looking at your outfit.

"You’re not bad yourself"

Katie is dressed in her training kit, ready for the game and you find it strangely sexy. Unlike other times you have seen her, you don't hesitate to greet her with a hug and then let her take you by the hand to train you to the passenger door of the car.

The establishment that Katie has chosen is between Lia’s house and the stadium, the Irish girl explaining to you that it's a place that she loves and that has the advantage of not being too well known by the general public. It seems to have its habits and even if you don't necessarily appreciate the big smile with which the waitress welcomes Katie, you are quickly satisfied by the hand that she puts in your back to guide you to her usual table.

As always, the discussion is pleasant. You have to admit you did some research on Katie, but you feel like the Katie that people can see on the football field is different from the one you see every day. The Katie you know is sweet, attentive, considerate and charming. You have the impression that she really listens to you and that she seems particularly interested in what you tell her, no matter what it is.

And the butterflies that you have in the hollow of your belly when her fingers touch your hand while taking the salt are rather very pleasant. However, you regret not knowing if things are really shared or if Katie is only interested in friendship with you.

"Can I ask you a question?" asks Katie, her blue eyes watching you attentively over her cup of tea.

"Of course" you answer with a little smile.

"When she asked me not to come near you, Lia mentioned a romantic relationship that ended badly. I’m not asking you to tell me everything, but if you have any residual trauma or like that…"

Of course Lia mentioned your old relationship with Katie. On the other hand, you can’t blame her, after learning about the various deceptions of your ex-girlfriend, it was so painful that you never set foot in Switzerland again and you never saw your family again for a year. It apparently left your sister with trauma as well.

"As long as you don’t lie to me or hide things from me, it should be okay" you mumble and shrug.

Katie looks funny and you briefly get lost in your thoughts until the Irish woman gently takes your hand in hers. When you look up at her, she smiles softly at you, her eyes immensely sweet.

"No matter what happens, I will never. I promise"

You smile softly at her, losing yourself in her eyes. Katie changes the subject and when it’s time to leave for the stadium, you have the impression that the time has passed much too quickly.

"Do you mind if someone sees you get out of my car? There are often fans waiting for us in the parking lot, they cannot access it but they wait behind the gates. I can drop you off if you want" Katie asks when you’re about to arrive.

"I don’t care" you assure her by tapping on her arm.

You didn’t expect her to grab your hand with hers to interlace your fingers, but this gesture is rather pleasant.

Katie was right, you barely got out of the car when you heard some people calling her name. The young woman having advised you not to pay attention to it, you follow her inside the corridors in the colors of Arsenal without turning once your glance towards the fans.

"Shall I leave you there?" asks Katie once right outside the door that’s supposed to take you to the VIP corner, where Lia booked you a seat.

You nod with a slight smile. You know the way now.

"Thanks for the invitation. I had a great time"

"So do I" Katie says, smiling as well. "You still don’t know when you’re leaving, right?"

"Maybe soon. I don’t know yet"

You gently shrug your shoulders, but you don’t miss the disappointment that briefly passes over Katie’s face after her smile drop.

"Oh… okay. Well, I’ll see you soon, I guess?"

"Yeah" you smile softly.

Katie gives you a little smile, but it’s only when she turns her heels in the direction of the changing rooms that you walk forward two steps and you take the floor again.

"Katie?"

"Yes?"

The Irish girl turns and looks at you with surprise. She apparently did not expect you to hold her back.

"You want to know what it depends on?"

"Yes" she says again, looking at you carefully.

You made other steps to catch up to her and to be at her height but you mechanically bite your lip, a little anxious about your courage and its repercussions. But now is not the time to back down. Katie seems to have quickly noticed your nervousness since she is also moving in your direction of a step, offering you a reassuring smile.

"You"

"Me?"

"Yes, I… I like you, I mean not necessarily only physically. And I really like the moments we spend together, but I don’t know if it’s mutual or if I’m making ideas. And I’m a little afraid that after talking to you about it now it changes or complicates things, but-"

Katie ends up interrupting you, putting her finger on your lips to silence you. You don’t know if it’s a good thing or not and you freeze instantly.

"I like you too, I thought it was obvious. I’m sorry if I let you think otherwise. My love life may not have been the most stable in a few months, but with you it’s different."

You don’t have time to answer anything that Leah Williamson appears around the corner to call Katie. Training will begin soon.

"I have to go. I’ll see you later?"

You nod with a smile. Katie looks at you for a few more seconds smiling before heading to where Leah disappeared a few seconds ago.

"Katie?" You call her again though. "You forgot something"

Gently frowning, Katie turns in your direction, no doubt to see you so close to her, always smiling. She has no time to question you, since you come forward until you can put your lips on hers. It’s just a light kiss, but the sensations are amazing.

When you open your eyes again, Katie’s are dipping into yours and you have to take it on yourself so you don’t pass out. If you listened to yourself, you would do it again, but you don’t want to cross the line. That said, given her smile, she doesn’t seem to be against that kiss.

"Now you can go" you smile maliciously.

But Katie shakes her head with her big smile still displayed on her face. Taking advantage of your proximity, Katie gently puts her hand on your neck before drawing your face once again against hers. This kiss is longer than the first and your hands naturally find place on Katie’s body.

When Katie gently caresses your lower lip with her tongue, asking for access to yours, you do not hesitate a single second before leaving it to her. Obviously, you forget a little where you are and that everyone could surprise you. It is finally a door noise far away from you that brings you back to reality, a few minutes later.

"I really have to go" whispers Katie, her lips caressing yours when she speaks.

And it makes you half lose your mind. So you can’t resist the urge to kiss her again and it takes all your strength to tear you away from her. And let her go.

"Come on, go make the rest of the world enjoy your talent" you smile softly

Katie laughs but steals one last kiss before leaving. It’s in a second state that you join your seat, but when Katie appears on the field alongside the other players, you can’t help but smile again. Katie quickly spots you in the stands and sends you a wink to which you respond with a smile.

In the end, it’s not as safe as this that you’ll leave London.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe

497 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 4 months

Note

I had this idea about eddie dating reader who is obsessed with pop boy bands! tysmm

i'm so obsessed with this idea bless you anon — the town freak tries to impress the local cool girl and, in true eddie munson fashion, it doesn't go as quite expected (friends to lovers, fluff, shameless it reference, 1.1k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie stands across the counter at Family Video and lays a collection of cassettes on top of it.

Steve blinks once at the tapes, then twice up at him. “…What is this?” he wonders, visibly dumbfounded.

“Do you interrogate every customer that comes in here?” the wild-haired boy quips, digging into the pockets of his leather jacket for some wadded-up bills. “Just scan it.”

“New Kids on the Block? New Edition?” Steve announces as he bags each plastic case. His chiseled features twist in confusion. “Who are you, and what did you do with Eddie Munson?”

“It’s not for me, dingus.”

“First of all, don’t call me that. And second of all, who the hell is it for then?”

“Someone. No one,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging and shifting his weight on his feet, doing a terrible job of hiding his sudden sheepishness. “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “A girl?”

“…Maybe.”

“A pretty girl?”

Eddie scoffs an unamusing laugh. “Sure. If that’s the only way your pea brain knows how to describe someone as… uncanny, and demonic, and fascinating as she is.”

Steve’s brows pinch in a subtle horror. He’s not sure what most of those words mean, but they don’t really sound like compliments. He just shrugs and decides not to press it any further. “…Okay.”

“She’s just into this stuff, okay?” Eddie confesses, gesticulating wildly with his ringed hands. “And I wanna like the things that she likes— Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s very, very bad,” Steve answers without thinking twice. He passes him the plastic bag full of tapes with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “’Cause that means you’re in love.”

—————

Eddie stands outside the arcade in wait for you. He knows you always come to The Palace on Fridays — right before the school day ends, so you have a couple hours of peace before the snotty middle schoolers run you out with their post-P.E. stench.

He wears a set of headphones over his untamed curls and a walkman clipped to his jeans. It plays a pop song he’s only ever heard on the car radio. Steve’s radio, specifically. He’s heard you hum it a time or two, and it’s the only time he’s ever been able to stand it — as if he needed another reason to prove Steve right.

He was head over heels, disgustingly, wretchedly, completely, utterly, and totally in love with you.

Propped against the driver’s side door of his van, he exhales smoke from his lungs and sees you walking down the sidewalk.

Your pink tights swish at the knees while your plaid skirt, in a grass green color, flutters around your thighs. Your sweater’s bright blue, and the only thing halfway matching the rest of your outfit is the bright emerald dinosaur pictured on the front of it.

You beam at the sight of him. “Teddy? What are you doing here?”

“I’d guess the same thing you’re doing here, sweetheart,” he quips, playing cool as he snuffs out his cigarette with the heel of his worn sneaker.

“Normally, you’re busy on Fridays… I’m starting to feel like you’re stalking me.”

Eddie’s deep brown eyes narrow, twinkling with dark chocolate. “And how would you know that I’m busy on Fridays?” he teases, tilting his wild head to his shoulder.

You shrug, faltering for a blink of a moment. “Corroded Coffin always performs on Fridays. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, maybe just you and the… four other drunks that happento come to the Hideout on Fridays,” he jokes with a boyish laugh.

“Touché,” you concede, smiling wider. “Whatcha listening to?”

You reach out for him, taking the headphones from his ears like you always do. You place them over your own head and expect to hear something loud and heavy — that’s what you usually catch him listening to, anyway. A wide smile blooms on your lips when a familiar song fills your ears.

“New Kids on the Block?” you wonder with a scrunched nose, voice distant with disbelief.

Eddie had been expecting this. He’d spent ten minutes praying this exact moment would happen, but he stumbles over himself about it anyway. “Yeah. Uh, Family Video— They’re selling tapes and stuff now— To keep from going out of business, I guess,” he stammers, laughing awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. “So, I don’t know. I guess, I thought I’d—”

“Buy it for yourself?” you finish for him, with a knowing grin on your petaled mouth. “And then try to impress me by waiting outside the arcade I go to every Friday? Even though you’re usually busy practicing?”

You see right through him with little effort. Mostly because you’re one and the same — hopelessly in love and tripping over yourselves with it.

Eddie nods, then laughs. “Yeah, actually. That’s— That’s the half of it, yeah.”

Your smile quietens when you slip the headphones back over his head, fingers brushing his curls and palms grazing his flushed cheeks. “Maybe we can go together sometime?” you offer and step back from him again. “I can show you where they kept the real music. You know, make sure they got the right stuff to listen to.”

His chest swells. He almost forgets to breathe.

He never, in a million years, would’ve expected his first unofficial date with you to be at Family Video, of all places — but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. He figures he could go just about anywhere and be happy as long as he could look over and see you standing right beside him.

Eddie nods until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Sure. Yeah. That sounds— That sounds good.”

“I’ll call you when I’m free,” you tease and walk on by him.

You’re always free. He knows that. You’re always everywhere and nowhere all at once. Even now, standing right in front of him, you’ll disappear like you’d never been there at all. You just like to keep him guessing, really, and he knows that, too. It’s why he melts for you so easy.

“Okay,” he nods, rapid and utterly dumb.

“I’ll see you soon. Maybe.”

He watches you meander towards the entrance of the arcade. Words start to bubble in his throat. They spill out before his brain can decide whether or not to actually say them. “Please don’t go girl,” he blurts while the lyrics of the same song croon in his ears.

You spin around and blink wordlessly at him. You don’t look confused, but you don’t look impressed either. Eddie can’t gauge the emotion on your face, and he falters.

“That’s the... That’s the name of… of one of their songs,” he stammers.

He blinks, and you’re beaming again. A golden laugh spills from your lips, like honey and summer and sunshine. “I know, Teddy,” you grin — voice as warm and as fond as your glittering gaze.

He grieves when you turn away again, walking into the arcade without looking back at him once.

Eddie doesn’t breathe again until you’re gone, forgets how to until you’re done clouding his vision.

You’ll be the death of him yet.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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miniwheat77 · 4 months

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Shakin’ (Ghost x Reader.)

!I aged Simon up a bit for this chapter. He’s around 44. Smut, unprotected p in v sex, (wrap it up-_-) military talk, teasing, you know the drill babes, absolutely NO MINORS, enjoy!

(Bc I bet Simon totally listened to Eddie Money when he was a teen XD. Obvi my song inspo is Shakin’ by Eddie Money.)

At this point, everything he did was routine. 141 had Simon busy most of the time so he didn’t spend too much time off base anymore. He had nothing better to do, the most exciting thing he did was stop by a bar with Johnny and Price. That was it. A round of new recruits were coming and this was always the hardest part, getting used to the newbies. Because some of them were insufferable. Ghost liked to be left alone. But the new recruits were always all over him. Trying to make friends and be nice and ask for advice which he didn’t mind, not at all. But sometimes he’d just want to be left alone.

For some reason, there weren’t many women on base. Aside from a couple that didn’t work out for… inappropriate reasons. There was no one but Laswell around.

“Ghost.” The scot accent pierces his ears and he turns to see Soap approaching with a girl by his side. “This is Y/N. She’s one of the new recruits.” He tilts his head to you. Ghost nods his head. “Hi.” You send a small wave his way. “Hey.” He says. “See, he doesn’t bite.” Soap laughs. “No, but I might.” You smile. Your sly smile pierces Simon right to his core, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. As you walked away with Johnny, he wondered what the hell that was.

He didn’t know it, but it was the start of something special.

You settle in pretty quickly and Ghost sees how well you and Johnny get along together. He sees the both of you together quite often. Ghost worried about him catching feelings for you, and having you turn out to be like every other girl that’s come onto this base. A barracks bunny.

His worries all came to an end when he watched you resist every guy on base. Seriously, they’ll hit on you while you’re sitting across from the both of them and you’ll have to spin around and tell them to piss off.

You’re usually eating, listening to something Soap is saying and someone will walk up behind you and start trying to flirt with you. He can see the immediate anger on your face, wanting to be left alone.

Something Ghost didn’t expect is the both of you to start spending time together. Without Johnny around. You were a productive soldier. Always offering to help, always busy doing something around the base. You hardly ever complained about something and when you did it’s usually because you hurt in some kind of way. Which he understood all too well. You always offered to help him with anything he was doing. Jumping right up when he was going to do some heavy lifting. So the two of you started hanging out and doing those things together like it was second nature. A routine. Ghost started catching feelings for you pretty quickly and he tried to avoid it.

Especially after he found out how young you were.

You followed him out to load up the Humvee, and you spoke about your parents. Something about the age of your mum made Simon perk up. “Wait. How old are you?” He asks. You smile. “Why you want to know?” You smirk. “Because it sounds like your mum is about the same age as me and that means you’re really young.” He freezes up. “Yeah, I’m 21.” His eyes widen. “Jesus Christ. You do not look that young. You’re really mature for your age.” He mumbles, tossing a box into the back of the Humvee. He hears you chuckle. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But.. age doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” The slyness of your words have the hair on his neck standing up. “Yeah right, I’m old enough to be your dad.” He rolls his eyes.

You set a box down, only maybe a foot away from him. “Doesn’t scare me.” You smile. Stepping away from him. What exactly did you mean by that? Were you… flirting with him?

—

“Rosanna’s daddy had a car she loved to drive.” You mumble out the lyrics as you pass by Ghost. You don’t see him yet but he’s there. As soon as those lyrics hit his ears, he smiles. Reminding him of when he was a teenager, being crazy. Something he didn’t seem to think about too often anymore. “Stole the keys one night and took me for a ride.”

“Fuck.” You mutter as the box splits open, the contents of it falling out the bottom. Ghost steps out of the darkness. “What you singing there sweetheart?”

You jump when you hear him behind. “Jesus Christ.” You breathe. Tugging an earbud out of one of your ears. “Gave me a heart attack.” You laugh. Theres something inside of him brewing. Looking at you now, he knows there’s no going back.

He can only pray Johnny has no feelings for you, because there’s no going back. “Price told me to get you and check out some surrounding areas. Take the Humvee.” He nods. “Really?” You ask. He nods his head, lying through his teeth. What Price doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He could still hear your music through your earbuds.

“Turned up the music just as loud as it could go, blew out the speakers in her daddy’s radio. She was shakin’” he smiles. “Eddie Money ah?” He asks. Hearing you laugh.

“Of course.”

“Snappin her fingers, she was movin’ round and round. That girl was shakin’”

“Come on, let’s go.” He helps you put everything back into the box, telling you to worry about it later. When you get inside the Humvee, he snags one of the earbuds from you. Sliding it into his ear. He pulls out of the garage. He could get in so much trouble over this, but can’t remember the last time he’s done something this crazy. You haven’t done anything and you’ve already lit a fire inside of him.

“We started drinkin’ wasn’t thinking too straight. She was doing 80 and she slammed on the breaks. Got so high we had to pull to the side. We did some shakin’ til the middle of the night.”

He reaches his hand across the middle, resting it on your thigh. You tense up immediately, turning to look at him. “Ghost.. what are you doing?” You ask. His hand glides further up, and he hears you gasp. “Simon-“ you laugh.

“Shakin’, snappin’ her fingers. She was up and down and round and round. Shakin’”

“Cmere baby, sit in my lap.” He forces you over onto him, facing the steering wheel. You can feel his bulge against your ass. You twist around in his lap. Straddling him and keeping your face tucked into his neck so that he can see. He groans as you start attacking his neck. Sucking and biting at his skin. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Drive me fucking crazy.” He hisses.

“I got a little nervous. She took her coat off. She looked so pretty, ah yeah.”

He takes in a deep breath as you reach for his cargo pants. “Focus on the road. Don’t kill us.” You laugh. “Fuck- doing my best.” He laughs. You unzip his pants, tugging his cock through the hole in his boxers until you could see it. Taking a deep breath. You wiggle your own cargo pants down, off of one leg, freeing up your hips, you straddle him.

“I’m always talkin’ baby, talkin’ too much. I love that little girl and I just can’t get enough. It takes a lonely night with nowhere to go, just call Rosanna and it’s a hell of a show.

And she’s shakin’”

A hiss leaves his lips as he grips your hips with his rough hands. You swallow him up, sliding down onto him. He’s driving fast, way faster than he should. But he’s so fired up from you, he can’t help it. It’s fucking thrilling. Your skin is soft compared to his calloused hands. He grits his teeth, muscles tightening in his body as you slide down around him. Clutching onto him like a glove. The music is loud, nearly hurting your ears as you rock your hips into him. “Fuck- fucking hell you’re a minx.” Simon grits his teeth harder, gripping onto you and rocking his hips up to meet yours. He presses his foot into the gas harder, thanking whatever god is out there that this road is empty.

The pleasure is white hot, wrapping around the base of his spine and working its way up. You make him feel young again, like a crazy teenager. You attack his neck, you’re loud and you can’t help it as you ride him, raising yourself up onto him and moving back down. Riding him like your life depends on it. Chasing after that high. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, crying out. You gasp out when he slams onto the breaks, pulling over onto the side of the road. He forces you to look at him after he throws it into park. He grips your hips tightly, thrusting up into you. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” He growls. He grasps the bottom of his balaclava, tugging it over his head. He grips your chin, pulling you in to kiss him. You’re whining as he fucks up into you.

The windows are starting to fog up, your bodies are sweaty as they move against each other. He feels hot, fully dressed. Feelings just how hot the two of you have made it in the car. The fat of your hips clutched hard between his massive hands. Making you feel small as he fills you up. You stare him in the eyes, keeping eye contact. You smile, making him narrow his eyes. “What?” He asks. “Do I intimidate you Simon?” You smile. He shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You seemed intimidated by me flirting with you.” You wrap your arms around his neck, rocking into him. He’s panting almost. “Just not used to it. Usually it’s the other way around. I’m supposed to intimidate you.” He laughs. Clutching onto the seat of the Humvee. “Fuck- you’re getting me close sweetheart.” He grits his teeth. “Me too.” You breathe, adjusting yourself one last time. He tilts his head back against the seat and you lean in, biting down on his throat, feeling his pulse against your tongue. His breaths pick up. He’s getting close, you can tell. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight. Thrusting up into you. “Fuck- fuck baby. I’m gonna cum.” He gasps. His eyes roll back and his lips part. He gasps, hips jerking up into you. Your eyes narrow shut, closing tight. That knot forming in your belly. The warmth of him sends you over the edge, crying out into the crook of his neck. He holds you tight to him like you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Your thighs shake as he adjusts you in his lap. “You did so good.” He breathes. “Such a good girl for me.” He breathes. He hears you laugh into him. “Fuck. We’re gonna be in so much trouble when we get back.” You mumble against him. “Yeah, probably.”

“One more, make it worth our while?” He smirks. You glide your tongue over your bottom lip. “Let me restart the song.” You giggle.

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #captain john price #ghost mw2 #mw2 smut #ghost smut #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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omegalomania · 1 year

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the full apple music interview with zane lowe is out! we got snippets of it when love from the other side dropped, but they finally rolled out the full thing. here are some highlights that stood out to me :)

patrick describes pete's lyrics as what gets him out of bed in the morning. if pete doesn't send him lyrics, he doesn't write a song.

andy and pete used to draw fake snake tattoos on each other using magic markers as kids omg?

so evidently patrick was the one who got covid during hella mega tour. and he hated it and he was miserable and that's when he called neal avron about the new record lmao

patrick says that joe was hesitant at first and he was the one who said that for this record he wanted to make something that they could all savor and spend time on and patrick was immediately on board with that

pete says patrick's job is to interpret him because pete calls his mentality a "little bit off" but patrick is capable of understanding him and translating it

patrick describes his and pete's creative relationship as "twin speak." it's not linear and it's like living in his brain a little bit. he calls it the "weirdest thing i've ever seen" when pete can just Tell that some words that patrick adjusted weren't ones he wrote despite not remembering writing them. patrick says he's gotten better at connective tissue and knowing how pete would say things

pete: back in the day patrick was like, "what's the difference between cry and weep i will KILL YOU. THEY'RE THE SAME THING. I'M GONNA KILL YOU RIGHT NOW."

zane says patrick's vocals are next level for this album. pete agrees that he kills it on this album and said he never would've expected that voice coming from him when they first met. zane says patrick could sing a recipe and it would be good. he then passes patrick a recipe and patrick. sings it???

patrick: i'm not gonna belt it. (starts belting) NINE INCH PIE PLATE ROLLING PIN

patrick says that pete doesn't mean to have rhythm to his words but there's a rhythm to them all the same and patrick can find this syncopation in his words and thinks it's amazing

more talking about patrick and pete's Magical Mystical Transcendent Soul Bond. patrick says "if we were one guy, we'd be an INCREDIBLE DUDE"

patrick and pete say that interviews with all four of them are hard because it's chaos and everyone's talking at once but it all makes perfect sense to them and no one else. zane says that sounds like fun flkjdfd [i agree please do this more it's a joy]

pete says joe really stepped up and wrote a lot for this record!

patrick: "joe is kind of a conundrum because he's this really talented...he's a brilliant writer, a brilliant player, but pete and i became the "team" and it wasn't really a plan, but that's just kind of how it happened. [brief tangent about the hiatus] we come back from the thing and joe is this fully-formed writer with a very distinct - he has one of the most distinctive writing voices. when i hear his parts, when i hear his ideas, i could pick them out of a crowd. like i know the way joe writes, and it's VERY joe." part of the process with post-hiatus was integrating him into the writing process more.

discussing the hiatus and fame and pete says his life kind of "blew up" and took it pretty hard. apparently during production for folie paparazzi actually broke down the gate to neal avron's house

patrick goes on a big tangent about how bad things got during the height of pete's fame. "part of my role is to tell his story. i'm a composer. that's what i like to do. i work on movies, i work on shows, and i work on pete. pete has a story that needs music, and if he's removed from himself, if he's not even able to access himself because he's behind all of this stuff, i don't have a story! so not only did i not have my buddy, which was heartbreaking in its own way, but then i also don't have a purpose as an artist."

patrick says that andy is always ready to play but when you get him happy to play, it's another level

"and trohman, there were these moments where he...he got so excited."

patrick describes writing what a time to be alive as wanting to write the saddest, most desperate song you could hear at a wedding. pete bursts into laughter and calls it "so twisted"

talking about other endeavors outside the band - patrick talks about composing and said joe's been super busy with his book and writing for tv and because there are so many deadlines for stuff like that, it's what hammered home to him that fall out boy needs to not be that. "there's something special about this that can't be...this has to be passionate and art."

discussing how scared patrick was of his own voice while the band took off. patrick was really scared of the song saturday at first because there are some really exposed vocal moments. he describes saturday as a song where everyone in the band lets each other go for it.

zane calls fall out boy the "emo blueprint" and says they were unapologetic in being emotional. patrick immediately says, "that was pete. i don't think we could've done that without him." he and joe were basically kids and patrick was too anxious to talk on stage.

zane says, "i remember interviewing you in the early days and i felt like every time i asked you a question i was bullying you." pete IMMEDIATELY loses his shit.

"in another life where i didn't have a pete...cause saturday, i did write most of that by myself...so there's a world where that song exists without the band. there's no world where i sing it in front of people without pete."

pete says every night before they put out a new song he calls patrick up and gets really scared and wants to back out and patrick talks him down every time

they talk about how scary it was when arm's race released and performing it at the amas. patrick starts laughing rly hard as they get into how there were giant crickets on stage and the crowd was just stone-faced and utterly nonresponsive and their stage manager was utterly panicked

towards the end patrick really loosens up and starts swearing more dlkfjdfd

#fall out boy #*making poasts #they kept being SO SWEET ABOUT EACH OTHER LIKE. I CANT HANDLE IT #patrick and pete are like lets tell everybody about our magical soulbond for 1 hour straight. thanks guys.

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rhadamanthes · 1 month

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Overtime. Sukuna x reader

word count : 2,4k

warnings : office AU, tits play, desk sex, blowjob, cum eating, biting, fingering, praise, picture taking, breeding kink, cockwarming.

The winter vacation wraps around and you're the only one at the office or... this is what you thought. Sukuna, your most gruffy co-worker is here too. You're not really surprised, the whole office is away in their family and him. Well, he doesn't really look like a family kind of guy. In your case you simply don't want to see your family and these weeks where everybody is away are very slow so it's a vacation itself. For the three years that you worked here you've been doing this, but you were always alone... When you came in and Sukuna was sitting on his desk you froze. He glanced at you before returning his focus to his monitor. You made your way to your desk, which is right next to his and you greeted him lightly. He didn't answer back of course, why would he ? You sheepishly sat next to him, scared to make any noise that would get on his nerves.

The morning rolls around without a word being exchanged, the area is filled with keyboard and mouse noises, it feels awkward to the point you apologized when your pen fell on the ground interrupting the silence. He let out another sigh not even bothering looking your way. You drowned in embarrassment and resumed your task. When lunch break comes you decide to take matters in your hands. You can not possibly spend a week with him in complete awkward silence.

"Sukuna, do you want to have lunch with me? I mean since there's only us and there's this new place i want to try, so feel free to join, i mean if you want to of course i'm not forcing you or anything" you say laughing nervously. Thinking about it, it's probably the longest sentence you ever said to him, he must think you stupid stumbling over your words like that. Without a word he got up and put his coat on. Well at least you tried. Laying back in your chair defeated when his voice interrupts you.

"So are you getting up or do you expect me to deliver your food?" His voice is deep, and he's looking at you now, the shade of his eyes is so unique you want to get lost in it, but he words hit you now. Is that a yes? Did he actually agree? You instantly rise from your seat grabbing your purse and coat rushing to the elevator.

To no one's surprise you did most of the talking during lunch, he actively listened and answered from time to time. You learned he has a cat named Uraume but when you asked for pictures of it he told you he didn't have any in his phone. What type of cat owner does that ? You proudly did a slideshow of your own cat, he told you he was fat and you just shut him off. Once back at the office, the atmosphere is way more light, you can finally relax. Thanks to you working the problem out, the afternoon went fast. At 16:57 you're turning off the computer and packing your things.

"It's 3 minutes early," his deep voice warns. You scoff "Sue me please" When you walk past him you notice his monitor already turned off. He was playing on his phone.

"Oh you're scandalous, picking on me when you're not even working."

He laughs a bit, a deep gravelly song coming from his chest.You blush thinking that it's attractive before you make your way to the elevator. The two of you are making the long way down to the parking lot. and you engage conversation once again.

"So do you drive here ?"

"Yeah I have a bike"

"Oh that's why your thighs so muscular" you nod your head.

He looks at you curiously,a sly smirk in the corner of his mouth before he raises a helmet, one with a shade visor. Of course he rides a motorbike, for god's sake this man has tattoos all over his face and lord knows elsewhere. Why would he pedal to work every morning? You close your eyes realising that you probably sound like an idiot and a pervert at the same time. The elevator dings saving you from an awkward interaction, you bid your farewell quickly rushing to hide in your car.

The next morning you stand awkwardly in front of the open space, thinking about how embarrassing the whole day is going to be, but you can't back down. You also wonder why he's here, you're dying to ask him. HR asked you to be here during this beat weak because she knows you don't care about this holiday particularly and also because she waiting for some late christmas gift that are to be delivered at the office. Most people would think that this is abuse but you both agreed that she would raise your rate during this week, so easy money. But why would he be here? Is it the same for him ?

"You're blocking the way" Sukuna's deep voice snaps you out of your reverie. You turn around pushing on his (very firm) chest.

"Did you just call me fat ?" you say rushing to your desk, feeling embarrassed to see him again.

You hear him chuckle behind you and your ears get hot. You're sitting at your desk while he slowly unpack his belongings, with a smile on the corner of his lips. You roll your eyes, focusing your attention on your computer. You've been debating with yourself all morning whether to ask him or not about his presence. You steal glances in his way from time to time. Until he finally snaps, dragging your chair in front of him, encasing your knees with his own.

"Tell me what's wrong before I bite you." he grits through his teeth. You gasp in shock feeling your cheeks heat up. You wonder how his teeth would feel on your flesh, but right now is not the time you're about to have your much wanted answer.

"Why are you here?" "I have a deal with HR but what about you ?" you blurt out feeling stupid saying it out loud.

His eyes squint looking at you "That's what you want to know? This is why you've been fidgeting all morning ?" You nod your head avoiding his gaze.

"Well you're not the only one with a secret deal here" He says with a serious expression letting go of your knees.

Your mouth opens a bit, so this is what it is ? You rack your brain thinking what Sukuna's one could be. And then it clicks.

"Oh my god she asked you to spy on me!! I knew it she doesn't trust me, you know she's really a bitch bec-"

Your sentence is interrupted by Sukuna ripping your shirt open, He gives you a stern look at the fact that you're not wearing a bra and dip his face between your tits he licks and bites at your skin, and you can't help but moan.

"What the hell are you doing?" you say pushing on his head

"You talk too much, and I could see your damn nipples from my fucking seat" Your face heat at his remark, you never bother to wear one when you'e alone at the office, but you not really are this time. Before you can answer he cuts you off.

"Do you want this ?" he says, biting at your skin, never breaking eye contact.

You bite your lip and nod. A wolfish grin spreads across his face as he pushes his head in your chest once again. Sukuna takes one of your tits in his mouth nursing it while he groans. He's kneeling on the floor between your legs and none of it seems real to you. How the broody scary guy is now worshipping you ? It doesn't really matter when you haven't been touched in so long, sure you know how to satisfy yourself but his warm hands on your hips and the flick of his tongue feels amazing at the moment. Locking your legs behind his back you let your head fall backward in pleasure.

Sukuna alternate his sweet torture between both your breasts and you're a moaning mess, eyes shut closed, you grind against the chair. Soon enough you can't take it anymore, needing to touch him too, you break his hold on you.

"Let me suck your cock" you purr out loud. His eyes go wide a bit, but he quickly gets on his feet unbuckling his belt, letting his pants slide off his thighs. It's your turn to kneel before him. The heel you're wearing allows you to be at his crotch level while staying balanced. The bulge in his boxer makes your mouth water, you plant kisses over it, getting rid of the last piece of clothes separating you from the object of your desire. His cock spring free slapping against his lower abdomen, it's already so hard, your lips part in awe. Taking his length in your hand, you stroke it a few times before putting it in your mouth. Sukuna grunts at the warmth of your wet mouth.

"I didn't know you were such a dirty girl" he chuckles, running one of his hands in your hair.

You moan at his words, slobbering all over his cock while you take more and more of his member in your mouth. His girth is impressive and you feel a familiar tingle in your pussy, the situation excites you so much, having sex in your workplace has always been your dream but you never thought it would literally happen at your desk. One of your hands snakes under your tights to touch yourself, you collect arousal from your entrance to rub at your clit.Pleasuring yourself, you moan around his cock, sending vibration to it. Sukuna hiss at the sensation guiding your head even deeper on his dick. You choke a bit propping your free hand on his thigh to warn him.

"Put your fingers inside" he grunt looking at your hand that is buried between your thighs

You happily oblige, curling them in a way you like, you hump against your own hand still wanting to feel your pressure on your clitoris.

"You sure know how to pleasure yourself, huh? little pervert." he taunts.

You nod your head looking him in the eyes. His precum and your drool are mixing on your chin, he's close and you hollow your cheeks to make him crumble faster. He moans behind his teeth and with a few more strokes his seed fills your mouth, you swallow it all to the last drop. You free his cock from the confine of your mouth out of breath. Sukuna let himself fall against the chair laughing off his high, one of his hands arms covering his eyes. Feeling hungrier than ever you straddle him sliding his now limp cock inside of you as you lock your arms behind the headrest. He looks at you with shock in his eyes, you smile at him.

"Don't worry I'll go slow. I want to feel you get hard inside of me." you say in a sweet voice.

He scoffs not believing how dirty you really are, it's the first time for him to be with a woman this deciding. You wanted to suck his cock and now you're riding him. He doesn't hate it, he's just not used to it. He captures your lips with his own, tasting himself on your tongue. You go up and down a few times and can already feel his cock harden inside your cunt. You moan in the kiss boucing on his cock harder and harder. Suddenly Sukuna pushes you off him, spinning you around, placing both your hands flat on the desk. You chuckle knowing where he wants this to go, you hike one of your knees on the desk spreading your holes with your hands.

"You want me like that don't you?" you giggle looking back at him, your cheek is flush against the desk.

He fist himself angrily a few times before entering his whole length inside of you.

"Oh fuck" you moan out loud at the force he did it with.

He wastes no time ramming into you grunting like a beast, his roughness fills your every need and you let your voice fill the space with a loud moan. The desk rocks under his powerful thrust, his cock hits your spongy spot and you feel the pleasure rise inside of you, you didn't cum on your finger wanting to do so on his cock.

"I'm going to fill your cunt this time" he grunts

"Please Sukuna, Yes!" you cry mouth wide open

His grip on your hips keeps you in place as he never slows down his pace, you can only take and take while he pistons inside of you.

" S-sukuna" you stutter, feeling your orgasm approaching.

He slows his pace giving hard thrusts to fuck you as far as possible, you cum undone shaking over your desk. Your walls tighten around him and he hiss fucking into you until he cums deep inside of you. Both your heavy breaths fill the silence, Sukuna slowly pulls out of you grunting at the sight of his spunk leaking out of your pussy to the desk and finally on the floor. Quickly taking his phone from the pocket of his pants he snaps a picture the clicking noise makes you open your eyes.

"Hey!" you scold him "Send it to me" you whisper. A deep laugh escapes him and he sits back down on the chair easing you on his cock. you furrow your brows not ready for another round yet but he shuts you off.

"Just keeping it warm" he wink at you. You chuckle letting your head rest on his shoulder and you close your eyes. After a moment Sukuna breaks the silence.

"I want to try something new" he state

"You can fuck my ass later i just need to rest a bit" you mutter agaisnt his skin

"I was talking about lunch" he coos

You're way too tired to feel the shame take over you so you just laugh.

"I can't exactly go out since you ripped my shirt" you bite his skin

"I'll go buy you one, get cleaned up, i'll bring food too" he says spanking your ass.

You laugh, haven't even noticed lunch break has ended more than an hour ago.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna x reader #anime smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sukuna #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk #jjk season 2 #jujustsu kaisen x reader smut

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 2 months

Text

The only fool on April Fools'

Natasha thought she came up with the best prank ever. But she forgot exactly who she was trying to prank.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 2.7k • Warnings: suggestive talk Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

A/N: a late birthday post from me :)

2028

Natasha could not stop looking at her hands on the steering wheel. More specifically, she couldn't stop looking at her nails. Every time they caught her eye when she went to change the song on the radio or flick her blinker, the smuggest smirk took over her entire face.

She'd been thinking long and hard about this year's prank. April Fools' Day was a serious occasion for her and Katya, a holiday they planned for for months. It started in 2010 when Natasha had been brave enough to prank her girlfriend at the time, and it developed from there. The only rule they had was that the pranks shouldn't be too humiliating. Just funny. So there was a lot of creative freedom.

This year, she really nailed it. It was hilarious. She was hilarious, and Katya was going to be so pissed. She thought Natasha had just gone to get a haircut, but she'd be getting the worst surprise of her life when she showed her what she'd actually been doing in the city.

Was it cruel? Yes. But Katya replaced all the Oreo cookie filling with toothpaste last year. Natasha's Oreo cookies. And she filled a donut with mayo. So Natasha wanted to let her feel that same pain. Only more subtly.

When she walked into the house, pushing her smirk aside for the sake of the prank, the smell of cake filled her nostrils. It smelled delicious, like chocolate and butter. A special recipe that Katya had been meaning to try. Too bad that Natasha wouldn't be eating a single piece of it, considering there was probably salt in it instead of sugar, but at least she knew where to find her darling wife.

Prepared to feel incredibly smug and pleased, she strolled into the kitchen. Katya stood with her back turned, softly singing a song as she mixed something with the handheld electronic mixer. The noise drowned out the sound of Natasha's footsteps, so she didn't hear her come in. It only prolonged the excitement. "Smells good in here."

Katya jumped, quickly turning off the mixer. "Oh. Hi, baby!" An adoring smile spread across her lips as she turned around. Natasha almost felt bad for her upcoming prank. Almost. "Let me see your hair." A crease formed between her brows as she studied Natasha's long red locks. "It doesn't look any different," she said carefully, as if she was afraid to offend her new haircut.

Natasha smiled sheepishly, glancing down at her hands. "Yeah, well, you know… I was planning on getting my hair done, but then I passed a nail salon, and, well…" Instead of explaining, she simply brought her hands up, holding her nails out for Katya to see.

When the nail stylist asked her what shape she wanted, Natasha told her to go for the pointest, most stabby looking nail she could do, and she hadn't disappointed. Two inches long, all of them ended in a point that could seriously poke somebody's eye out. The deep red color and the black details turned them into the sexiest murder weapons she'd ever had. The sexiest, most inconvenient weapons ever. They were lowkey homophobic.

She saw the different emotions cross Katya's face one by one. Excitement, at first. Probably because she was happy Natasha spoiled herself, or she liked the nails. Then hesitation. Then realization. Then anger, which manifested with a slight twitch of her brows. And lastly…

Actually, Natasha couldn't decipher the emotion that slid over the anger. It was like Katya mentally paused before she could get really angry, and then decided on a different course. All of it happened within a second. Her brain was just that fast at assessing a situation.

An excited gasp flew from her lips. "They look so good, honey!" Katya exclaimed, carefully taking Natasha's hands in her own to see her nails better. "The design is so simple yet so elegant. It really suits you!"

Natasha inwardly frowned, her smugness plummeting. This was not the reaction she had been hoping for. Not by miles. But she wasn't giving up yet. "What do you think about the length?" She smiled, mirroring Katya's excitement. "I wanted to go even longer, but I've never had nails before so I didn't want to overdo it."

"No, I love it! It suits your hand shape really well."

To Natasha's even bigger surprise, Katya let her hands go to grab her cheeks instead, pulling her close to press a sweet kiss to her lips. Her blue eyes sparkled joyfully. "I'm so glad you treated yourself to something nice. You deserve it."

Then she turned around and went back to making the icing for her cake.

Natasha stood there, lost, wondering how this had gone completely the opposite way of how she wanted. Katya was supposed to be upset, asking her what she was thinking, getting long ass nails as a woman in a lesbian relationship. With those weapons on her fingers, she could not use them for her favorite activity whatsoever.

But instead of getting pissed, Katya got the opposite. She happily sang, swaying her body as she finished mixing her icing. Not a care in the world.

Natasha's prank had dramatically failed.

"Look how good this looks." Katya suddenly turned around, a big scoop of chocolate icing on her pointer finger. Slowly, she brought it to her lips, sucking her finger into her mouth and pulling it out. "Hmm, so good," she moaned.

The very bottom part of Natasha's stomach twisted into knots. She couldn't find her words as she watched Katya lick off the icing in a way that was incredibly sensual. And not by accident.

''Yep, that's done!" She beamed. Katya covered the bowl with some foil and put it in the fridge, happily twirling around to a still frozen Natasha. ''I'm going to lift some weights. Could use a spotter.''

''I—'' Natasha mentally slapped herself, swallowing thickly. ''Sure.''

Katya perked up. ''Okay. Give me a minute to change.''

She wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what those nails meant. It meant her wife was an ass. An ass who didn't want to get laid for a few weeks, apparently.

Her first instinct was to get pissed. Get pissed at Natasha for partly ruining their sex life. Because while they owned many replacements, Natasha's fingers would always be her favorite, and they were not going up there looking like that.

But then Katya realized that getting angry was exactly what her wife was after. And what better way to ruin a prank by pretending not to see it? In fact, she was going to throw Natasha's own prank right back at her, make her miserable. Show her that getting these nails would come back to bite her in the ass. Fast.

Nobody messed with her.

Choosing her smallest sports bra and tightest cycling shorts, Katya threw her hair up and returned to Natasha. The woman seemed to be disoriented, or at least deep in thought. She was in the exact spot Katya left her ten minutes earlier, frowning at the countertop. When she did look up, Katya purposely flexed her biceps as she tightened her ponytail, drawing Natasha's gaze directly to her arms.

Her green eyes darkened as they took in Katya's figure. Everything that wasn't bare skin was skin-tight. And while her body didn't look the way it did when she was twenty-four—duh—Natasha still thought it was hot as hell. She wanted to grab it, bend it over the counter—

''Earth to Nat.''

Natasha rapidly blinked, pulling her head out of the clouds. ''Hm?''

Katya had a huge grin on her face that she tried to hide. ''I said; are you coming?''

''Oh, yes.''

She didn't even try to not stare at Katya's ass as the brunette walked in front of her. It was right there, shaking in those spandex shorts. The urge to grab it and press her nails—oh. With a frown, Natasha looked down at her pointy nails. She couldn't grab Katya's butt and press the top of her nails down at the same time.

''Hmm…'' Katya stopped in the doorframe of the garage—their home gym. ''What do you reckon I should do first?''

''Ass.'' Natasha was just in time to bring her gaze upwards when Katya spun around, staring straight into her raised eyebrow. Her cheeks heated up when she realized what her half-horny brain had thrown out. ''I meant squats.''

''Squats it is.'' Katya smiled.

Even the process of setting it all up drove Natasha up the wall. To get the weights on the bar, Katya had to lift them, and because she barely wore a shirt, her back, shoulder, and arm muscles visibly flexed for Natasha to see. Her hands itched, but she suspected Katya was playing a game, and she wasn't going to give in.

They both weren't going to give in. So it was going to be a game of who can hold out the longest.

If things progressed this way, Natasha was one hundred percent sure she was going to lose.

''Okay.'' Katya excessively bent over to put her resistance band down. She'd warmed her muscles—doing some very deep deep squats—and secured her ponytail once more. ''I'm ready.''

Natasha knew it was going to be a mistake when she stepped behind Katya. She knew she was digging her own grave. The brunette pressed her ass into her front and flexed her muscles way more than necessary as she adjusted her grip on the bar resting on her shoulders. Natasha clenched her jaw to keep still and quiet, but the frustration started to build.

Down Katya went for the first squat, pausing a few seconds before she went up again. Natasha squatted along with her, forcing herself to pay attention to the bar and only the bar. She wondered if she could even close her hands around it in case Katya needed her help. Those damn claws of her were probably in the way.

She was about to breathe out in relief when Katya didn't pull any stunts on the way up.

Then she let out the sexiest grunt ever.

Natasha nearly collapsed through her knees. Dirty memories of times where Katya grunted like that flashed through her head. Half an hour of teasing and she was on the very edge of damning it all to hell. Screw her dignity. She wanted something else to screw, and fast.

Down, Katya went again, audibly breathing out as she went down, and grunting when she straightened up. Down, breathing out. Up, grunting.

Three times, Natasha kept herself together with great difficulty. On the forth grunt, her sexual frustration snapped.

''Put it down.''

Katya smirked to herself. She expected her wife to keep it together a bit longer, but obviously her plan was working. ''What? Why? I've just started,'' she said innocently, pretending to be extremely confused the same way she'd been pretending to be stupid.

''Put the thing down.''

Carefully, Katya racked the bar, furrowing her brows as she turned to face the fuming redhead. Before she could blink, Natasha had her pinned against one of the squat rack's poles. She felt all that frustration in the way her spine bumped against the metal. ''What's going on?'' Her eyes widened like that of a deer in headlights.

''Stop playing dumb.''

''Playing dumb?''

Natasha took one good look at her and knew she wasn't going to give in. Katya could play the innocent persona as long as she wished to, no matter what threat Natasha would sling at her head. Torture training as a kid clearly worked better for her. The only thing she had to do was grunt a bit and Natasha was a goner.

A groan of frustration filled the garage. This was cruelty in the most ruthless way. Dangling the richest, most tasteful, most expensive wine in front of an alcoholic but not letting them have a taste. Collecting all her self-control, Natasha backed away, stalking off without so much as another word.

Katya snickered proudly, smirking as she turned back to the squat rack. Her plan was going amazingly so far. These weren't the only tricks up her sleeve.

The torture continued throughout the day. She was doing the dishes? She accidentally got the front of her shirt all wet, and didn't happen to wear a bra. The dinner table needed a good clean? She was bent all over that thing trying to get the spots in the middle. She was vacuuming? She was on her hands and knees on the floor trying to vacuum underneath the couch.

Wherever Natasha went, she also miraculously had to be. The redhead could not escape her. It was torture training. But in a way she'd never been tortured before.

The weapons on her hands had gone from ''the funniest things ever'' to ''I'm going to rip my whole nail off if it means I get to stuff my hand down her pants''. She couldn't take it anymore. Sexual frustration built and built until her stomach was in a permanent knot and her hands were constantly sweaty.

Two hours before Maya was meant to be coming home, Natasha couldn't take it anymore. The groans, grunts, and sighs, and the positions Katya bent her body in finally pushed her over the edge.

Fine, her wife had won. But taking a hit to her ego and pride was worth it if she could finally get her hands between those legs.

She didn't even bother soaking her nails off. She simply took nail cutters to them and cut them all off as short as possible. Then she filed them down roughly, paying extra attention to the middle three fingers of her left hand, and tossed everything in the trash.

Katya heard her coming from miles away, her rushed footsteps before Natasha cornered her in the laundry room. She saw them immediately; her nails. Or the lack thereof.

Concerned, she dropped a t-shirt back in the laundry basket, trying to reach for her hands. ''Oh, no, what did you do to your nails?''

But Natasha wasn't taking this innocent bullshit anymore. ''You drive me absolutely nuts. You pest,'' she grumbled. Her voice lacked serious anger as she slowly backed Katya up against the washing machine. Instead, it was laced with reluctant defeat and annoyance. Annoyance at herself.

A sly smile overtook Katya's features as she gripped the edge of the machine for stability. It looked like her wife had been through it. ''Ready to admit you made a mistake then?''

''I hate you.''

Katya chuckled softly. ''You dug your own grave, babe. Worst prank ever. Well, for you then. It was so much fun for me.'' She smirked teasingly as she slowly trailed her fingers up Natasha's arm. The game was still going on. Even now. The glare Natasha sent her was weak at most. ''Don't forget who you're messing with.''

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning forward to connect their lips, thinking this was it. But Katya jerked her head back, amusement swimming in her eyes.

''Nuh-uh. Say it.''

''Say it?'' The redhead grumbled impatiently, seconds away from throwing a fit.

Katya nodded smugly, her fingers slowly trailing down Natasha's arm. ''I need to hear it. I…''

Natasha clenched her teeth together to swallow back the vile words and accusations that Katya would only laugh at. She didn't think she would be this cruel, giving her dignity another slap in the face by making her vocally admit her mistake like a child. Unfortunately, Natasha didn't have another option.

She squinted her eyes, placing as much displeasure in her words as she could. ''I made a mistake thinking I could outsmart my mean, cruel wife.''

Happy, Katya grinned, grabbing Natasha's hips to pull them flush against her own. This victory tasted sweeter than her chocolate cake downstairs. She won April Fools'. And she didn't even have to do anything for it. ''You know, it's really not my fault you get so riled up.''

Natasha usually loved to bicker, but she couldn't take it anymore. Her gaze kept drifting down from Katya's eyes to her lips when she talked, and if she wouldn't get her mouth or hands on her body right this instant, she was going to explode. ''Respectfully, shut up. You had your fun, now it's time for mine.''

''Yeah, those nails aren't going up there looking like that.''

#katandnat #katyaromanoffpetrova #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #black widow #marvel #mcu #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #natasha romanoff fluff

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eddiesghxst · 9 months

Text

PRICE OF FAME (PART 2/12)

hiii here's these two again, enjoy!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie still hates you, you're way too nice, and gareth fucked up big time

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, reader gets injured (nothing crazy), eddie hooking up with someone that's not reader, mean eddie, sexual themes, a glimpse of needy n sad eddie, mild violence (eddie punches someone), and Eddie being nosey <3

word count: 5.6k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie can’t do it.

He can’t fucking stand you. He hates that you’re everywhere, always around, always lingering— like a fucking hawk— just silently watching and waiting for one of them to fuck up. And he hates that you carry that fucking journal everywhere, always jotting down notes about whatever bullshit you write about— and he’s sure it isn’t any good either way because most of the time, the band does the same shit every day. There’s nothing for you to write about. They do a show, hang out backstage, catch wind of some party, stay out until they can’t physically walk anymore, and crash as soon as they get to the hotel.

It’s the same shit. Yet, you’re always writing something down as if something new has happened— as if it’s something intriguing and eye-catching.

You barely talk for the first few days; you just watch and observe, and Eddie thinks this must be how animals at the zoo feel— on display and putting up some fascinating show. He hates it.

After the third show, you start to loosen around the edges and start actually talking, like a normal human being. You talk to Jeff the most, laugh at his shitty jokes and ask him questions about songs and lines he’s written in past songs, and Eddie hates that. He hates watching you sit next to Jeff and scribble in your journal as Jeff strums out a new hook.

He hates that whenever he brings you up to Jeff and makes some snide comment about you, Jeff never joins in— just shrugs and says, ‘She’s not too bad, actually.’

As if Eddie would ever believe that.

Gareth hardly pays any mind to you; he's too busy checking out chicks and just… being Gareth, but you’ve talked to him on multiple occasions. Eddie’s caught glimpses of you two chatting at rehearsals or in the green room. You even sat with him at breakfast the other day, and Eddie— Eddie almost blew a gasket because that was his fucking seat.

You’re ruining everything, and nobody seems to notice except for Eddie, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Dude, you’re gonna scare her away if you keep glaring at her like that,” Jeff mumbles, turning back to his guitar as he runs a dust cloth over the neck of the instrument.

They’re in the studio today because there’s no show tonight, and against all of Eddie’s wishes, Richie still invited you to come sit in for their session. Eddie watches through the glass of the sound booth as you settle in on the brown couch, pulling out that stupid journal and a pen, mindlessly clicking it a few times before writing a note. Ridiculous.

Eddie glares at Jeff and works the gum in his mouth as he pulls a face, “Good. She can blow off the face of the earth for all I care.” He grumbles, sitting down in the metal chair beside Jeff.

Jeff looks at him, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and shakes his head, “She’s not going anywhere, man. You’re gonna fuck it up if you keep being so… hostile toward her.” He points out. Eddie leans back in his chair, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sparking up. “I’m not gonna be the one to fuck it up,” Eddie mumbles through smoke, “You guys are practically feeding her all the information she needs on a silver fucking platter. She’s a goddamn shark.”

Jeff scoffs and says nothing more as he continues cleaning his guitar. Eddie glances at you and watches you talk to the producer, smiling and laughing at something that Eddie can’t hear because the mic is off and the door is closed.

Aside from how annoying and creepishly lurk-y you are, Eddie can admit you’re pretty. You have a pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, a bright look in your eyes that Eddie can’t stand because you look at the rest of the band like they hung the fucking moon when they speak. You look at everyone as if they’re so important, and Eddie thinks that’s dumb.

He glances at Jeff, watches him silently for a moment, and glances back at you, takes a hit of his cigarette before speaking, “You like her?” he asks.

Jeff glimpses at Eddie and laughs with a shake of his head, “Isn’t that precisely what you’re pissed about?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, like,” he kicks the heel of his shoe into the floor, “Do you wanna fuck her?”

Jeff pauses his task and watches as Eddie puffs on his cigarette. “I have a girlfriend, Eddie.” He reminds the boy. Eddie glances at him and scoffs, “That chick from Chicago? Thought that was just for fun.” He responds.

Eddie remembers the girl from a few weeks back, remembers Jeff sneaking her on the bus while they had dinner. He didn’t know they were serious.

Jeff shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, “No, man. She’s come to like every show— and her name is Naomi; she’s not a chick.”

Eddie grunts in response, burning to the end of his cigarette when Jeff stands up and nudges him with his foot, “Just talk to her, dude. She’s not as bad as you think she is, and she asks good questions— actual questions, about the music and shit. None of that,” he waves a hand in gesture, “stupid shit we get from reporters. She’s good. Just try.”

Jeff leaves Eddie to mill about it and finish off cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray sitting on the amp. Eddie doesn’t believe Jeff one bit; he thinks you’re a liar who’s mastered the art of manipulation and has weaseled your way into gaining his friends' trust. He doesn’t believe you are here for the music, as Jeff had said; he thinks— knows— that you’re here to find the cracks.

You’re here to find the cuts and bruises and press into them so you can tear them apart piece by piece. A starved monster, preying on his band for some sick and twisted story to feed the media so you can climb the ladder of your industry. Eddie has met and knows people like you, and he can call your bluff from a mile away.

He doesn’t believe Jeff. But he does, however, know how to play your game.

The next day is show day— the fifth show of the residency, and Eddie is in a good mood. He woke up with a girl in his bed, got high, went for a short walk to a nearby cafe, and even signed a few autographs for some lovely fans. On top of that, you haven’t shown up for rehearsals yet, and Eddie thinks the world is working in his favor today if you skip.

He’s playful today. He jumps on Gareth’s back and makes him run down the rows of the arena, screaming and hollering like wild animals. He and Jeff take Richie’s golf cart and go for a spin backstage, giggling when the security chases them and tells them speeding backstage is prohibited. They don’t listen, though; Eddie ignores everyone’s warnings and keeps hauling ass down the nearly empty hallways, swerving around boxes and equipment like a madman.

And Eddie may be mean sometimes; he may push people's buttons for the hell of it and do things he knows he shouldn’t just to get a reaction out of it, but Eddie isn’t cruel. He isn’t a psychopath who likes hurting people, so he doesn’t mean to speed past you and spook you badly enough to stumble into a stack of road cases.

Eddie saw you, and he tried to warn you, yelled out for you to move out of the way, and even honked, but you had a pair of headphones stuffed over your ears so that you couldn’t hear the squealing wheels of the golf cart or Eddie’s warning. He almost took you out. Almost. But he didn’t because he swerved at the last second, and you panicked and stepped back, stumbling on the heel of your shoe and falling onto the cold cement floor, slamming your back against the black boxes.

Eddie curses and comes to a screeching halt, parking the golf cart and following Jeff as he jogs over to you, quickly asking if you’re okay and helping you to sit up. As you speak, your face is twisted in confusion, wincing and sitting up, “I’m fine, I just— I just fell, it’s fine.”

Eddie watches from a few feet back as Jeff helps you stand up, face pinching in an expression of pain when you put your weight onto your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second. “I think you might need to get that checked—” Eddie cuts Jeff off and speaks the first thought that comes to his mind, “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

You look at him, anger replacing your look of pain as you glare at Eddie. You grip the band of your headphones and wave it at him, “Because I didn’t fucking hear you, jackass.” You snap. “What, you couldn’t see the big ass machine hurling your way?”

“No,” you seethe, “You shouldn’t have been driving that fast anyways; this isn’t my fault. The least you could do is say fucking sorry.” You spat. And Eddie just thinks you’re a brat. Before Eddie can respond with an even bitchier response, Jeff is cutting in with a wave of his hands, “Okay, this is fucking stupid,” he scoffs, “just let me drive you to medic so you can get checked.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother helping Jeff get you to the golf cart; he simply watches as you fake your limp all the way to the vehicle and thank Jeff for helping you get in. Jeff looks back to Eddie and raises an eyebrow, “Are you coming, man?”

Eddie wouldn’t willingly spend a minute with you if someone paid him to do it.

He shakes his head with a scoff and tells them to go on, he’ll meet them at the stage later on, and Jeff takes off without another word.

“Did you try to hit the journalist with a fucking golf cart?”

Eddie’s good mood is long gone.

After the whole golf cart fiasco, Eddie took his time walking around backstage and burning through cigarettes before finding himself in the room filled with snacks and drinks. He’s standing at the table filled with chips and sodas when Richie storms in and starts causing a goddamn scene.

“What—” “You know what I’m talking about.” Richie snaps. Eddie’s face twists in annoyance, “I didn’t try to fucking hit her; she didn’t move out of the goddamn way because she’s an idiot,” Eddie grumbles, returning to his task of sifting through the different brands of chips. Eddie doesn’t believe you’re actually hurt. That pathetic fall was as minor as a fall can get, and he thinks Jeff and anyone else who believes your shitty acting skills is dumber than a rock.

Richie snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hand and tosses them onto the table, ignoring Eddie’s protest as he speaks, “She sprained her fucking ankle, man.”

Eddie scoffs, “She’s faking it, Richie; anybody with brains can see that from a mile away.” He rolls his eyes. Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s lost his mind, as if Eddie is the worst villain to ever grace the goddamn planet, “You’re fucked up,” and Eddie’s stomach twists in some weird way he can’t explain.

“You have some serious fucking issues, man. That girl did nothing to you, and you treat her like shit.” Richie spits, and Eddie hates how his throat feels tight, like someone shoved a golf ball down his throat. “Get over yourself.”

Richie leaves Eddie in the empty room, silent and, against Eddie’s wishes, feeling like the shittiest man alive.

Eddie’s good mood feels like a dream now.

He’s silent throughout rehearsals. He sings his parts half-assed and plays his solos half-assed, too. You watch from the side of the stage, propped up on one of the road cases to take the weight off your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t even glance in your direction the entire time. He avoids you at all costs, leaving the room when you walk in, going the other direction you’re walking in, and even skipping lunch to avoid crossing paths.

You’ve been like a ghost all day; everywhere Eddie goes, you’re somehow there, walking with a shitty limp as if trying to rub it into Eddie’s face that, ‘You did this. This is your fault.’ and Eddie can’t stand it. By the time the doors open to the arena, Eddie is more than ready to finish the show and steer clear of all traces of you.

You watched the show on the TV in the dressing room, silently snacking on a bag of Ritz crackers with your foot propped up on the coffee table beside the couch. The medic advised you to avoid putting pressure on your ankle for the next few days so you couldn’t have your usual front-row view of the show.

The boys do good; they perform a new song they’re working on, and the crowd seems to have loved it. As usual, they get up to their ritual backstage antics, pregaming for whatever party they’ll attend, loud and obnoxious music, and cheering on whatever drinking game they’ve made up. You’re silently writing in your journal, updating the last entry on what you’ve witnessed today. Interpretations on the new music, drabbles on what you and Gareth briefly discussed about his childhood, and quick notes on whatever comes to mind while writing.

You hardly notice Eddie stumbling through the dressing room door until you hear him bumping into the side table with a curse. You look up, silently watching as he looks around the room, searching for something you’re unsure of. You try to keep your voice level to not scare him, but he is startled either way, “What are you looking for?”

His eyes are low, puffy around the edges from the alcohol he’d tossed back earlier, hair tousled with curly strands clinging to his lips. His lips are slick, swollen, and red, clothes askew on his lean frame. His jeans are unbuttoned, belt clinking as he sways a bit, licking his lips as he stammers, “Uh… my uh, my jacket—” he blinks, stumbling to lean against the door and blinking hard, “M’looking for my jacket.”

Your eyebrows raise as you watch him, the disheveled and captivating mess he is, bleary eyes gazing at you through a cloud of eyeshadow and whiskey. You breathe and point to the chair in front of the vanity, “It’s over there.”

His gaze follows your lead, landing on his strewn jacket, cursing as he walks across the room. You busy yourself with your journal, picking up where you’d left off. You can hear Eddie rustling behind you, and you try to avoid glancing back at him, but you fail, glancing in time to watch as he leans forward into the mirror to tug at misplaced strands of his hair.

He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat, glancing back at you through the mirror, “I’m uh… I’m sorry about,” he gestures to your elevated foot, forgetting you’re not even facing him, and rubbing the back of his hand to rub his nose and sniffling, “About your foot… Was really shitty of me.”

You glance back at him, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, “Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate your apology.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shoving a stick between his lips with quivering fingers, “Yeah, well, that’s the first and last apology you’ll ever get from me so…” you silently watch as he lights his cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and glancing at you through the mirror, “cherish it.”

You quietly sigh and shift in your seat, ignoring his remark, “You going out tonight?” You ask.

You watch as he steps away from the vanity and walks over to the couch, plopping down on the farthest side from you with a deep sigh, “That’s the routine.” He mumbles around a cloud of smoke.

You nod, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two of you as you continue writing. Eddie is slumped down in his seat, quietly puffing on his cigarette as he gazes at you through low lids, “What are you writing?”

You look at him; pen paused over the sentence you’d been writing as you tilt your head, “I’m working on my piece… you know, the piece you’re starring in.” Eddie grumbles in response with a single nod of his head, and his eyes are so low you’d almost think he’s falling asleep if it weren’t for his determination to finish his cigarette.

“Why— why haven’t you asked me anything?” Eddie asks.

You look at him, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you fold your hands over the paper of your notebook, “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted to be… bothered.”

Eddie glances at you, scoffing, and you remind yourself that you’ve already somehow made the man despise you, so it’d be better to hold your tongue, opting not to remind him of the shitty attitude he’s had since you met. “I’m part of the band, aren’t I?” He shrugs, picking at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. “Shouldn’t I have as much coverage as… Jeff?” He mumbles, and you think he might be under the impression that you can’t hear him, but you do either way.

Your eyebrows raise, and you shift in your seat once again, “Well… would you like me to ask you some questions?”

Eddie is more gentle when he is drunk, you think. More pliable, softer. The stone-hard deflective shield he has thrown up for you has withered beneath the alcohol. Where his eyes are usually cold and sharp, they are now softer and telling— of what, you’re not sure yet. He shifts further into the couch and shrugs, and you take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, scribbling Eddie’s name in the corner.

“Okay, Eddie,” you begin, turning ever so slightly to face him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about who you are aside from the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” You glance between your notebook and Eddie, patiently waiting as he takes a drag of the burning paper. He looks at you, the majority of his face shielded behind unruly dark curls, and the room is so silent it’s nearly deafening.

Eddie shakes his head so gently you almost don’t notice the movement, “I don’t…” he bounces his leg once, “I thought this was about the music.”

You nod, “It is.”

Eddie gently blinks, like if he blinks too hard, the earth might shatter, and you think it’s beautiful, and you think you might hate that.

“It’s about the music, but I can’t write about the music without knowing the creator, can I?”

Eddie looks at you, eyes almost clear with lips parted around smoke. He blinks again, and you smile in encouragement, situating the pen in your grip. He looks at you, studies you, his gaze dropping to your awaiting hand, and his face twists in some expression you can’t put a finger on.

Before Eddie can speak, the door opens, both of your heads snapping toward the door as a tipsy Gareth pops his head inside, “Eddie, come on man, the car’s here.”

If Gareth had noticed the odd combination of you and Eddie sitting on the same couch, willingly enduring each other's presence, he wouldn’t mention it.

You look back to Eddie, and you almost want to stop him as he gets up because, god, you were so fucking close. So close to finally touching Eddie. But he’s gone quicker than he came, the scent of his cologne and smoke lingering like a ghost, and despite Eddie giving you absolutely nothing to write about, you find yourself writing about him either way with nothing but his scent to aid you.

Eddie is drunk, and he can not, for the life of him, stop thinking about you.

A girl is climbing over him in the back of a taxi, and Eddie can only think about you. The look of pain you had when you stood up after falling, the way you looked at him as if he was the bane of your existence— it makes Eddie’s stomach churn, and he wishes the culprit for his nausea was the alcohol, but it’s not. Eddie knows it’s not because the second he thinks about the way you smiled at him in the dressing room, the way you said his name, the way you spoke so gently despite how much of an asshole he’s been to you, Eddie’s sick stomach settles and erupts in this annoying warm flutter.

Eddie can’t think of anything but the fact that he wants you to smile at him more, wants to hear you say his name again, and talk to him in your gentle way.

His face pinches in frustration, fingers gripping the girl's waist as she mouths at his neck. She moans against his skin, grinding down against his bulge and grinning when she feels him rut up against her. Eddie mumbles something, he’s not sure what he mumbles because his brain is split between worlds of scary feelings and arousal, but the girl laughs, scraping her teeth against his thumping pulse, “That journalist?” She asks.

Eddie blinks away the foggy cloud, “Huh?”

Lany pulls away from his neck and looks at him, biting her lip and tilting her head as she rubs up against him again, Eddie grunting in the back of his throat as his face twists in pleasure. “The journalist. You said her name.” Lany hums, drifting her hands up Eddie’s chest and grappling at the collar of his unbuttoned sheer top. Eddie blinks again and shakes his head, “I didn’t,” he denies.

Lany giggles, “You did, Eddie.”

Eddie glances over her shoulder, making awkward eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and he slightly grimaces and looks back to Lany as she leans in, ghosting her lips over his and tauntingly whispering your name. Eddie grunts in protest, squeezing her hips in a warning. Before he can say something, Lany kisses him with a hum before pulling away to where her lips brush against hers as she speaks, “Did you fuck her?”

Eddie pulls away from Lany, a look of distaste on his face as he glares at her, “Did I— what? No,” Eddie cringes as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard— and it’s not, and Eddie… Eddie hates that, he thinks. “No, I didn’t fuck her. Are you serious?” “You want to fuck her then?”

“I want you to stop talking about her,” Eddie counters, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip and watching as he drags the plump flesh down, grinning when Lany nips at his fingertip. “Maybe put these pretty lips to good use, hm?” He taunts, grin widening when she nods and sucks his thumb down to the last knuckle, his jeans tightening at the feeling and sight.

And if Eddie did say your name, he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’d been thinking of you for whatever odd, fucked up reason, and he doesn’t try to figure out what that weird flutter feeling is when he thinks about your softness, the softness he’s been depriving himself of.

He doesn’t dwell on any of it because Eddie is drunk, and when Eddie drinks, he thinks of and does stupid things, things that sound good at the moment but will screw him over in the long run.

And Eddie wants nothing to do with you anyway, and it’s not like one half-assed drunken conversation changed that, right?

Eddie’s got a blistering headache and a churning stomach as he stands outside the studio the following day. It’s drizzling, gloomy clouds drooping over the looming buildings of New York, and Eddie always hated this kind of weather; he preferred a full storm over the tease of a shower.

New York has never been Eddie’s favorite place, it’s dirty, and reeks of trash, and the people are shitty, but he likes how easy it is to blend in with the crowd; not many people notice him here, and that’s rare these days.

He’s leaning on the stoop of the building, tiny drops of rain dripping from the portico onto his leather-covered shoulders. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches the traffic go by, taking slow puffs to ease his body.

He hardly notices you when you bounce up the stairs until you stand just two steps below him. He glances at you and sees the coffee cups in each of your hands. You extend one out to him, “Would you like one? They accidentally gave me two.” You offer.

And you’re fucking nice. Despite how shitty Eddie has been towards you, you’re still nice to him, and Eddie, for the life of him, can’t stand it. He thinks you’re weird, insane, stupid. Thinks you were probably dropped as a baby more times than anyone can count because there’s no way somebody in their right mind would willingly give him the time of day when he’s treated them as shitty as Eddie has treated you. He nearly ran you over, for Christ's sake.

Still, Eddie doesn’t falter, “No. Probably spit in it on your way here.”

You laugh, and it irks Eddie in a way that makes him want to shiver as if the sound were nails scraping against a chalkboard. He distracts himself with a drag of his cigarette as you say, “I didn’t, but thanks for the idea.”

Eddie grunts in response, focusing on the last of his smoke as you tell him you’ll see him inside before walking up the rest of the stairs. Eddie barely acknowledges you as you pass him, but he acknowledges the sound of something dropping beside his feet. He looks down with pinched eyebrows, eyeing the notebook lying on the wet ground.

It’s your notebook— obviously— he’d know that stupid journal from anywhere. It’s a pale yellow with two leather straps you like to tie in a lousy bow, and Eddie believes it’s an annoying color, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that you chose it. Mindlessly, Eddie picks it up, shaking off the rainwater before it seeps into the pages, and he turns to give it to you because he’d assumed you realized you dropped it, but you’re gone.

Eddie blinks, eyeing the door and the book in his hands, and Eddie knows he should just follow you and give it back because that’s the right thing to do. Knows he shouldn’t peek inside to see what your mind is like, knows you’d probably kill him because Eddie would do the same if anyone looked into his thousands of journals back home, but his fingers itch, and before he can stop himself, he’s flicking his cigarette bud away, leaning against the building and cracking the front page open.

Eddie’s not sure what he’d expected. Maybe something interesting, like a list of dudes you’ve fucked or some rant about a friend, but Jesus, how much more boring could you get? Grocery lists, reminders to book appointments, dates for work meetings, boring shit that Eddie could care less about. He flicks through nearly half of the book before anything piques his interest, snickering when he comes across a page of you talking about a guy named Danny, “What a sap,” Eddie mumbles to himself, softly chuckling and turning the page.

He flips through a few more pages before halting because Eddie's name is right at the top of the page.

The door opens, and he jumps, fearing you might be searching for your lost journal, but it’s only a staff member. Eddie watches them trot down the steps before returning to the treasure in his hands, eagerly reading as if the book will turn to dust before he gets a chance.

And Eddie thinks he’s fucked up, screwed up in ways he never really wants to address. Despite Eddie’s outwardly attitude of thinking he’s the best at everything and knows all, there are still ugly parts of him that he so badly wants to reach inside and pull like weeds from a garden, crack his chest open, and take it from the root; pieces of him that can make him crumble quicker than a house of cards on a rickety table.

However, the way you write about Eddie— the words you use and the so careful placement of each thought— it makes Eddie feel something he forgot he ever could about himself, and he doesn’t like how it makes his insides twist. He hates it. Eddie hates that you can read him as if he’s a fucking children’s book. Hates that you can see and point out parts of him that have been lost for so long he’d thought it was a dream. He can’t stand it.

But as much as Eddie swears he hates what you’ve written and as much as he hates that it makes him feel something other than disdain, he can’t stop reading. He wants to read all you can say about him and only exist in the imagery you create of him because Eddie, for once in a long time, is someone in your eyes.

You write about Eddie like he is a person, a human being with real feelings and depth and a history of memories you’ve never seen or heard of before, but you still somehow manage to paint him so clearly. Inside your words, Eddie exists as more than the entity that fame has created him to be, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he read something about himself and didn’t feel like a pawn.

It’s… refreshing.

Eddie flips the page, thinking there will be more you’ve written about him, but he’s selfishly disappointed when he realizes it’s just a personal entry. He scans the page, nearly deciding to close it for the day, when he catches a glimpse of a familiar name— Gareth.

It takes Eddie a moment to fully grasp the words you’ve written, the meaning of what exactly you’re explaining that you’d apparently discussed with Gareth. As soon as he lets the words settle into his chest, he’s storming into the building quicker than he can comprehend.

Bursting through the room of Richie's rented studio, Eddie makes a beeline for the sound booth where Gareth is busy tapping out a steady beat.

Eddie barely acknowledges you and the rest of the band in discussion off to the side, but his abrupt appearance has halted all conversation in the room. He storms up to Gareth behind his drum set and wastes no time gripping the man’s collar, gaze lit with fire and words seething as he leans in and glares down at the man. The room goes silent as soon as the question leaves Eddie’s lips, “Did you fuck Chrissy?”

Chrissy Cunningham was Eddie Munson’s high school sweetheart.

As the story goes, Eddie spent the better part of high school crushing on the cute captain of the cheerleading squad. For as long as he can remember, Eddie had been labeled as the school freak— something to do with his love of fantasy games and ‘odd music taste’— so he’d never imagined he would get a chance with Chrissy, but that all changed after a weird spiral of events they experienced together.

Eddie and Chrissy dated for a few years until Corroded Coffin went big. The long-distance trial of their relationship didn’t last long; Eddie rarely called Chrissy, and when he did call, they could only ever find time to argue about whatever Eddie had been photographed doing. Chrissy never came to watch the band once they moved out to LA, and she broke Eddie's heart the one time she did.

So, it’s no surprise that reading the words in your journal has twisted the knife that’d been lodged in Eddie’s chest for so long that he was sure he couldn’t feel it anymore— he was wrong.

Gareth is looking at Eddie as if Eddie has asked him if the sky is blue and Eddie’s mind is a whirling wind of fire. “What are you talking about, man?” Gareth’s eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Eddie sneers and pulls him closer, Gareth leaning so far off his stool that Eddie's grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him from the ground. Gareth drops his drumsticks to grab Eddie’s wrists as Eddie speaks, “Don’t bullshit me, Gareth. Did you fuck Chrissy, yes or no?”

Eddie looks at his best friend, and he sees lies, something he’s never had to associate with their friendship, and it almost hurts him more than what Chrissy did. Gareth stutters, shaking his head as if he wants to say no, tries to say no and deny that he slept with his best friend's girlfriend, but he can’t.

Gareth whispers Eddie’s name so quietly Eddie nearly misses it, but the quiver in his voice is all Eddie needs to hear to know the truth. Eddie doesn’t take a second to think before he cracks a closed fist down on his best friend's cheek, sending him back, crashing into the symbols in a clatter of noise.

He doesn’t wait to hear Gareth’s spew of apologies, and he doesn’t wait to listen to the pathetic excuses he makes up because he’s marching over to you next, a scowl on his face as he tosses your journal into your lap, and you look up at him in shock, “You dropped this on your way in.”

And if this is the end of Corroded Coffin, then Eddie’s sure you’ll have one hell of a story to write. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?

A good story.

————

part three

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a/n: AHH U MADE IT TO THE END, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975

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avocado-writing · 2 months

Note

hiii your bg3 writing is so *chefs kiss*

I was hoping you'd be able to write the companions' reactions to a bard!tav, giving them a private serenade one night. like they lead them to a clearing away from camp one night and there's a picnic set up and tav sings a song they wrote specifically for their love?

if all the companions is too many, could you please specifically do Halsin, Astarion, Minthara and Wyll?

oh, cute! going to give you a lute, as I think that’s easiest!

Astarion

he makes a comment about how he feels the picnic was a bit unnecessary as he can’t eat it, but you mention you’re his snack later ;)

you sit him down, pour him a glass of wine, and pull out your lute

you ask, suddenly uncharacteristically shy, if you can play him something.

he cocks his head to the side and nods.

your fingers dance across strings, and when you start to sing, he realises it’s a song about him.

you once offered to be his mirror, and tonight you repeat that. your song is about how lovely he is, in every way. how he’s handsome but kinder than he wants to admit. brave. fierce.

its the most sincere celebration of his character he’s ever heard, and by the end of it, he’s left shocked.

“oh…” “did you like it?” chewing your lip, nervous.

“it’s… you’re…” he really doesn’t have the words to convey how you’ve made him feel. so he gently takes your chin in his hand and kisses you.

the kiss gets deeper. the lute is abandoned. so, really, is the picnic. the music the two of you make then is of a different kind.

later, when he has time to come up with a suitable review, he will tell you how much it meant to him. you are his favourite musician, and he has a new favourite song.

Halsin

oh, he’s been around for a long time, but this is the first time someone’s done something like this for him.

he’s just sat in bowled-over silence as you play for him, and it is amazing. an epic ode to his life and kindness, how strong and handsome you think he is.

he comes closer as you sing, sitting right next to you. studying every inch of your face as you perform.

when you’re done, he tells you that it was the loveliest thing he’s ever heard.

“I’ve heard pods of whales singing as they meet up with their lost family… until now, it was the sweetest sound to have graced my ears.”

he gets you to repeat the song and turns into different animals to enjoy it, be it via vibrations or different ways of hearing. either way he wants to be surrounded by your music, and you.

Minthara

absolutely no idea how to respond.

she was brought up in a cutthroat world. this softness is new to her.

she remains quiet for a while as she tries to work out if you’re trying to get anything from her. is this a trick?

”oh, I’m sorry,” you say after a while when she’s just been staring. “did you not like it?”

”no. no, it was… play it again.”

you do, and she really listens to the lyrics. they’re about her beauty. how glad you are to have met her. her strength in battle and soul.

she’s exceptionally moved.

“this is… a priceless gift that you’ve given me. I have no way to repay you.” “I don’t need repayment. it was freely given.”

she kisses you, for she has no way else to thank you. you have moved her more than she thought possible.

Wyll

you play and he listens. his eyes and smile go wide.

absolutely enraptured. claps when you’re done, and cheers your performance. you laugh and bow for him.

he tells you how much you mean to him, what a sweet gift this is. how your love is his most treasured possession.

he reaches into his pocket… and takes out some paper.

“I… I know this is incredible timing but actually… I wrote you something, myself.”

and he starts to read out a poem.

oh, it is lovely. full of flowery verse, and sweet appreciations of you. all the little things which make him love you. you pick up your lute and play along eventually, and he gets into the rhythm too.

the two of you laugh at the fact that you both had the same idea! you’re so alike, so in sync.

he holds you tenderly, kisses you softly.

you end up writing many songs about your Blade. he is your perfect muse.

bonus:

Karlach bursts into tears when she hears it, and scoops you up into a big hug at the end. she’s so emotional. she can’t stop saying she loves you, she loves your song, all of it. lots of wet kisses for you.

Gale is rendered speechless for the first time he can remember. he just stares at you in adoration. he’s never had anyone love him enough to write a song about him before, and he full force of his affection for you hits him in that moment. he is smitten.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #wyll x tav #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x tav #wyll ravenguard x reader #karlach x tav #karlach x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #minthara x reader #minthara x tav

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threadbaresweater · 9 months

Text

in between | megumi fushiguro

You're not his girlfriend, but it's hard to deny the ache in your chest when you think of him. You're always there when he calls, but at what cost?

The details: female reader; fwb, sex with feelings, no curse au, megumi being distant and unemotional (for the most part). Aged-up Megumi (he and reader are both in their 20's). Previously posted under a different username. 3.1k words. Divider by @/cafekitsune

It’s late when Megumi calls.

The buzz of your phone against the nightstand lulls you from a dreamless sleep. You rub your eyes and squint at the screen, taking a deep breath as you decide whether or not you want to answer. You’re tired– it’s been a long week, and if you pick up the phone, you’ll be cutting into your precious sleep time. The other side of this coin is that if you don’t pick up, you’re not sure when you’ll see him or talk to him again. He’s not exactly been a predictable presence in your life, and you really do enjoy the fleeting moments he gives to you. So you accept the call, squeezing your eyes shut and yawning against the back of your hand.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” His voice makes your spine tingle; it's hushed and raspy, and you know he’s trying not to wake his roommate by talking too loud.

“Well, yeah. It’s…” you pull your phone away and squint at the time. “... ‘s past midnight, Megumi. What else would I be doing?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll let you go.”

“No, wait!” Damn it, you curse yourself. It’s clear you sound desperate, but the more you hear his breath, the more you want to feel it on your skin. You sit up and pull a pillow into your lap. “I’m up. I can’t sleep now, anyway.”

His laugh is quiet– a little bashful, a little incredulous. “You sure?”

“Totally.” I don’t know when I’ll see you again. “Give me a minute. Ten. Twenty.” You giggle and blush, swinging your feet over the side of the bed so you can shuffle to the bathroom. “Is it cold outside?”

“Not too bad, really. I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You end the call and find something comfortable to wear– nothing showy or dressy. It isn’t like you’re going anywhere public, anyway. Hair fixed into a sensible style, you spritz a little of the perfume that he’s told you he loves and grab your purse, deciding to take the stairs down to the lobby of your building.

He’s waiting in his little black car, windows down, music thumping– though not too loud. He reaches across and opens the door for you and you slip in, breathless, your heart already pounding.

“Hi,” he offers, nonchalant, almost bored. His lips curve into a little grin, and your stomach does a flip.

“Hi.” Your smile is a little more eager, but he thinks it’s cute, and he lets you know so by shaking his head, turning his eyes toward the road. “It’s nice out tonight.”

For a moment, you tune into the music on the stereo and murmur a few bars, laughing to yourself because the lyrics are so Megumi. He has a knack for choosing music that speaks to him while speaking about him at the same time, and you're always struck by how poignant the words are. There's not a particular genre that he sticks to– he's not picky. It just depends on the message of the song. The two of you have had several long discussions about what music means to you, and you always come away from them feeling like you don't know him as well as you thought you did.

Megumi is an enigma. He doesn't talk about his family or his past before you came into the picture. He tells you about all the crazy shit he does with his friends, all of his near-death experiences and places he's traveled and famous people he's met. There's a new story every time you meet up, and at some point you begin to wonder if he's telling the truth or if his life really is as insane as he makes it out to be. At just barely twenty-three, Megumi has seen and done more things than the average person will experience in an entire lifetime.

He's never met anyone like you, though. No one cuts through his defenses the way you do. No one clouds his thoughts the way you do, day in and day out. It's why he has to limit himself to only seeing you once a week, give or take. If he were to see you more often than that, he'd never be able to focus on anything else.

"You're quiet tonight," he says, reaching across to lay his hand on your thigh and give it a subtle squeeze. You roll down your window and suck in some of the fragrant, early summer air, thankful to see that he's driving further away from town tonight. There's a good amount of countryside that you've explored together, and you hope he's driving to your favorite spot. The sky is clear, temperature mild. It's the perfect night to lay a blanket out in your favorite field and stare at the stars.

"Been a long week," you say. "Work has been hell."

"Tell me about it," he encourages, making a gentle left turn onto the road you'd hoped. This one is gravel; he slows the car to avoid jostling you too much, but you don't mind. In the rear view mirror, you see a cloud of dust stirring in your path and it awakens a memory of the last time you came to this spot. You squeeze your legs together and stare out of the open window, hoping that tonight will be another for the memory books.

You tell him about work, about your shitty coworker who got caught stealing money from the bank deposits and threw a giant tantrum on her way out the door. About the lawsuit she threatened and the line of customers that was more concerned with the time they'd waited than the resulting drama from the discovery. By the time you're finished, he hasn't said a word, but he slows the car once he crests the top of a familiar hill and comes to a stop, shifting into park. The rumble of the gravel road stops, and the resulting silence feels too loud for a few seconds. The song changes, and he hums the melody, his arm hanging loosely out the window, fingers drumming on the side of the car.

"I remembered you liked it up here." He's quiet tonight, too. There's something on his mind, but you don't want to pry. Megumi will talk when he wants to and not a second before. So you nod and hum in agreement, hopping out of the car. You circle around to the back and knock on the trunk; he opens it with the press of a button and kills the engine but leaves the radio playing. The music is an important part of his night with you.

You pull the blanket from the trunk and toss it over your shoulder. Megumi meets you and steps close, fingertips grazing your hips while his eyes adjust to the darkness. Your heart jumps when his scent surrounds you, and you find yourself stepping closer as if you're somehow magnetized to him, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

"Hi," you breathe, lips slightly parted, anticipating his next move.

"Let's walk," he says, threading his fingers between yours and stepping off into the tall grass. You don't move far from the car before you stop, declaring that this is the perfect spot, your head tilted back toward the sky as you drink in the stars. Away from the city, they're brilliant and sparkling, and you aren't really able to fathom just how many there actually are.

Megumi thinks your eyes shine brighter than any of them, but he'd never say that out loud. He'd never forgive himself for being so unbelievably dorky by saying something romantic like that. Instead, he lifts the blanket from your shoulders and spreads it out on the dewy grass, then sits down with his long legs crossed, tugging at your hand until you crumple to the ground beside him and kick off your shoes.

"You have a knack for finding good scenery," he admits, gliding his hand back and forth over your knee, your calf, then back up to your thigh. "I like this spot a lot."

"You like small talk tonight, too," you counter, poking his shoulder, feeling impatient for his touch somewhere other than your leg. "What's going on with you? You're acting weird."

He shrugs and grabs your hand before you can reclaim it, lifting it to his lips for a kiss to the back. "I'm not allowed to miss you?"

You laugh a little, short and exasperated. "Well yeah, but just say it instead of trying to make small talk. This isn't like you."

He leans into you then, fingers trailing over your cheek, his breath cool and peppermint-scented. Your eyes flutter closed and you curl your own fingers just under the collar of his shirt, giving him a subtle tug to bring him even closer. "Fine. I missed you. But I don't now." He kisses you then, soft and pliant and achingly tender. It leaves you wanting more, but you could also kiss him just like this for the rest of your life.

"I missed you, too," you whisper when his lips fall to your neck and his tongue traces a path back upward to your jawline. His hands cup your face, fingers fanned behind your ears, guiding you so that more of your neck is exposed to his mouth.

He whispers your name and guides you to lie back just as a breeze blows through the field. It stirs his hair and he pushes it back away from his eyes before leaning against you to kiss you differently now- a little harder, a little more insistent. It's instinct for you to arch your back, hands pressing into his back to hold him in place. You find yourself at ease with Megumi more often than not– you're not afraid to give into your desires, most of which have been discovered and explored thoroughly by (and with) his hand. You've not been with many men, but Megumi has been your favorite.

It's not just about the sex, though anyone looking from the outside in might think that. It's convenient for both of you– no strings, no feelings beyond a deep friendship. Your best friend calls him your fuck-buddy, but you know it's more. Just…not as much as it takes for a full-fledged relationship. Megumi has told you that time and time again. He's satisfied with your arrangement. You are too, for the most part. You're free to date other people, free to live your own life, to finish your degree and keep your apartment tidy and keep your own hours without worrying about accommodating someone else.

When he lifts your shirt away and unclasps your bra, you wonder fleetingly what it might be like to wake up next to him. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and all coherent thought floats away on the night breeze, and you bury your fingers in his hair, crying out his name. You scramble to pull his own shirt away, claiming an unfair playing field, then drag your nails down his back as he moves over top of you, grinding his half-hard self against your thigh. You suck a mark into his neck and hear him hiss, muttering something about his roommate.

You freeze. "What?"

Nonplussed, he devours the soft skin between your breasts, one hand grabbing and pulling while the other parts your thighs, fingers pressing against the heat beneath your jeans. "They're gonna ask about the hickey."

"So?" Try as you might, you can't fight the roll of your hips when he touches you through your pants. He's good. Too good.

"They don't know about us." He kisses downward over your abdomen, nibbling at the soft flesh of your belly before biting the waist of your jeans, pulling them away from your body and nudging his nose against your hip.

"Whose fault is that?" you ask, unable to resist pushing your fingers through his hair again. "Why is it a big deal if you're sleeping with me?"

He unfastens your jeans. You let him. "'S not. Just not their business, that's all."

He's right, but it gnaws at you anyway. You grab fistfuls of his hair and tug when you feel his breath on the part of you that needs him most, and he peels your jeans away fully, dropping them into the pile of clothes at the foot of your blanket. You're completely nude and entirely vulnerable to him now. He kneels over you, bangs hanging in his face, a small smile on his kiss-swollen lips. "You alright?"

You lie. You nod, using the ball of your foot to nudge the bulge in his pants. "Need you," you say, sitting up to help him take off his pants.

Months of this, and you know exactly what he likes– how he wants to be with you, where he likes to be kissed (his neck, just below his ear) and how he likes to be touched (a heavy, reassuring hand, kneading his muscles, pulling at flesh). You know he doesn't care to receive, but he loves to give. Megumi is a generous lover, thorough and deliberate and intentional with every move, each kiss. He wasn't always; the first few times you hooked up were less than incredible, but you couldn't stay away from him. It wasn't always about the sex at first, anyway. He was easy to talk to because he didn't say much. He let you ramble without judgment and without making you feel as if you were burdening him somehow. Though he'd offer little in the way of advice or encouragement, you appreciated his quiet candor, his way of absorbing without getting emotionally involved in your woes.

You connected in a physical way, too. It was obvious the first time he kissed you, and with how fast things escalated, you knew he wouldn't be someone you could easily give up. He made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want a relationship beyond a friendship, and you agreed. You didn't need the drama of a romantic relationship, either.

When he moves inside you, you'd swear you're lifted clean off the ground. He's a perfect fit, and it never fails to take your breath away. Week after week, he brings you the most satisfying pleasure, taking his time to make sure there's not one inch of your body left untouched, un-kissed, unloved. He worships you, the way you make him feel, the way your body seems made for his. He likes to do it outside, though the car has proved hot in more ways than one when the weather isn't cooperative. You've done it in the rain though, all giggles and slippery skin and soaked hair. There's a certain trust you've built, but because you're not a regular thing, it feels special every time he calls you to meet up.

When he feels you begin to quiver, your breath fast and hot against the sharp line of his jaw, he pulls you up, away from the blanket, arms wrapped securely around your back. He shifts just enough so that he's sitting with you straddled across his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, just at a different angle now. He pushes his thumbs under your chin and cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes with intimidating intensity. He's close– you see it in the way his jaw twitches, his eyes shine with something deep and concentrated. His lips hover close to yours, parted just slightly while you roll your hips against his, fingers knotted together at the base of his neck. You start to tell him you're coming but he licks the words out of your mouth, muffling your whimpers when you start to pulse and fall apart around him.

Megumi curses and bites down on your bottom lip, sharing his breath with you while he tugs at your hair, his other hand splayed across your lower back to push you in at just the right angle so he feels all of you. It spurns his release, too, and his typically quiet nature is betrayed with a surprised shout as he comes faster than he'd known he could. Each breath you take is punctuated with your cries, and you cling desperately to him, your entire body coursing with the aftershock of your release.

For a long time, you hold each other. You wait until your heart steadies, Megumi regulates his breathing, and he kisses your shoulder, then rubs his cheek against the sweat-slick skin of your neck. He kisses your ear, then pushes his nose against your cheek, cradling you as close as you can possibly get.

"It's hard for me…to admit that I need someone," he confesses.

You kiss the crown of his head and tug him against your chest. Though your legs still quiver, you try your best to stay like this for him. He's almost always more likely to talk after you've had sex– he feels raw and vulnerable, and he knows he can bury his secrets in your skin. You're good at giving him that, too.

"I know…I know." You stroke his back and feel him relax further until he's heavy enough to push you down onto your back.

He hovers over you, eyes searching your face. "Why do you always answer when I call?"

"I never know when I'll see you again if I don't," you admit, feeling oddly embarrassed.

"You can call me too, you know," he says, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.

You know better than to fall for it, though. He's said it before, and you've called. You've texted. You've waited and waited for him to call back, and he'll only do it on his time. So, you've learned to save yourself the embarrassment and wait for him to make a move. Is it wrong? Your best friend seems to think so.

Do you care? Nah. It makes sense for you right now. And when Megumi whispers to you how soft you are, and how right you feel, you find you can't argue with him about who calls who and who is more available at the drop of a hat.

It's not love…at least not yet. But you'll enjoy the in-between for a while.

#megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #cleaning up the google docs and found this old gem

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shayyprasad · 25 days

Text

cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

repost because this fic flopped with, like, 10 notes. if you look at the og, it says 700ish because of the prev notes of what i reblogged. interact with this fic, it's what keeps me going!

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."