#but when other people make pretty clear that they are uncomfortable with something you are doing. quit fucking doing it
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𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬 𝔬𝔟𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔵
𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱
𓆩♡𓆪 Ive noticed people with a strong Pluto or Neptune to appear out of nowhere. You are watching tv and suddenly they are just sitting there. You didnt even see when they walked in and sat down. If you think about them you will most likely see them within a week even if you havent seen them for years.
𓆩♡𓆪 Asteroid Jung(11518) was named after the famous psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung. He founded analytical psychology. People with this asteroid prominent have a unique way of understanding the human Psyche and its functioning.
𓆩♡𓆪 People with planets in your 10th house might have heard about you a lot. Might have been around people who talk about you a lot so you are like a celebrity to them. Ive noticed this a lot irl that the people I heard a lot of rumours about and later got to know I had planets in their 10th house so I knew who they were before we met. Doesnt have to be bad rumours can be just people talking about you in general.
𓆩♡𓆪 How to know an 8th house Sun is near you? Weird changes start to happen. I swear an 8th house Sun walks into the workplace and all of a sudden the boss gets fired, employees fired, the company changes its logo. Its not their fault they just awake certain energies.
𓆩♡𓆪 Plutonians be moving like a spy. They see whos 100 meters infront of them. They will see you from 100 meters away and be able to take a shortcut before you saw them if they are not in a talking mood. Scanning the environment. Sitting in the back of the classroom to see who walks in.
𓆩♡𓆪 You might fit the beauty standard of the countries that have your Ascendant sign as their Venus. For example South Korea have a Cancer Venus and the typical ”Cancer look” is considered beautiful there. The clear glowy skin, round features, hyperfeminine look is considered typical for Cancer Risings.
𓆩♡𓆪 India have a Leo Venus and long thick hair is a beauty standard there(lol its a beauty standard in most countries) BUT romani people come from India originally and are known for their long hair because romani women are not supposed to ever cut their hair during their life.
𓆩♡𓆪 If you have 12th house ruler in the 1st house your mental health is very visible on your appearance. If you do drugs, are depressed, tired or going through something everyone can see it.
𓆩♡𓆪 Moon aspecting Saturn tend to do ”adult stuff” early. Might have kids or move out from their childhood home before they are even 18. All my friends with a Moon/Saturn aspect lost their virginity and started working earlier than the rest of us.
𓆩♡𓆪 People tend to ”deny” their Chiron wound. Its often where people are quick to scream ”im not insecure!!”. For exemple most of my friends with Chiron 1st house would NEVER admit they feel insecure and will instead project this onto others. People dont like to be reminded of their Chiron and might go a lifetime avoiding it.
𓆩♡𓆪 People with Sun in the 8th house might dislike to show any signs of an ego. Might also feel uncomfortable around people with ego issues. They dont seem to like bragging, showing off, competing and other signs of ego issues.
𓆩♡𓆪 People with a Moon/Pluto or Venus/Pluto aspect in their natal chart seem to often have other women asking their boyfriends or other girls if the Venus/Pluto person is pretty or not. ”Shes not that pretty right?” ”Would you go out with her if you werent with me??”. Same with Lilith aspects.
𓆩♡𓆪 12th house synastry can make one of yall see the other as the secret friend or the friend you meet up for a cig in the middle of the night. Or the friend you traumadump on or talk to about negative stuff you dont want to bother others with.
𓆩♡𓆪 The mobwife trend just screams Venus/Pluto & Venus 8th house. The shiny wine red bags, the leoprints, the black furcoats.
𓆩♡𓆪 Libra Venus tend to be repulsed by brash people while other Libra placements seems to be drawn to them.
𓆩♡𓆪 If im ever arrested I want someone with Uranus 3rd house with me. They will come up with an excuse and escape plan before we even get in the cop car. Quick minds.
𓆩♡𓆪 Men with Aries Rising or MC tend to have people threathen others with their name. I know several men with these placements and people will mention their name in fights ”If you mess with me I will go get David to beat you up”. People will also literally walk up to them crying like ”That guy over there just beat me” and expect the Aries ASC/MC man to do something about it.😂 Girl I dont know you I aint beating nobody up for you.😭
𓆩♡𓆪 Some of the most famous criminals have Lilith in the 6th house. For example Bugsy Siegel and John Dillinger. Because fuck a 9 to 5. No but seriously these people might feel a strong need to rebel against the typical work and routine thing.
𓆩♡𓆪 If yall have Mars 10th house in the composite chart and you dont like eachother everyone will know it. If you are a couple people will see that yall fight a lot. You know that couple we all know whos broken up and gotten together like 100 times? Yeah they might have this one.
𓆩♡𓆪 People with Demeter(1108) or Ceres(1) conjunct Moon NEED to nurture something. If not a child they might be into plants. Just something they can take care of.
𓆩♡𓆪 People with Demeter(1108) or Ceres(1) conjunct personal planets radiate warmth and nurture. People who dont get this warmth at home will be extra drawn to them.
𓆩♡𓆪 Harvey Weinstein having Pluto and Lilith conjunct his MC really makes sense. With these placements its impossible to hide what you are up to. People will find out eventually.
𓆩♡𓆪 You probably have 3rd house synastry with a lot of people in the neighbourhood you grew up in, especially since yall were not only neighbours but also went to the same elementary school.
𓆩♡𓆪 Moon 1st house synastry = Always having a special place in eachothers heart. 🫶
𓆩♡𓆪 People with Mars Square Sun often have a scar somewhere around their right eye.
© 2024 Zeldas Notes All Rights Reserved
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how do i start setting firm boundaries with this kid in my club who keeps making unfunny jokes and taking over the whole meeting and pissing me the fuck off without like dragging down the vibes of the entire thing. because i did not manage it tonight, i got genuinely hostile and killed the vibes👍
#he is in the wrong here like fucking. if theres four people in ur club meeting for the week#and you say ‘hey put on this clip of this brutal saw trap’#and one of the other people (1/4 of the group!) says ‘i do not want to see that’#i think u r an asshole for insisting on watching it! and making me have to awkwardly sit in the hall cause just hearing the audio made me#feel nauseous!#lime.txt#sigh. he also just like. he doesnt mesh with the group he’s a first year but he acts like a middle schooler#i get being a fucking 18 year old guy and joining a niche media club and like not understanding feminism#but when other people make pretty clear that they are uncomfortable with something you are doing. quit fucking doing it#and i swear to god he keeps making us watch nu metal music videos#like today he did it TWICE every fucking time we start talking about something else#like me and this other guy started talking about gundam and he was explaining in depth why he was disappointed w the turn the 2nd season#of iron blooded orphans took and i was like omg interesting and he was like was gwitch good and then i was like yeah its an homage to rgu#and literally mid conversation this other kid puts a fucking linkin park music video on the tv and makes us all watch it. like fuck offfffff#sorry im genuinely too mad to do my work rn i need to destress im gonna have some cereal
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chronic pain off the shits rn I wish I could talk openly about what is happening to me without it being triggering/taboo
#insane how i can be suffering through something but cant verbalise it without bothering others#like but im actually experiencing it though?????#dykwim#it would make everyone else uncomfortable so the social protocol is Suffer In Silence#im not talking abt others whove been through it and could be actually triggered to be clear#bc im pretty sure that if youve been there then a trigger warning would be enough#im talking about everyone else who hasnt been through these specific things who would make their discomfort my fault and my problem#etc etc#sometimes its okay to sit with your discomfort especially if it deepens your understanding of marginalised people around you#not everything has to be comfortable and palatable some things are SUPPOSED to be uncomfortable to hear/read/see#and that doesnt always mean that those things are bad and wrong and evil#also if a kid is old enough for unsupervised internet access theyre old enough to learn about difficult topics#it will help them become a well informed well rounded and compassionate individual#anyway#autocorrect is saving my fucking life you guys have no idea how hard spelling is rn#i dont have the wherewithal to deal with someone saying something negative if i share this very painful experience im having rn#safe to say i am triggering MYSELF#and that in itself i could go on and on abt how that proves that sometimes smth WILL trigger you#and it is not the end of the world when that happens#you will deal with it like all difficult things#nd if you are strong enough to go through ordeals that led to having trigger responses you are strong enough to get through being triggered#like you WILL make it i promise#and sometimes its not anyones fault that you were triggered#its certainly not my fault that i am being triggered by something outside my control even if that thing is my own body#dont know what im saying anymore im too scattered mentally#i hope no one takes any of this the wrong way
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Okay, so with Quackity Studios tweeting about adding new people and the need for tolerance and patience with people who don't speak English, let's just take a second and have a chat about what that's gonna look like.
First: you will hear things or read things on the translator that hurt or offend you.
This is inevitable. Do not immediately post about it. What you need tolerance for is hearing things that hurt or offend you and what you need patience for is figuring out of malicious intent was present or if this is a hill worth dying on right now.
As an example, we're pretty sure at this point that Korean is gonna be the next language added. The second person pronoun in Korean sounds a lot like the n-word in English. The n-word in English, if you're not aware, is like the single most offensive slur we have. It's not something that you want to hear unexpectedly. But also, if we get Koreans, they're gonna be using the word for "you" and English speakers are gonna have to be able to tolerate that.
On the other side of things, Korean has a complex system of honorifics and addressing someone without an honorific would be considered very forward and intimate at least if not very rude. None of the QSMP languages have honorifics though and only French really retains formality* so no one else is going to address them with honorifics unless they specifically explain it to people and walk them through it. That will probably be weird and uncomfortable for them and they're going to have to be able to tolerate that.
*Spanish and Portuguese do technically have formal vs informal but it's disappearing quickly in both of them.
These natural cultural clashes and pain points are going to be harder to overcome since we also know that at least some of these creators won't speak English at all so they can't just switch to English to helpfully explain things to us easily in a way we understand. We're going to have to deal.
So here's the thing: just because there can be cultural miscommunications and mistranslations, that doesn't mean that people can't also be assholes. How do you distinguish between the two?
Step One: Assume good faith. Assume that everyone in a given encounter is trying to communicate respectfully and compassionately and that a failure to do so can be overcome
Step Two: Don't get involved. Especially not in Twitch Chat. Two or more people trying to communicate through a language barrier does not get easier when they're also trying to wrangle hostile viewers.
Step Three: Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard or saw what you thought you saw? Did the translator fuck up? Is it a word that just coincidentally happens to sound like another word? If this is the case, the streamers can ask for clarification or use another tool and get it cleared up. Keep watching and see if they do.
Step Four: If they did say what you thought they said, are the streamers handling it? We had a thing a while back where Bad called some friends, including Bagi and Etoiles, uncultured because they didn't get a reference he was making and Etoiles was like "bro I'm French" and Bad apologized. That should have been the end of it, but I had to see people arguing about it for weeks. The problem was solved in 10 seconds.
Step Five: If the person is doubling down, are you sure this is something you can fix by yelling about it on Twitter or Tumblr? Would it be better to let people who actually know them talk to them behind the scenes? Pierre made a few missteps in the beginning of the server, Quackity said they had a chat, Pierre hasn't misstepped since. It's just easier to sort things out in private, one on one conversation than yelling at someone in public.
In short: it's fine to take note of behavior in case patterns start to emerge in it, but yelling on social media about how so and so is the worst person possible is not constructive.
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Bedside Manner
Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 8K
Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.
It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.
The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.
“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.
Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.
But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.
Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.
All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.
“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.
Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.
Normally.
But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.
“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.
You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.
The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.
You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.
It was supposed to be a fun day.
You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.
There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.
You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.
The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.
The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.
Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.
You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.
Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.
And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.
You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.
He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.
“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.
“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.
And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.
When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.
“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.
You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.
You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.
“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”
You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.
“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.
“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.
“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”
Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.
Respectfully, of course.
Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.
“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.
“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.
“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.
You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.
And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.
You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.
And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.
Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.
He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.
Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.
But he’s never made a move.
If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.
You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.
Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.
The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.
The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.
Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.
And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.
You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.
You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.
Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.
The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.
You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.
The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.
Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.
You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.
The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.
For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.
It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.
Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.
And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.
“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.
They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.
It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.
It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.
You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.
There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.
And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.
You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.
As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.
“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.
They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.
Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.
Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.
His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.
You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.
“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.
“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.
“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.
“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.
The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.
And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.
Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.
The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.
Just not like this.
With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.
Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.
Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.
Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”
“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.
“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.
“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.
You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.
She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.
“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.
“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.
You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.
And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.
The two of you silent and motionless.
You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.
His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.
“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.
“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”
“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”
Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.
“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.
You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.
He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.
You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.
All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.
You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.
This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.
You want the Bradley from earlier.
The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.
The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.
You want your Bradley.
The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.
The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.
You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.
For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.
“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”
We.
You wanted that with him.
You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.
The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.
Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.
When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.
“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.
“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.
Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.
“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.
He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.
It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.
He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.
It’s never felt this strained with him before.
It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.
Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.
He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.
He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.
“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.
When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.
“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.
“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”
“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.
“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.
You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?
He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.
“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”
“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”
“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.
“Ok, good,” he grumbles.
“Great,” you lob back.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.
“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.
“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.
A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”
Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.
You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.
Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.
“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.
“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.
And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.
“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.
He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.
“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.
Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.
“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”
“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”
He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.
“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.
The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.
“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”
“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”
You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.
Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”
The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.
“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”
“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”
You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.
“Bradley, the light.”
The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.
“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.
“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.
“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.
Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.
He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.
The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.
“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.
“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.
The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.
“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”
“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.
He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.
“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.
“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.
He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”
“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.
“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.
Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.
He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.
There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.
“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”
“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”
“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”
“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.
“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.
“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.
“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.
“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.
“Done.”
“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.
“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”
“And then you’ll kiss me?”
“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.
He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.
“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.
“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”
“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”
“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.
You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Guess we will,” he rasps.
Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.
You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.
There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.
You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.
Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.
You’ve got that forever feeling about him.
Oh, oh, oh.
Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.
This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!
The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"
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#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x female reader
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𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)
read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!
Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.
He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking. You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.
That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you. Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?
Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer. Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.
But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue. Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.
I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…
He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably. And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you. Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?
And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.
As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.
“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud. “You want it, baby? It’s all fucking yours.”
He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier. Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.
You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off. It was still true, but more specific than necessary. He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too. But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.
“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now. It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.
He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…
His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm. “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”
He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close. Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge. His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.
It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment. The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.
His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you. He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.
When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.
No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.
It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind. After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers. (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)
Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless. He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.
Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.
He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.
Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut. As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.
Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention. “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.
“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”
The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.
For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had. He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you. He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual. Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.
Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake. Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.
The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.
Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top. Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.
“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”
“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not. Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter. “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.
“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized. “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”
“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”
“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”
The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.
“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile. Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next. “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”
He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion. “What— what does it say?!” “Read it, Kountze!”
“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.
Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered. “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh. “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”
“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.
“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away. He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned. “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”
Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away. The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.
Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.
He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you. You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling. But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.
Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.
Is this what love feels like?
//
It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more. Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?
But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you. Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders. Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—
Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.
You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him. Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.
For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz. It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.
Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent. His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough. Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party. Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.
And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you. He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.
“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.
“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed. “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”
“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”
He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away. “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.
“Tell me what?”
“You remember Brian Stevenson?”
“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur. “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”
“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.
“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously. “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”
“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed. You nodded. He looked away. “Right— that’s… cool. That’s cool.”
You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden. “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”
“Right,” he interrupted sharply. “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know. That it wasn’t anything.”
“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.
“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen. “Did you even mean that?”
“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously. “That’s… that’s just something people say…”
He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you. He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.
“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.
“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”
“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.
“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply. “It’s— you know, it is what it is. It was just one of those things.”
“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded. He didn’t. And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.
“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.
“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.
Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands. That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad. Not devastated. Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.
It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun. You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.
//
It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party. Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail. There was a lot more alcohol, though.
You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on. Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.
Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back. “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him. Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up. It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable. He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.
You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race. Who, after all, would he be racing against?
For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably). He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.
Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”
You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.
Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.
“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious. Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even. You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.
“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.
“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him. “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”
“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again. “Fucking idiots…”
Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.
“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?
Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.
“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.
“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.
“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.
“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.
A brief moment passed. “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.
“Jesus,” you hissed.
“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained. “We were so good together.”
“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”
“No— it’s not. It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.
“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.
“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced. “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”
“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”
“Damn right I’m not!” he spat. “You’re all I could think about, for months! Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head! And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything. Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”
“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.
“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you. “Does he make you feel special? Does he make you come?”
“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay? I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”
“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you. But… but what about me, y’know? He doesn’t need you like I do.”
Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.
“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t? But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you. I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid! You’re my dream girl!”
“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain. “That’s a fantasy!”
“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side. “It’s so real, you know it is.”
You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that. You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.
And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless. He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian. You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.
He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other. You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment. Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.
Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so. But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did. And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.
//
You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement. You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him. He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?
“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.
“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.
“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.
He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.
“It was a mistake,” you decided. “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go. And if you didn’t tell Brian.”
“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “I wasn’t gonna tell him. But I still think you should dump him.”
“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.
“I know,” he breathed.
You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.
“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened. “I fucking love you.”
“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.
“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded. “I know how I feel, okay? When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”
You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench. Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.
“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed. “You love me too, don’t you? I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it? It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”
“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”
He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again. “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”
“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained. “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”
“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this. I want to really be together,” he replied. You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again. “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”
You shook your head. “No, you can’t do that.”
“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized. You smiled, but shook your head again.
“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.
He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground. “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”
“What?!” you blurted out. “Angus, no—”
“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms. “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown. You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”
“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”
“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.
Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment. “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little. “You can do a lot better than a state school.”
“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously. “My grades are kinda… inconsistent. And I went to so many different high schools—”
“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed. “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here. You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”
He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.
“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him. “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”
For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face. “Wait— is that what this is all about?”
“What?”
“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.
You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him. Instead of answering directly, you just stammered. “Well, y-you’re young, and—”
He cut you off quickly with a laugh. “Oh my god! You think I give a shit about that?”
“No,” you shot back, “but you should. You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge. “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with? What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without? Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”
“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently. “It’s your first love. It fades.”
“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen. “God, I don’t want it to.”
You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before. In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact. It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.
When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek. “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please. Tell me it’s not going to end.”
“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest. “It has to end, someday.”
You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.
“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.
Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.
There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end. And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good. That hope had only ever led to pain before. But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.
So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday. Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings. Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave. Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless. Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.
Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive. Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again. Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.
The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter. It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful. He loved you. Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special. His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.
When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away. “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it. You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable. After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.
Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different. I trust you. I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try. I’m sorry. I’m so glad I met you. I’ll never forget you. Please don’t let me go.
Somehow, you felt like he heard each one. Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.
//
Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long. You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.
The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets. Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels. You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.
Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.
“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.
“Yeah,” you agreed.
“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.
Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.
“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.
“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not,” he shrugged. “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”
“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much. “Not here.”
“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even. You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee. After a few moments, though, you spoke again.
“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”
“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave. You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass. Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.
When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside. Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.
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Whiskey on the Tongue
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.
Words: 2.2k
A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.
It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.
I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.
Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.
*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***
Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg. It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.
The door to his room in the bunker was closed. Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it. You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book. The very book that was in your hands right now.
“I need that book back, Dean.” Sam grumbled.
“Not now, Sammy!” Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.
“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean. It’s important.” Sam became more insistent.
“I said NOT NOW, SAM!” Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.
Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away. Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed. Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee. You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.
He was going to hell. Straight there. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. And he probably deserved it.
He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans. If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room. Bobby was always protective of you, his niece. You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.
“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped. Do you hear me, boy?”
Bobby Singer. That man did not mince his words. And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel. Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.
You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg. The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.
Dean decided he could die like this. If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.
He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.
It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk. You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells. You said he quieted the noise in your head. Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home. You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way. Not that slutty was bad. Dean liked slutty. But that wasn’t you, you were different.
A drink. That’s what was missing. Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.
He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions. A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.
The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move. Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.
“Where’s yours?”
The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.
“Don’t pout.” You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.
Dean’s jaw went slack. The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry. He had never seen you like this.
You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside. He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.
Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid. You leaned in.
Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt. You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way. The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were. His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.
He refused to lick where you had been. He couldn’t. As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…
“Don’t.” He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.
You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt. He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.
“Bobby…” Was all he could say through his constricting throat.
You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”
Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain. The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan. He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.
His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled. He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.
Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths. He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them. Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening. Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this. You had intended this from the beginning.
He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down. Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.
Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy. You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.
While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped. You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time. You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat. You weren’t disappointed.
Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal. Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other. Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet. Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare. Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.
“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”
You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot. Fuck, he was good with his tongue. Everything about him was good except his image. Bad boy Dean Winchester. He was every woman’s wet dream. He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen. But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.
Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid. Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.
Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot. You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life. He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm. When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down. He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while. You were a beautiful mess.
“That’s my girl.” He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself. “Are you ready for me?”
You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.
From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it. He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.
When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms. It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you. You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have. Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this. God, he hoped not.
Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips. His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.
“Tell me what you need.” He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.
“Just you, like this.” You sighed. Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.
His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it. It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on. He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.
You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you. When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.
Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.
“Shot.” You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.
He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said: What can I say? I don’t miss.
When you moved to sit, he stopped you.
“Here, lemme get that.”
“Thanks.”
He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs. Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved. Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest. You were both content. Both had goofy grins on your faces. Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.
A loud knock at the door started you.
“Are you done?” Sam said. “I need that book.”
“NO!” You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.
“Bobby’s gonna kill you.” Sam called back through the door.
“I KNOW!” Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.
There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again. In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.
Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name. Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#spn#supernatural fic#spn fanfic#dean winchester fic#cloudy's writing#my first spn fic
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riize when they're jealous
shotaro
is a little oblivious at first- for example: tries to make friends with the guy
then as the conversation drags on and taro realizes this guy is barely acknowledging him,, and is literally only talking to you he gets pretty uncomfortable
you are also getting uncomfortable and shotaro notices so he finds a way to quickly end the conversation (pretending you had somewhere else to be or smth)
he doesn't get too down about if afterwards and definitely doesn't blame you for anything he just tries to make jokes about how attractive you are "people just can't stay away from you! you're like the flower to a bee （⌒▽⌒）”
but honestly, it still irks him a bit. pls make sure to give him at least one kiss and remind him he's ur shining star
eunseok
def not the type to be worried about you around his friends or your male friends.. but random guys actually hitting on you in real.
he would never admit to being jealous, he tries to tell himself he's just annoyed with the guy or like.. worried for your safety which- um ok wtv
that being said ,, when he does get this way he goes completely cold. hard frown, glaring eyes, clenched jaw etc. etc.
he's very confident in your relationship but something about the highly unrealistic possibility that you could be swayed to leave him ruffles his feathers to say the least
i hope no one would be bold enough to try to hit on you WHILE you're with him because he'd immediately get in front of you and confront the guy "who even are you? what do you need to talk to her for?"
sungchan
oh dear lord.... it's not good. like he wont hurt anyone but sometimes wants to. like,,,
ok it depends if you were far away talking to a guy he would immediately come over and wrap his arm around you and goes "who's this." and ur like PLS don’t do anything embarrassing 😳
it’s to the point he does not want to hear about your past relationships (unless it was like a serious conversation) bc it makes his skin crawl thinking about another person touching his girl
he trusts his friends but it will take a bit of convincing to trust your friends. not bc he doesn’t have faith in you he would just get pissed at other people thinking they had a chance
i’m making him sound like a freak but he’s very open and vocal about how he feels and wants to work on it with you - but he’s always gonna be protective like a guard dog
wonbin
he’s like ., quiet possessive (?) he's just like " ur only my baby right?" wants you all to himself, near him as much as possible
jokingly says you can’t watch other groups but is like ..half joking he lowkey doesn’t want you thinking other guys are cooler than him
it really just comes down to the fact that he doesn't want to lose you.
if there was a real situation where someone was like actually flirting with you, he would get soooo sulky. - like comes over to you and puts his hand on your back, smiling at you like everything is fine 🙂( 😐)
but when he hears you say "yes, this is my boyfriend i was telling you about." his chest puffs up and he’s like jumping for joy inside T_T needs extra kisses too afterwards
seunghan
you are his baby and is very clear about it in public . always has his hands on you so it would be insane for someone to hit on you but if he walked away and someone approached u…
hhhhh lowkey gets an attitude … mostly with the other guy like tongue in cheek “is this guy serious…”
honestly kind of confrontational “can i help you? what do you need from my girlfriend?” can be intimidating when he wants to and makes sure people know he is NOT playing around
first makes sure you’re ok and then he’s like “wtf.. do i have to give you an ‘i ♡ my bf’ shirt or smth”
with his and your friends he doesn’t have a problem he trusts you all the way he just gets offended when people don’t get the hint that you’re taken
sohee
surprisingly, gets more jealous than you’d expect like sometimes ur like ???
he really just wants all your attention and if other guys try to take it he’s like . abt to start barking
that being said he trusts you 100% but when you notice his smile is like 10% less bright than usual and you ask what’s wrong he’s like “OHHH nothing -_- i just can’t believe i’m up against the whole city bc you’re so pretty. what am i to do ?”
ur just like 😭my sweet boy !! give him a kiss he’ll be cured and recovers pretty quickly
kind of is one that doesn’t really like you having male friends but he doesn’t want to control you so he’s doing deep breathing exercises if you’re really involved in a conversation with someone that isn’t him.
anton
ohhh sweet sweet anton. honestly ! doesn’t get too jealous
like he gives u your space if you’re talking to another guy but if they start subtly hitting on you he’s like ?
will bring it up to you later when you’re sitting with him like stroking your arm and he’s like “sooooo that guy ..” and ur like oh 🙄that was so annoying. did it upset you? :( and he’s like “um . i mean… well not really it was just weird ..”
will appreciate your reassurance more than he shows you
might be one to be insecure with you around the members just because you would get so close to them he’s like ha…. what if they got even closer … but then he remembers none of you would ever do that then he just hugs you a little tighter
#yipee!#might make some longer posts abt this…#riize#riize scenarios#riize wonbin#riize imagines#riize x reader#riize fluff#shotaro x reader#shotaro#eunseok x reader#eunseok#sungchan x reader#sungchan#wonbin x reader#wonbin#seunghan x reader#seunghan#sohee x reader#sohee#anton x reader#anton#shotaro imagines#eunseok imagines#sungchan imagines#wonbin imagines#seunghan imagines#sohee imagines#anton imagines
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hi i saw that you mentioned you’d do Obey Me Characters react to you being jealous and was wondering if you did it, cause i couldn’t find it 😅. and if not.. well i guess this is a request haha thank you 🫶
The brothers reacting to a jealous MC
Notes: Omg it's been yeaaaaars since I talked about that jsnsjqh I totally forgot
Gender: neutral
Warnings: none
Masterlist
Lucifer
Saying that he doesn't enjoy the scene that unfolds before him would be a lie. You're standing there with your arms crossed and a frown on your face, too proud to admit your jealousy
He might even tease you little bit and have that awful cocky grin form on his pretty lips. That frustrates you more than anything
"Don't be a fool, my love. As much as I take joy in seeing you like this I don't want you to feel insecure."
"I'm not insecure though. I trust you."
"I know, but nevertheless I want you to remember that you have no competition. You could never have competition."
Maybe it's his reassuring voice or the adoration that is oh so obvious in his eyes that makes the silly voice in the back of your head shut up. You believe him when he says that no one compares
Mammon
So many mixed feelings. On one hand he likes the thought of having his favorite person fight for him, but on the others he really doesn't want you to beat yourself up over this
Mammon is a party animal and incredibly outgoing so those traits naturally come with some side effects which is in this case an overly confident admirer. The same admirer who is currently experiencing the terror of a lifetime thanks to the deadly looks you're giving them
As much as a jerk your beloved boyfriend can be this time he's keeping his teasing comments to himself. On the contrary even. He's sending clear signals towards the other demon by displaying so much affection towards you to the point where you have to practically shove him off you. It still leaves you giggling and grinning
"What in Diavolo's name are you doing?!"
"What does it look like? I'm givin' ya the Mammon deluxe package!"
Leviathan
Of course he knows the feeling too well. After all he's struggling with keeping it at bay at the slightest interaction you have with other people. It's not his intention to hurt you or cage you in simply because he can't control himself
So out of all the brothers Levi is the one to react the fastest. He's already pulling you aside for a more private setting and tightly wraps his arms around you
"Please don't think anything of it! You're my number one and you always will be!"
The hug might or might not have been a way to hide his intense blush as he's saying those words. We all know that it takes a lot out of him
He will avoid the other person like a plague from that point on even if you stop being jealous of them. Someone only has to mention their name and he's jumping to his feet as if he got stung by something
Satan
He doesn't care about how others feel about him so when you first mention that he has an admirer he doesn't pay it any attention. You don't know if it relieves or bothers you to be honest
While Satan couldn't care less about such things he still does care how you feel in this situation. If you're uncomfortable with the way the other person is treating him then he will address it to them immediately
But beware! He thinks the problem is solved with that and most likely doesn't quite notice that it still bugs you. You literally have to bring it up to him, but don't worry. Everything after that is easy
"Please don't get this the wrong way. I trust you with all my heart, but I don't know...I guess I need some extra reassurance to be able to get passed it."
"No, don't apologize, my dear. I'll give you anything you need to have the issue solved."
Asmodeus
Us Asmo stans know that he comes with a price. The price being a comically large amount of fans who would kiss the ground he walks on
Usually you're not the type to be bothered by that, because you knew exactly what you agreed to when dating him and Asmo has done everything in his power to never let you feel insecure in this relationship
Unfortunately there is still this one specific person who you can't seem to stand at all. The thought of them alone turns your stomach upside down and has your blood boiling
Please feel more than free to bring it up to Asmo though! He doesn't want you to feel that way.
Since the beginning he's been doing nothing, but fight the allegations that he's not a loyal partner and only cares for one thing and you've been making sure that he knows how much you trust him
"I can tell them to step on the breaks and if they don't listen then I'll just be a bit more assertive."
"What exactly do you mean with assertive?"
"Don't you worry your pretty head, honey."
The next day this person magically vanished from all social media and for some reason Asmo doesn't want to give you any details, but you do know that his fanclub has something to do with it
Beelzebub
Like Satan he couldn't care less what other people feel towards him. He has his family and his own close circle that's all he really needs, but he's an extremely attentive boyfriend. Your sudden mood changes whenever this particular demon is mentioned or around don't go unnoticed
"Did they do something to hurt you?"
Beel-fight-mode is activated and he's looking around for that person, ready to knock the breath out of their lungs
"No, no! It's a bit...silly."
You're feelings aren't silly! They're valid! Just tell him what's going on and he will get to it immediately
If you need some extra reassurance after that then he's more than happy to cover you in love and affection
Belphegor
Is it bothering you enough to put up with his teasing? Don't give me that look. We both know that he's going to provoke the shit out of you
"Wow, is someone jealous?"
"I will punch you."
Yes, he will make you suffer for several days, but when he notices that you're genuinely hurting from it he will stop
He doesn't mind being rude to others to get his point across or to get you what you want. So, no. He's not breaking their heart. He's shattering it into million tiny pieces and stomps on the remains
Later that day when you two are cuddling in bed he's telling you that you're the only one for him as he drifts off to sleep kissing you
#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me x reader#obey me brothers#obey me lucifer#obey me luci x reader#obey me luci#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me mammon#obey me mammon x reader#obey me leviathan#obey me levi x reader#obey me levi#obey me leviathan x reader#obey me satan#obey me satan x reader#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmo x reader#obey me asmo#obey me asmodeus x reader#obey me beelzebub#obey me beel x reader#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub x reader#obey me belphegor#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor x reader#obey me belphie x reader
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but imagine Lae’zel’s panic after the act 1 romance scene when it didn’t work
because there wasn’t supposed to be a romance between you and her. She made it very clear that this was a one night stand and once you agreed, she was going to take from you what was hers and be done. She found you unusually attractive and was going to sate her lust and curiosity and be done.
She starts the scene by tellling you that githyanki know their bodies inside and out. And she definitely knows what she wants from you sexually and makes you give it to her, to the point of using you like a brand new hitachi until you’re exhausted and in pain the next day. Like she absolutely had sex like she was trying to get everything outta you in one go, and once it is the next day, she’s done. She won’t humor the idea of continuing. She won’t humor the idea of even staying around and just sleeping together. She got what she needed and now you can both be done
Only it doesn’t work.
She accuses you of being the one to stare at her and continue to desire her, and she mocks you for being weak and pathetic but says that she will have you again if you “tempt” her. Nevermind the fact that tempting her requires no kind of check and she basically agrees to fuck you again no matter what you say. Also nevermind the fact that in order to notice you staring so much, she woulda had to have to intentionally been watching you. And nevermind the fact that as soon as you say you’d like to have sex again, she starts indicating that she definitely still wants you despite having used you to the fullest already.
So you have sex again. You can indicate that you’d like her to stay and cuddle this time and she’s VERY uncomfortable with the idea. She also indicates she has never done so, but that doesn’t matter. Why would she need to stay after the act was done? Why would you want her to?
Once should have been plenty for Lae’zel. Twice was overkill, surely. And maybe you think so too given she’s basically silent on your relationship until the middle of act 2. But as soon as she brings it up, it’s clear that the silence was only on your part.
Because Lae’zel has been fighting a fucking war in her head. Her world view came crashing down on her. Her goddess betrayed her and her people have turned on her. There’s a tadpole in her head that can turn her into a monster at pretty much any moment. But she has one invader in her mind and that’s you.
She knew her body and knew that she got what she wanted to satisfy it. She should be done with you, but she can’t be. Because she knew her body but clearly didn’t know her mind. Or heart. Everything that has happened to her up until this point has shown that, but YOU are just making it more confusing. She can figure out what the deal with the tadpoles are. She can figure out why Vlaakith lied. She can’t figure out why she can’t stop obsessing over you and by the time she confronts you about it, it is clearly scaring the shit out of her.
Something is either wrong with her or with you, and she needs to figure out which it is. You fight her, and no matter what, she comes out of it wanting the two of you to protect each other. She wants the two of you to belong to each other. It’s still clearly confusing but she’s at least recognized that she wants now.
And by the time you get to act 3, she’s asking you for softer touches and gentleness and affection. Shes terrified but she’s asking for them. She’s recognizing what she wants even if it’s confusing and she can’t come up with names for it.
But look at what else Lae’zel knew in act 1. She knew that purification at the crèche would cure her. She knew that Vlaakith did what was best of the githyanki and deserved absolute worship. She knew Kith’rak Voss was her most loyal general. She knew that Orpheus and anyone interested in him were heretics and evil. She knew what she needed from you and that it would only take one night.
And by act 3 she’s struggling a bit with being ignorant on how things will work, but she’s so much clearer on what she wants and needs now. To the point where the woman who you couldn’t convince to stay the night in act 1, begs you with the biggest wettest eyes imaginable to stay with her
And it absolutely was not supposed to be like this.
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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏
✧.* CHAPTER 18 || The Emotional Arc
[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?
[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, angst, & fluff.
[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.6k
[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.
[ [ chapters mlist } ]
——OKAY... THAT'S WEIRD, VERY WEIRD.
Where the hell is Choso?
For starters, your bedroom is dark so you're pretty sure it's early in the morning-- perhaps two or three am, maybe later. You don't know how long you passed out but based on the stillness and darkness that surrounds you, you can tell the sun has yet to rise.
You slowly sit up, having been lying on your side. The second you move, you can feel the soreness in your legs, "Cho...?" You call out softly.
No response.
Hell, it's almost scary how your voice echoes through your apartment. With the way your bed is, you can see straight out of your bedroom door and you get an awkward view of your living room to some extent.
You're able to tell that the TV is off. A slow gulp emits from you as you swallow hard. Did... Did Choso leave you?
Your head shakes the thought away as quickly as it came. You turn to your nightstand and squint your eyes to look for your phone, soon spotting the device and reaching for it. You have no texts or calls from the man, there's no kind of note left to say anything, and you only grow more worried.
Though, you don't want to panic completely until you make sure you're not going crazy. Maybe he fell asleep on the couch?
Right. With that in mind, you sigh and put your phone back down, carefully swinging your slightly trembling and overly sore legs off the bed. Your feet make contact with the cold floor below and you inhale deeply.
The man is probably just sleeping on the couch out of some kind of respect, right? He probably didn't want to somehow make you uncomfortable by sleeping next to you... Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do.
You have to extend your hand out to your nightstand and use that to stand on your feet. Everything from the waist down feels sore and shaky. You turn away from the nightstand and use whatever surfaces you can to make it to your room door.
Every step you take is frustrating. You thought Mr. Fushiguro had done a number on you but what Choso did was so much worse.
When you get to your bedroom door, you narrow your eyes and take in the entirety of your apartment. It's all dark and you can't see anything. You'd turn on the lights but if Choso's asleep, you don't want to wake him.
So instead, you walk with your arm against the wall, using it to hold yourself up through each step until you eventually reach the living room. You take small but quick steps toward the couch, approaching the back of it and resting your hands on it.
Choso isn't there either.
The couch not only looks completely cleaned of all evidence but it also smells good. There's like a little lemon scent emitting from the freshly cleaned cushions. No one would ever know that you squirted all over Choso's face in this very spot just a few hours ago.
His clothes, which you remembered being in some pile on the floor, are nowhere to be seen. Neither is his phone, keys, or anything that belongs to him. You glance over to your front door where you know shoes are usually lined up and still, no sign of anything belonging to Choso.
Okay... don't panic yet... He could be... in the bathroom?
So, that's your next destination. You wobble toward the guest bathroom, then the bathroom in your bedroom, and even the bathroom in Shoko's bedroom. All void of any signs of Choso. You checked around Shoko's room a little too just in case but still, nothing.
Your heartbeat is steadily increasing in nervousness. There's this subtle panging in your heart but you keep ignoring it as you check other parts of your apartment.
Of course, your apartment is only but so big and there aren't that many places the man could've gone. The last place you end up in is the kitchen and by that time you're hoping and praying that's where he is.
Alas, your kitchen is empty. There's that panging in your chest again, this time stronger than the last and completely unignorable. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as you gather the fact that the man left you.
Sure, he cleaned you off and made sure there was no mess left but... You're left feeling so... used?
You blink, an abrupt wetness glossing over your eyes for a moment. Your sights shoot up to your ceiling as you chuckle at yourself, almost like a madwoman. The sound of your soft laughter fills the air, followed by a sniffle and a shake of your head.
You didn't just get played right?
No. No way. Not when you're already forced to whore yourself out. Not after the weeks you spent getting to know Choso. Not after he left such a beautiful mark on your heart. And certainly not after you caught feelings for him...
A snicker leaves your lips. At this point, you felt like you were going crazy. There's absolutely no way Choso just used you for sex.
You laugh at yourself before exiting your kitchen and wobbling back to your bedroom. You shake your head at your thoughts as you climb back into your bed.
Nope, he didn't just use you. He totally didn't fuck you and leave. Choso definitely did not play you. If anything, you're dreaming right now.
Yeah, that's the most logical thing, right? You waking up alone like this is nothing more than a figment of your imagination-- a nightmare, even.
Surely, if you lay back down and go back to sleep, you'll wake up in the real world where Choso is holding you in his arms and he'll tell you that you had some kinda bad dream about him leaving you.
Mhm, yup, that's exactly what's going to happen. You comfort yourself into your mattress, your head sinking into your pillow as you shut your eyes and try to force yourself back to sleep.
You try to shut your brain up and fall asleep but... your thoughts won't stop.
Is this what you get? Is this some kind of punishment for something you did? Did Choso really leave you like this? Not even a text or note? Just nothing? Is this the kinda guy he really is, the kind to just fuck and leave?
And Gojo said Choso didn't understand the concept of hookup... Yeah, that's bullshit. Hell, everything Gojo's told you is probably bullshit. All his stupid difficulty levels, this stupid list, the stupid amount of money he gives you, that stupid promise he made to you, all of it.
Everything Gojo told you about anyone on that list was a damn lie. It's all a lie. It's all bullshit. None of it makes sense. You hate the list, you hate Gojo, and you think you're gonna hate Choso if you wake up and he's really not there...
There's a sharp throb in your heart at that last thought of yours. You? Hate Choso? In what universe...??
He was so nice to you, so caring, so gentle, so fucking hot... There were no red flags, were there? Did he ever give off anything suspicious or negative-
Holy shit, wait.
Your eyes open and your heart drops for a second.
Did he... Did he find your journal?
As quickly as the thought echoes in your brain, you remember that the journal is hidden in a locked dresser drawer and the key to said lock is in only a place you'd know. Realistically speaking, he'd have to be a really nosy person to have found your journal.
So with that, you scratch that possibility off.
Leaving only one...
Choso left you because he got what he wanted.
But, that just can't be true. You should call him, right? Maybe text him and ask where he went...
Yeah, that's smart.
You sit up halfway and look at your idle phone. For some reason, you just freeze as you look at the device.
Do you really want to know the truth about why he left? What if he doesn't even answer the phone? What if he blocked you? What if he does answer the phone and does a complete one-eighty with his personality? What if Choso is secretly an asshole?
You grit your teeth as you stare at your phone, a sudden slip of water rolling down your cheek. The feeling makes you sit up fully, rushing a hand to your face and wiping the single tear away.
Does that help though? No. Right after one tear, multiple begin streaming down your face. Fuck, you can't do this right now.
It's too much. Between the overwhelming stress you've been suppressing for weeks because of the list, the sudden feeling of being used, thinking Choso's just an asshole, and the horrid ache in your legs... you can't take it anymore.
Everything sucks. This profuse rush of stress, anxiety, and self-pity engulfs you. Is this all you are to these men? Just some tool for them to use whenever they want?
Gojo uses you to clear his debt and now Choso uses you for... what, his own amusement??
So this is all you're good for then. This is all they view you as-- a tool.
You dread this feeling swirling in your heart. You feel like trash, like you've been abandoned by the one person you least expected it from.
Tears are coming in a little heavier now as you pull your knees to your chest and cry into your blanket. You're too scared to call or text him. You don't even want to face the truth, too scared of the reality you may have to face.
Things were going so well for you just a few hours ago. Is this some kind of curse or something? This is the second time things have gone from great to terrible in less than twenty-four hours.
And like always, aside from yourself, you blame Gojo for it all. Damn him. It's his fault you met Choso, his fault you had to seduce the guy... not so much his fault that you caught feelings though-- that's on you.
The sound of your sniffles and soft weeps fills the dead air of your apartment.
You don't know how long you sit there crying but it was long enough for a headache to develop.
Now everything hurts; your legs, your heart, and your head. You're in such a shit mood and you're so consumed by all these emotions that you can't even stop yourself from crying.
"Shit," A voice sighs out, the sound followed by a soft thud.
Your head flies up from your blanket at the noise, your eyes frantically searching the darkness outside your bedroom.
All teary-eyed and emotional, you just barely make out a figure approaching your bedroom.
Your brows push together and after a sniffle, your voice comes out choked, "Ch-Choso?"
With his hair down casually, a white and red plastic bag in his hands, and his eyes down on his phone before he walks into your room, Choso Kamo's silhouette is made out despite your hazed vision.
"Hm? Did you call me?" Choso hums, his brows quickly pushing together and his voice filled with confusion as to why you sound so distraught.
You wonder if you imagine the way he places both the bag in his hands and his phone down on the bed before making his way over to you.
Choso takes a seat in front of you and due to the dark, he couldn't quite tell you were crying. You're blinking and trying to wipe away your tears, sniffling multiple times to collect yourself.
The man leans closer to you and his brows furrow, "Heyyy," He whispers softly, lifting a hand to your cheek, "I didn't mean to wake you-, shit, a-are you crying?" Choso asks, panicked.
You swallow and open your mouth but with the way your lips quivered, you end up shutting your mouth and simply shaking your head. Your bottom lip slips into your mouth as you try your best to bite back more tears.
You really thought he had abandoned you and now you're just embarrassed.
Scooting closer to you, Choso moves to cup your face in his hands and swipe his warm thumbs under your eyes, wiping your tears.
"What's wrong?" He whispers, his voice so soft and gentle with you that it basically adds to your sadness.
Choso feels the way more tears leave your eyes and he continues to wipe each one away. The man then leans closer to you, searching your eyes with his own, "C'mon baby, talk to me. Why're you crying?" He urges.
The way he's treating you right now is only making it worse, especially with the little nicknames.
"I..." You sniffle and try to collect yourself by batting your lashes. "U-Uhm..."
Choso tilts his head at you, awaiting your every word. He gives you only a few seconds before he figures that talking might be difficult for you right now. "Did you think I left you?" Choso asks, quickly putting two and two together.
You grit your teeth and nod before you start to tear up all over again.
Choso frowns and his hands move from your face. One goes to the back of your head to pull your face down into his chest and the other goes behind you, tugging your body close to his in a comforting hug.
The steady feeling of his hand running up and down your back makes the tension you feel begin to fade away. You cry into the man's hold, feeling yourself just melt into his arms. It feels like it's been forever since you've been comforted like this and it's like you were letting out all your emotions at once.
Choso holds you, rubbing the back of your head for a while before shifting so that he can talk into your ear. His voice is low but soft, "Shh, I'm right here... m'sorry for leaving you," He murmurs.
You sniffle heavily and lift your head slightly. "It's okay..." You sigh quietly, "I... S-Sorry for crying-"
"Stop that," Choso coos, "Stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault. I... I knew I should've left a note but I didn't think you'd wake up." He explains carefully.
You swallow and suck in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Your body is so flushed with emotions that tears keep dropping from your eyes.
Choso moves again, this time wrapping both of his arms around your waist and hugging you. Your head goes over his shoulder and you feel him turn his face to you.
The next thing you feel is Choso kissing your neck gently, "I left to go pick up some stuff..." His lips linger on your skin for a second before he barely pulls away, "I'm sorry."
"N-No, I shouldn't even be crying," You breathe out.
He kisses you again, beginning to trail up until he gets under your jaw. "It's okay, you probably thought I just abandoned you, right?" Choso wonders, voicing his concern in between kisses.
You nod a little, exposing more of your neck to him as your head rises. He continues to kiss your neck, slowly making you feel better.
"I'm sorry..." He sucks on your skin softly, his breath hitting you as he speaks, "...So sorry. I'd never do that to you, princess."
"Cho..." You whisper, slowly pulling yourself away from him.
He tugs you back and keeps you in place, "Don't move away from me, I need you to hear me," He whispers, leaning his face away from your neck and moving to look you in the eyes, "I'd never do that to you, understand?" Choso says seriously.
You swallow and nod your head.
"And I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, "I should've left a note or a text."
"It's okay-"
"No, it's not." Choso cuts off, "You felt used, didn't you?"
Your eyes switch focus from his left to right eye, "Kinda..."
"Be honest," He says.
"Y-Yeah. I thought... I thought you got all you wanted from me." You voice out in a soft tone, evidence of your emotions present in the way you sound.
Choso scoffs, "You think sex is all I want from you?"
Those words make your heart convulse in an odd way.
The male narrows his eyes at you, "Have I not reassured you enough?" He asks.
You blink, "R-Reassured me?"
He grins briefly, "Sex isn't the only thing I want from you. I want a lot more than that, princess."
Shit, that might be worse than him abandoning you. You absolutely can not do a relationship right now.
"Choso, I-"
"I wasn't joking when I said you're my muse," Choso cuts off again, brown eyes filled with so much care and affection that it makes your stomach churn. He then inches his face closer and whispers, "You inspire me. Before I met you, no woman has ever made me feel the way you make me feel."
You swallow hard. Is he confessing to you right now? "Choso, I... Are you..." You trail off, unsure of what to ask him.
"No, I'm not confessing to you." He clarifies, clearly reading your mind. "My confession to you is going to be a lot more than this."
You blink excessively, "So, you plan on confessing to me?"
He shrugs cheekily, "Maybe."
"Choso." You say as sternly as you can.
"Yes baby?"
You freeze, "First off, stop that."
"Stop what?" Choso asks innocently, moving his hands to your face again.
"You know what." You huff as he wipes your tears away. "And secondly, are you really planning on confessing to me?"
His eyes are focused on removing the wetness from your face, "I don't know."
"Choso please-"
"Probably." He adds.
Again, your heart sinks a little. Yes, you want a relationship with him but not right now.
It takes you a second to respond and Choso continues to wipe your face off. With a deep breath, your voice is soft and small as you question him, "So you like me?"
"Of course I like you," Choso replies, clearly meaning it in a friendly way.
You roll your eyes at him. "I mean, so you have a crush on me?"
Choso looks at your lips for a moment and then grins, "I didn't say that."
"Well then what do you mean you might confess to me?" You ask eagerly. His lack of clarity is frustrating you, "Confess what to me?"
"You'll find out when I confess." He explains to you.
"Confess what??" You emphasize.
"I'm not telling you right now."
"Why?"
Choso lets out a sigh and retracts his hands from your face, "Cause' I don't need to."
You're bothered that he's not being clear with you. "What do you mean you don't need to??"
"The fact that I have something to confess to you should be enough reassurance." Choso finally gets out.
"Oh... So making me wonder what you want to confess to me is your form of reassurance?"
"Mhm. I wouldn't abandon you if I still had something to confess, right?"
"I mean, I guess not."
"C'mon Ms. Psychology major," Choso teases before leaning his face closer to you, "Shouldn't you be able to like, read my mind or something?"
You stare at him for a couple of seconds and then let out a chuckle, "That's not how psychology works, silly."
A pleased smile spreads across his handsome face as he hears your laughter. "Really? That's not how it works?" Choso utters playfully.
"No, I can't read minds." You tell him, his smile almost contagious with the way one appears on your face.
"Mmmmh, I don't believe you." Choso hums.
You scoff, "I just study the brain functionality and behavioral aspects of humans-- that's not reading minds."
He falls quiet for a second, just smiling at you with his eyes stuck on your lips. His mouth then moves as he licks his lips and then bites his lower one, lost in a sudden visual appreciation for your face.
Choso's voice gets lower, "Is it weird that I found what you just said attractive?"
There's a hot flash that goes through your face, "Y-You did??"
"Mhm." He hums, "Your intelligence is very... alluring."
"Alluring?" You echo, smiling. "How??"
"Cause' every time you talk about what you study," One of his hands goes to your face again, gently placing his thumb to your lips and outlining them with his nail. "Your face lights up. It's clear you like talking about it."
You shrug, "Yeah, I like talking about it sometimes..."
"All the time," Choso corrects.
"Who's the mind reader now?" You tease.
He chuckles and you watch the way his eyes glide up along your face, soon meeting your own. The man stares deeply into your irises, studying them for the millionth time.
It's odd but you think you love the way he does that. The way his eyes study different parts of you whenever he can draws you to him.
"So uh..." You swallow and look away from his gaze, focusing on the nearby plastic bag. "What'd you go get?"
Choso tilts his head in the direction you've looked into, trying to get you to focus on him again.
You continue to keep your sights elsewhere up until he leans his face closer to yours, his thumb still outlining parts of your lip.
"Look at me," He murmurs to you.
It's slow but, you do. When your eyes meet his, he grins.
"Ask your question again please, I didn't hear you the first time." Choso requests softly.
You blink, wondering why he needs this direct eye contact in order to have such a simple conversation. "I asked you what you left to go get." You repeat, nodding your chin toward the bag.
His brows raise slightly, "Oh, just a few things." He hums, removing his hand and just barely taking his eyes off of you as he turns to grab the bag and place it in between the two of you, "I originally went to my car to grab meds but the bottle was empty so I had to go to the store really quickly," He explains.
"So that's why you were gone for so long?" You ask.
"Yeah, I wasn't expecting the pharmacy to be so far from here..." Choso sighs gently.
You glance down at the bag, breaking eye contact, "Y'know I have a medicine cabinet... Whatever you went to go get, I'm sure I have it already-"
"Didn't wanna go through your stuff," Choso shrugs, "And plus, I also used being out as an excuse to uh... buy myself a change of clothes."
Your head tips to the side and you look up from the bag and to his face, "So you plan on spending the night?"
His eyes are already on yours as you gaze at him, "Of course." He claims confidently.
For some reason that makes you smile, "Of course? Why'd you say it like that?"
"How was I supposed to say it? Of course I'm spending the night after all that I did to you. I can't just leave you after that," Choso scoffs.
"Mmh." You hum, inching toward him with a smile, "Is that so?"
"Yes ma'am." He replies, returning a smile to you as you get closer to him. "Is that alright? Am I allowed to spend the night with you, princess?"
You shrug, "Yeah, I guess..."
"You guess?"
"Mhm."
Your face is roughly an inch away from his, your head tilted and your eyes low on his lips. Choso can tell you were leaning in for a kiss but he wants to tease you about it so he pulls himself back.
Your eyes widen at how he moves away from you and you pout, "Choso..."
"Ma'am?" He replies, his tone taunting.
"Why'd you pull away from me?" You question.
He smirks, "Why were you getting so close?"
"Cause' I wanted to kiss you. Now come back," You order.
Choso's smirk grows into another smile, "Aw, you wanted to kiss me?"
His teasing frustrates you so you sigh dramatically and roll your eyes at him, "Never mind now." You huff.
The man is simply infatuated with your reaction. "You gotta' ask for one, pretty girl." He tells you.
"Nope," You start to lay back down on your side, uncomfortably stretching your legs past the man as he remains seated over the blanket. "I don't want one anymore."
"Because you have to ask for it?" Choso chuckles.
"No, because you pulled away from me..." You mumble.
You're being dramatic but he seems to enjoy you acting in such a way.
"You're a big baby, y'know that?" Choso tells you with a sigh.
The bed moves around as he shifts, a heavier dip felt in the mattress behind you due to him turning and pressing his knee into the bed. One hand is placed in front of your body and the other is behind your back before you see him peering down at you.
Slowly, you lay on your back instead of your side and look directly up at him. A leg goes over your body and Choso holds himself up over you, his knees straddling your legs.
He slowly leans down to you and goes right past your face, moving his lips to your neck, "...You wanted a kiss, huh?" He whispers into you.
The man places soft kisses along the side of your neck and you smile, "Yeah, I did..."
"What kinda' kiss do you want, baby?" Choso murmurs, moving under your jaw and sucking the skin there, "A slow kiss?" He hushes out, "A rough one?"
The man lifts from your neck and his face hovers right over yours.
"A sloppy kiss?" Choso continues to question before just barely pressing his lips into yours.
You try to kiss him back but he slides a little and takes your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it carefully. He then pulls on it a little as he lifts away from your mouth, releasing your lip after a second and letting it fall back into place.
"Hm? Tell me, how do you want me to kiss you?" Choso asks you, lips brushing over your own as he speaks.
You lift your arms and wrap them around his neck, "Doesn't matter how... I just need your lips on mine."
He smirks, "Right. And who am I to deny you of your needs?"
With that, the sweet sensation of his lips pressing into your own finally occurs.
You've never felt so whole while kissing someone before. God, you can literally feel yourself falling for this man. And maybe it's only because of your predicament that you find yourself feeling so strongly for someone who treats you right but, you could care less.
Accepting your feelings for him is the sole thing you have to focus on.
After all, somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember... you still have to sleep with three other guys who you haven't even met yet.
But you can do this. You'll pull it all off with no problems.
...Right?
GOJO SATORU ✔︎
GETO SUGURU ✔︎
TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎
KAMO CHOSO ✔︎
NANAMI KENTO ☐
??? SUKUNA ☐
??? NAOYA ☐
mlist || previous chapt || next chpt
#the f*ck list#the fuck list#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo x reader#choso x reader#toji x reader#nanami x reader#sukuna x reader#naoya x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#nanami kento x reader#choso kamo x reader#smut fic#jjk smut#gojo smut#geto smut#choso smut#toji smut
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Ghost king danny goes on a reincarnation vacation to the dc universe by ClockWork, he ends up as a mortician/coroner and chats up the dead and is super creepy and has to go to Arkham to claim a body there (idk how-) and ends up freaking out the prisoners but also makes some friends and is just all around having a good time and Batman is concerned why this guy just feels weird and why Jason likes him enough to call him a friend
"This is Daniel Fenton." Bruce starts clicking the button on his wrist computer so an image of a young man in his early twenties appears on the hologram. "He is the mortician working at Gotham Funeral Home and Crematorium. Recently, he has been the talk of the underworld for his actions in Arkham."
"Actions?" Tim asks, reading over the files that Bruce had downloaded into their own wrist computers. He pauses at the old-school photo of Daniel Fenton smiling shyly at the camera. Two rows below him is Jason's equally bashful smile when he was fourteen.
Huh.
"A patient was found dead in her room. Daniel went over to claim the body, but while there, he made a few of the inmates uncomfortable." Bruce pulls up a security camera footage of Fenton strolling down the hall, pushing the cart with the body covered by a white sheet.
The way his lips are shaped tells the Bats he whistles even if there is no sound.
It looks normal- even if he seems just a tad too cheerful for picking up a dead person- until he passes by Two-Face's room. The man flipped his quarter and then started shouting at Fenton.
They couldn't make out his words, but whatever the mortician said had Two-face laughing so hard he fell to the ground.
Then, the camera glitched as if there were some kind of interference. They watched it clear up with Fenton walking away and Two-Face sitting on the ground, staring at a wall with a blank expression.
"What happened?" Dick asks.
"It's unclear what Fenton did to him, but Harvey has been unresponsive since. This was three days ago."
"Shit," Steph swears, which pretty much sums up everyone's thoughts.
"Yeah, Danny has that effect on people," Jason speaks up, shrugging his shoulder at the looks he receives. "What? Danny has always been weird, but I doubt he is dangerous."
"You are acquainted with Fenton?" Damian asks, and Jason shrugs again.
"We were in the same graduating class. I spoke to him more after I died and came back, but I wouldn't meet up with him for a drink or anything."
"You don't drink."
"Exactly, Timbos."
Bruce clears his throat. "In any case, I want you all to keep an eye on him."
"B, seriously, the guy is harmless. He cried the other day over a book character's death-"
"How would you know that?" Cass cuts Jason off, a teasing smile on her face even though her eyes are narrowed with suspicion.
"We're in the same book club. Not another word." Jason grunts.
Dick, who has been staring at the class photo that Tim has seen, snaps his figures. "I know him! He's the weird kid who told people he was the reincarnation of the Ghost King on vacation! Claimed he was a powerful afterlife entity. Didn't you get caught with him behind the bleachers, Jason-"
"Shut it Dickface!" Jason screeches face a bright red suddenly. " That was one time, and I was fourteen!"
Bruce's frown is suddenly more profound. "I had forgotten about that particular detention. Jason, are you compromised for this mission?"
"What!? I am not!" The second oldest yelled, balling his hands "In fact, I bet I could get Danny to tell me what he did!"
"Good. Go get that done." Dick waves his hand at him in a dismissive motion. "Don't come back without the little crazy mortician's number."
Tim smiles as Jason explodes, but his eyes never leave Heavy Dent's image on the security camera. There is something about the way his eyes are hazy that set bells off in his head.
He is sure he sees flashes of green on Dent's pupils. He saw similar flashes in a file inside the League of Assassins while searching for Bruce.
It was the warning of ghosts.
Was Fenton's teenage lies not so fatuous after all? He'll have to investigate.
Master Post Link
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#The Ghost King's Fibs#Basically Danny is on vacy as a reincarnation#and told EVERYONE about it but no one believed him#Jason did in fact get caught kissing Danny behind the blechers#Dead on Main#Tim's sharp mind seeing the dots that others need to connect#Is Danny dangerous?#Who knows?
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You Should Date!
I APOLOGIZE TO WHOEVER REQUESTED!! Something got completely screwed up when i went to post!! I'm also sorry for now posting for forevs xx I'm back now and I wrote some more :)
Resquest: Hi! Could you write a colby brock x chubby reader fic where they have crushes on each other but don't know it? Maybe they're doing a video where they react to comments but a lot of them are about the two of them and how they should date because they're either always flirting with each other or Colby is super protective of her.
colbybrock x f!reader
Summary: You've been friends with Colby for quite awhile. You guys are at one of his parties, but he wants you to stay after and film a video. When you guys film the video all of the questions are about you two flirting and Colby being different towards you. (843 words)
Warnings: some dude being kinda gross to the reader
༻❦༺
You’ve been at Colby’s party for a while, but it’s beginning to die down now. People you don’t know very well are starting to leave his apartment. You’re sitting on a couch next to Colby and a couple of his friends.
“Well, I’m gonna head out! See you guys later,” a brunette girl calls out, getting off the couch.
“See you,” Colby replies with a tiny wave. It’s only 5 p.m., but you feel like it’s your time to leave.
“Hey, Colby,” you say, leaning closer to Colby, “I’m thinking of heading out.” Colby’s eyes immediately dart to meet yours, and he looks at you with his eyes wide. He plants his teeth on his lower lip softly—a gesture you’ve learned over years of knowing him, meaning he wants to say something. “What? You have that look on your face,” you ask.
“Can you stay?” Colby asks quietly, making sure no one else can hear him. His question makes your heart flutter in your chest. You cannot handle being alone with Colby right now, so you open your mouth to say no. You’re quickly cut off by Colby saying, “Y/N, please. I wanna film a video.”
You sigh, knowing Colby will get whatever he wants out of you. Your only soft spot is one for Colby. “Fine, but this party better be out of here soon,” you answer. Colby smirks slightly and gets up from the couch.
You sit quietly, hoping not to be disturbed, but another guy you don’t know sits on your right. He smells of cigarettes and cedar and has an edgy appearance. “Hey, pretty,” he says, winking at you. His presence makes you uncomfortable, so you flash him a small smile. He suddenly puts his hand on your thigh and squeezes.
“Can you not,” you growl, moving his hand off your thigh. He goes to put back on your thigh with a scowl on his face.
“Get off of her!” Colby yells, dropping a drink on the floor. Colby grabs the guy by his collar and pushes him towards the door. “Get out! And never talk to her or me again!” he shouts, his fists bunched at his sides.
The whole apartment goes silent, and everyone stares at Colby and you. You clear your throat and whisper, “Can you tell them to go home?” Colby’s angry expression quickly softens, and he nods.
“Sorry for the disturbance, guys. Party’s over,” Colby announces, pointing to the door. Everyone shuffles out, which leaves you two alone.
~
After calming down, you and Colby started filming a video answering the fan’s questions about you two. “Hey guys! I’m here with Y/N, and we’re answering some of y’all’s questions!” Colby says into the camera, “Okay, first one! What are your favorite movies?”
“Ooh! Mine’s definitely Scream. It’s just such a classic!” you exclaim, smiling widely. While you talk, Colby looks at you with the cutest face, a slight smirk, and soft eyes. You feel your cheeks go red and try to cover it by shyly running your tongue along your teeth.
“What was that one we watched last week?” Colby asks. He looks at you patiently while you think. “Wait, I remember! The Shining.” You nod, and Colby looks back at his phone. “Next one,” he mumbles, “Why are two always flirting?”
Your face turns red, and you nervously burst into laughter. “What? We do not!” you laugh. Colby chuckles a few times and fixes his hair.
“Yeah, totally,” Colby says quietly. You guys sit there in silence for a few beats. Colby inhales awkwardly and clears his throat. Suddenly, there’s an abnormal amount of tension between you two.
“Let me pick a question,” you mutter, taking his phone. His skin brushes against you softly, sending warm signals through your body. You pick a random question. “This one says.., this isn’t a question, but you should date,” you breathe out.
Colby laughs awkwardly and says, “All of you guys keep saying that!” He looks at you when he says the next part of his sentence, “Maybe we just need to test it sometime.” You giggle uncomfortably, and he frantically adds, “Just joking!”
You guys laugh, and you sigh before reading another question, “What happened at the party? Colby almost punched that dude. He’s so protective of Y/N.”
You have chosen to forget about the party, so the question annoys you. Despite your annoyance, you answer, “Some asshole laid hands on me.”
“Yeah, and I almost punched him. If anyone tries something with Y/N, they have it coming,” Colby explains. He leans over to hug you, but his chair tips over, and he falls onto the floor. The loud noise breaks the tension, and you burst out laughing, practically in tears.
“Oh my god, Colby, you dumbass!” you yell while laughing.
You guys finish the video, answering a bunch of other questions. You leave Colby’s house with a smile plastered to your face. Your crush on him is really getting worse day by day. You really wanna know if he likes you back. (Spoiler: he does.)
#sam and colby#colby brock x y/n#colby brock oneshot#colby brock x reader#colby brock#oneshot#x reader#colby brock x you#y/n
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“Do you like girls?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like boys?”
“I don’t know. I think I like TV shows.”
I remember when I was in middle school all the other girls were talking about the guys they liked and I said I didn’t like anyone. I just wanted to do my own thing.
I didn’t really get why I would want to date anyone. I understood friendship, companionship— having someone to share my interests and mutually info dump to sounded cool— but I struggled to understand the appeal of spending every day and every night with someone else. Of holding hands and going on dates.
This led to a lot of homophobic bullying and a few of them would act disgusted that I might be into them. Constantly acting like I was looking at their boobs and sexualizing them (I never made eye contact with anyone and would frequently look at the wall or space out while looking in their general direction). Or make a big show of not being interested and many other things.
I didn’t get this either. I didn’t know why I would be interested in any of them. They treated me poorly and I thought attraction was something people made up and simply just claimed to feel towards other people.
Just like I never understood celebrity crushes. You don’t know the person so how could you possibly know you liked them? And I never understood how people “chose” who they dated. Did they just choose whoever they liked hanging out with the most?
But any time I voiced this it was always met with worse and worse reactions. It led to isolation among peers and my family. My parents made it pretty clear I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. That I wasn’t normal.
I soon learned to fake it. Pretend I understood it.
The idea of not being attracted to anyone seemed like a foreign idea to most people I met. Even when I branched out and moved away, I met a few people in the lgbt community who couldn’t grasp it either and reacted poorly and it made me feel stupid. Like maybe I wasn’t just screwed up to people who fit in the neat little box society wants you to fit in, but to everyone else as well.
Maybe I was wrong. If it’s an impossibility even in this community that champions diversity and acceptance then can that really be my reality?
I kept trying to force it. To date, but every time I did I always felt that same skin crawling discomfort and it always petered out. It didn’t matter who it was or what gender. It always felt wrong. It was suffocating.
I don’t think there’s a movie that better portrays that all consuming, suffocating stagnation of feeling so out of place– knowing you’re out of place compared to those around you– and in response forcing yourself to fit what other people expect of you than I Saw the TV Glow.
Whenever I think back to growing up or whenever I return home that same feeling this movie is centered around always drenches my experiences.
And even now it’s hard to put into words when I talk to other people what I’ve felt when it comes to this aspect of my life.
That comment from Owen about knowing there’s nothing there when talking about romance and attraction, but being too afraid to look and knowing that his parents know something is wrong with him hit harder than any other scene from a movie I’ve watched this year.
It’s that absence of something that is at the heart of asexuality that makes me always question what I choose to identify as when I have to explain it to someone. Because for the most part my explanation boils down to (in broad oversimplified terms): I’ve never felt attraction, I’m more interested in watching a Spider-Man movie than I’ve ever been into even just the idea of dating, every time I’ve attempted to date it’s been uncomfortable and I’ve actively dodged anything beyond friendship while in the “relationship”.
And when I try to voice that to another person it always feels like those experiences don’t hold water. That’s describing the absence of something. There’s no real proof of the identity.
With being bi or gay or lesbian there’s something you can I don’t know—point to?— that can help you know your identity.
And that’s the fact that you’ve experienced attraction towards one or more people of one or more genders.
It’s defined not by the lack of something but the presence of an experience.
And so every time I try and explain it I end up feeling stupid. Like I just haven’t tried hard enough to find someone compatible. That I need to get back into the proverbial saddle and try again. I always in some way feel ashamed and backtrack as a result.
This is in no way to say that it’s harder or easier to be one identity or the another. Everyone’s experiences are different and everyone experiences are valid. This is just a struggle I’ve found that’s unique to asexuality that many people I’ve talked to have also experienced.
I haven’t felt that part of my experience be seen in media until I saw this movie. Maybe I’m latching onto what I can get or maybe that was an intrinsic part of the movie. That’s not important. What’s important is that it’s something I felt seen in even if it was literally just one scene.
This is my really long winded and roundabout way of saying that I really think this movie is going to stick with me much longer than any other thing I’ve seen this year.
Things can be hard to put into words and as a result I tend to keep things inside. I’m fairly certain I’m ace but it might turn out I’m on a different romantic spectrum then I thought or I fall somewhere different than I thought on the ace spectrum. I don’t know what I’ll discover in the future.
I’m likely not going to express my label out loud to anyone but a select few. I still can’t express this particular label out loud to many people. My family is definitely never going to hear it. A friend or two might.
It’s something I struggle with on a regular basis. I’m fine with identifying with the label in my head—in a lot of ways it makes me feel comfortable and happy— but any time I try to voice it the words die in my throat and I can’t help but feel ashamed. It’s easier to just tell people I don’t want to date right now. That there are all these factors in the way (finances, time, jobs, etc) than it is to try and explain what I’ve just rambled about above.
I know many people have felt and understood that experience and I hope people know they’re valid. You can express your identity with your full chest, shout it from the rooftops and let people know, or you can keep it to yourself, identifying as your label solely in your head. Both experiences are valid. And if your label changes at some point in your life that doesn’t make what you chose to identify as at this point any less valid too. People are always learning and growing. You can gain a new understanding of yourself as time move forward.
Sorry for the way too long ramble. This movie made me feel things.
#i saw the tv glow#a24#aroace#asexuality#asexual#ace experience#this is my overly long#thoughts on my own experiences#and how labels can shift#and that your experiences#aren’t more or less valid#if you choose to say it out loud#or identify as it solely in your head#life’s complicated
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pretty boy — stiles stilinski x reader
☄. *. ⋆
content warnings and genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, tit play, unprotected p in v sex, virgin!sub!stiles x experienced!dom!reader — smut
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
synopsis: the closest thing he had come to having sex was with his fist, until he confessed to you, that is
✧.*
in a dimly lit motel room, the buzzing neon sign outside cast intermittent flashes of light across the peeling wallpaper. the air was thick with tension as stiles stilinski, the epitome of social awkwardness and love-deprivation, sat on one of the twin beds, fumbling with his phone. scott had left to chase after allison, leaving stiles alone with his thoughts and an abundance of uncomfortable silence. just as he contemplated diving into another episode of his favorite tv show to escape the loneliness, there was a soft knock on the door. with a puzzled expression, he pulled it open, revealing you—bold, snarky, and an undeniable knockout. you sauntered in, a sly grin playing on your lips, and in your hand, a six-pack of beer.
“hey there, loser,” you greeted, taking in the melancholic atmosphere. “looks like we've got a room all to ourselves tonight. mind if i join the pity party?” stiles' eyes widened in surprise, a mix of embarrassment and relief washing over him. “uh, sure, come on in,” he stammered, hastily clearing a space on the other bed for you.
you cracked open a beer, handing one to stiles, and settled in comfortably. “so, what's got you wallowing in self-pity?” you asked, your tone laced with genuine curiosity. stiles took a sip of his beer and sighed, avoiding eye contact. “i've been doing some thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “how is it that i've never gotten laid?”
you observed him for a moment, your sharp wit temporarily softened by empathy. “stiles, being in a relationship isn't the be-all and end-all of life,” you said, your voice reassuring. “besides, you're unique in your own quirky way. maybe you just haven't found the right person yet.” he looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of longing and insecurity. “you think so?”
“absolutely,” you affirmed, leaning in a bit closer. “you're a good guy, stiles. you deserve someone who appreciates your quirks and cares about you for who you are.” as the night wore on and the beer cans dwindled, a connection grew between you two. stiles, usually tongue-tied and nervous around others, found himself opening up to you like he never had before. your witty banter and genuine interest put him at ease, making him forget his insecurities.
and then, in the quiet of that dingy motel room, stiles found the courage to confess his feelings. “you know, i've had a crush on you for a while now,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. you raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk gracing your lips. “oh, really? i had no idea,” you teased.
stiles chuckled nervously, his heart pounding in his chest. “yeah, well, i guess it's hard not to when you're so—amazing.” you leaned in closer until your faces were just inches apart. “you know, stiles,” you whispered, “i've had my eye on you too.”
in that small, dimly lit motel room, something shifted between you and stiles. two people, seemingly different in every way, found a connection that transcended their differences. as the night deepened, you and stiles shared more than just beer; you shared stories, dreams, and a newfound closeness that neither of you had expected. it was a moment of vulnerability and connection that would change the course of their lives, igniting a spark of something beautiful amidst the chaos of teenagehood. and as the neon sign outside flickered on and off, it seemed to mirror the uncertainty and excitement of the journey that lay ahead for stiles and the you.
“so,” you began, discarding the empty can of liquid gold as you spoke. you met his gaze, his nervous, shaky gaze with a hint of something unexplainable in your own. whatever it was, it drew him to you. just as much as his nervousness drew you to him. “never been laid, huh?”
the question had him taken aback, leaving him with an almost offended expression as he scoffed. “you almost sound surprised.” he inquired with a, yet again nervous, chuckle. you shrugged, taking the opportunity to sit next to him on the ragged, uncomfortable sheets. “you're a pretty boy, sti, you could say i'm surprised, sure.” he didn't know which part got to him first—perhaps it was the way your tone shifted from playful to seductive in a matter of seconds, or maybe it was the way your siren-like eyes held his shy gaze with an immense need to ruin him. before everything else, he was absolutely sure it was your words that had gotten to him first. pretty boy. yes, the way his jeans tightened only confirmed his lingering thoughts.
“you think i'm pretty?” it almost sounded like a statement, rather than your typical question. you smiled rather gently, fingertips slowly creeping up on him, brushing his hair softly, trailing down his clothed chest, gracefully caressing his bulge through his jeans. “so pretty.” you affirmed.
stiles didn't know how to kiss, he didn't have as much experience as you did. he lacked the experience and tact you had, but not the passion. not the passion, not with you guiding him every step of the way ever so gently. your hands cupped his cheeks, tracing his jawline as you coaxed him into the kiss, allowing him to take baby steps into relaxing and finally melting into it. once he did, you found your tongue sliding into his mouth, intertwining with his as your teeth tugged at his bottom lip, sucking gently. you heard him gasp, and it was adorable. he was like putty under your touch.
“you sure you wanna do this?” the question came out almost as soon as the kiss was broken, leaving him panting with a painful ache in his cock. he nodded, almost too eagerly, puppy eyes desperate to experience this more than ever. you littered kitten licks and kisses down his neck, relishing in the way he shivered at the sensation. you had successfully gotten rid of his shirt, feeling how he only grew more and more eager to get on with it. before you could go any further, you found yourself pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his lap.
he watched in awe from below as you peeled your top off, pulling it off your head, leaving you in a stunning black bra. his eyes admired the curve of your tits, the way the bra squished them together, the recoil incoming with every move you made. “c'mere, baby, don't be shy.” you cooed, encouraging stiles to do more than just stare. it was just what he needed to hear. though inexperienced, he allowed himself to do what he felt was right—peeling your bra off, soft moans of pleasure leaving his mouth as he allowed him to fondle and grope your fatty tits, sucking on them and toying with them in a way that made both of you moan. he had his face buried into the valley of your boobs, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as you pulled at his dark hair. he looked up at you, with an utterly innocent, horny gaze, saliva dripping down his chin as you watched him rut against the mattress, desperate for some kind of soothing friction. it made you all the more ready to ruin him.
“please, (y/n),” you had him begging for you to help him out, just a little bit. while you helped him remove his jeans, you couldn't ignore the way his moans got you worked up and wet. “gotta fuck you, please, please, please.” it was a string of incoherent pleading and whining, he was even more worked up than you were. he had no other way to act, what, with your tongue dragging alongside his clothed dick, teasing and taunting the wet spot on his boxers. you nuzzled your nose against him, tongue tracing his balls as you listened to the way he meweled, beads of sweat dropping down his temple.
that night, the first thing you found out about stiles was that he was sensitive. extremely sensitive. the second thing? he was hung. the sight of his bare dick made your eyes widen, the same way the feeling of the cool air hitting his hot, angry, hard cock made him hiss. unbeknownst to you, he had been carrying a, vaguely-spoken, above-average size this entire time. it wasn't something he chose to brag about—what would the context be? certainly not how he jacked off to photos of you every night, to polaroids he had taken of you on the beach or the mere thought of you in the position you were currently in. no, surprising you like this was much better.
“big boy, aren't you, sti?” the way you cooed, as if talking to a toddler, made his cock throb. he whined in response, breath hitching in his throat as you used your thumb to smear his dripping precum all over his cock, lubricating it with the thin layer of arousal. “you're gonna make a mess of me.” he hadn't planned on it until now.
he truly didn't know what to expect fron sex up until now. sure, he's heard stories from friends thay included scott and danny, he's heard the standard it set compared to using a hand to get off. however, feeling it for the first time—it was absolutely incomparable. it was another realm of euphoria, feeling his throbbing, aching cock slip into your wet, tight heat. you didn't have to prep yourself or anything, his long, hard dick gliding into the tight ring of muscle without a care in the world. he felt you flutter around him, the sensation better and tighter than when he uaually jacked off. his jaw slacked, eyelashes fluttering as a moan got caught in his throat. he knew he wasn't gonna last long.
“too fuck—fucking tight, jesus, shit—” none of his words were easy to make out, each one coming out slower than the last as you allowed yourself to bounce on his dick, hands pressed to his chest as his cock slid in and out of you. your tits were pressed to his face, and you couldn't help but moan lowly, the thin motel walls offering you little to no support. “so big, stiles,” you gasped out. you were full, fuller than you've ever been or felt up until now. his thick tip was pressing against your cervix, kissing it as he fucked you. “shit, too fucking big, sti.”
he loved it, loved knowing how good he made you feel. he used it to his advantage, repeating things he had only seen in pornos—rubbing your clit, fondling your tits, and grabbing onto your hips, grinding you down onto his dick as he fucked himself into you. he knew he was close, especially fast for his first time, especially fast for your third time. “i—i can't,” he forewarned, and he couldn't.
when he came, his mind went absolutely blank. he came hard, with a loud moan that had come off as unexpected for both of you. he came long and hard, harder than ever before, shooting all of his cum into your cunt, your pussy milking his cock completely, sucking every last drop out. his vision was blurry for a few seconds, and his mouth dry, the inability to form sentences overpowering him. if there was one thing you were good at, it was fucking.
and boy, were you a fucking good one.
#tw#teen wolf#teen wolf imagine#teen wolf fanficfion#teen wolf smut#teen wolf angst#teen wolf fluff#stiles stilinski#stiles stilinski imagine#stiles stilinski fanfiction#stiles x reader#stiles stilinski smut#stilea stilinski angst#stiles stilinski fluff#stiles stilinski x reader smut#stiles is so fine bye
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falling.
a/n: wow man, i truly am awful but i’ve been very ill and very busy and have seriously neglected writing so have a lil something i wrote to ease back into it! it’s a continuation of seven minutes in heaven and on my knees (for you) but is very much fluff and lovely<3
18+ mdni. smut. mentions of r being drunk but mostly just love and fluff<3
everybody knew.
or at least now they did.
there’s not much room for secrets when you’re drunk and clambering all over him in front of a room full of your friends, was there?
eddie’s never seen you so.. loose. the bottle of wine had ignited something within you, clearly. your fingers twisting into his shirt, sticky, gloss-covered lips attached to his neck.
he’s grateful that your leg is slung over his lap, hiding the uncomfortable rising in his pants, made worse by your constant fidgeting and the soft whispers into his ear.
it wasn’t as if you two were much of a secret anymore anyway, robin, nancy and vickie had all figured it out that day he answered your door in his boxers. and now at least most people had caught on.
“i need you eds,” you whisper sultrily, not a care for his poor growing boner. there are only so many dead puppies you can think of before it stops working, by the way.
“we can’t..” trust, he had already surveyed the house and decided that sneaking off would be highly risky, too much chance for interruption to make it worthwhile.
“we can,” you beg, practically growling into his ear, “let’s go home,” fingertips now dancing down his shirt, dangerously nearing the waistband of his jeans.
he blinks, turning his head to face yours, noses bumping against each other, “it’s not even ten.. we can’t leave yet,” he wouldn’t have sex with you like this anyway, too much pinot grigio coursing through your veins to make it right.
you huff, nostrils flaring in your tiny tantrum, “you’re so mean,” jutting your bottom lip out.
eddie’s eyes dart around the room, catching a few stray looks, people confused about your position or why you were practically straddling him of all people. “people are looking at us..” and the thing is, no matter how many times you could tell him that you wanted him, no matter how many times you showed him that you wanted him, he wouldn’t believe it.
“i don’t care,” you scoff, connecting your lips hastily, a new feat compared to the sly neck kisses you’d been giving prior.
it had never been about hiding for you, more so about keeping things just for you two. nobody else needed an opinion or opportunity to ruin things, that was it. but now, the longer you continued to hang out and enjoy each other’s company outside of fucking, the more he felt himself falling.
now, eddie reckons he was probably in love with you from the second you’d dragged him into that closet but now he’s pretty certain he is. it’s different now, a level of consideration there that wasn’t ever apparent before.
it had been solidified for him a couple weekends ago during a game of spin the bottle, when it had landed on you and then subsequently jason. eddie’s heart stopped beating until you swerved his mouth, landing a small peck on his cheek in place of a real kiss.
that was different.
“please can we go,” you beg, fisting the soft material of his shirt, keeping your lips lingering over his.
he clears his throat, and really, you should know him by now. you should know that an ounce of attention from you would result in a stiffy he couldn’t shake. his eyes fall to his crotch, “i can’t.. i can’t get up,” cheeks flushing a ruby red.
your eyes join his, peering down between your leg and his stomach, a grin spreading across your devilish face, “i can fix that,” tilting his chin upwards with your painted nail, “if we go home.”
his forehead knocks against yours, giving up on this nonexistent fight with you, “fine, give me.. five,” hoping he somewhat hide his indiscretion from your friend’s prying eyes.
he does eventually, get off the chair, craftily readjusting his pants as you gather your bag. robin’s head perks up, brows raised at the sight of you leaving already, “i’m gonna walk her home.. too much to drink i think..” wrapping an arm around your shoulder, guiding you through the party and out onto the street.
the front yard is littered with drunks, paying no mind to you and your unsteady feet.
you’re so loud, giggling as eddie attempts to rein you in, a tight grip on your arm while you wobble over the sidewalk.
“hey,” you pout, stopping in your tracks. fuck, he just wanted to get home, as much as he adored whatever antics you were up to, he was freezing his balls off and you’re plastered.
“what?” he replies softly because no matter how annoyed he was, he’d never take it out on you.
your eyes are hazy, glossed over and barely able to focus on him but they’re full of love, “all i want to do is kiss you,” lopsided grin growing bigger.
eddie just smiles because there are no words he could ever jumble together to reply to that. not the way you deserved anyway.
“can i?”
how could he say no?
with your eyes round and glittering in the moonlight, lips pouted perfectly.
“of course you can,” he laughs, hooking his arm around your shoulder, pausing just before your lips meet his, revelling in the moment.
you press your lips to his, a little sloppy but full of love, tender and soft. you smile as you pull back, gripping onto his leather jacket, “we can go home now,” smiling into the night.
eddie feels a little sick. he hopes to god that he’s right about this, that you feel the same way he does. all signs point to yes but how’s he to know without your confirmation?
-
he’s abruptly awoken when the bathroom door slams shut, a collection of unpleasant sounds come from the other side.
he’s not surprised you’re sick, in fact, he’d left a your trash can to the side of the bed last night, just in case.
see, eddie’s not really an early riser but he doesn’t mind being woken up this early when he’s being woken up by you. vomit or no vomit.
you emerge from the bathroom with a colossal pout and a minty breath. sliding back into bed with a small groan. “did i wake you?” you ask, nestling back into his side.
“mhm,” he hums, appreciating the warmth you bring, “i don’t mind, you okay?” he asks, sliding an arm around your shoulders.
“i am now,” smiling slightly. your hand creeps down, making him jump as your cold fingers rest on his stomach.
he watches with tired eyes, hoping this is going where he thinks it may. your hands, despite feeling frozen, are always soft, he adored the tender way in which they met his skin.
you hum, body vibrating against the side of his body, “go brush your teeth,” poking him lightly in the ribs.
“yes ma’am,” eddie practically leaps out of bed, following your orders in hopes that you were implying what he thought. scrubbing his teeth with such ferocity that the toothpaste ends up everywhere.
he’d clean it up later, he thought. too excited to jump back into bed with you to care too much.
you’re already smirking in the low light, propped up slightly by the pillows, holding the blanket open for his return, “hurry up, it’s cold.”
oh he obliges, flying to the bed in record speed, hovering above your waiting body, boyish grin plastered across his face. perhaps one day he wouldn’t almost die every time you suggested sex or flashed him that look.
that day was not today.
your lips latch onto his, hands already finding his sweatpants, delicate fingers hooking into the waistband as you tug them down. he’s already hard, hasn’t been able to program that out of his brain just yet.
eddie’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, sliding inside and it’s this moment where he’s grateful you made him get up to brush his teeth.
your hand, still a little cold, wraps around his cock, eliciting a gasp in response, pulling him from your lips. “fuck, your hands are cold,” eddie laughs in your face, quickly forgetting the icy temperature when you start pumping your fist.
“you want me to stop?” you ask, smirking devilishly.
“fuck no,” he chuckles, burying his face in your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. this gets you fired up, squeezing the base of his cock gently.
your head tilts back, allowing him more room to nibble and lick at your bare neck. he struggles to get your shorts down, grunting into your chest when your hips buck upwards against him.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, emerging from the curve of your neck to gaze down at you, his absolute favourite position.
you don’t reply, instead, your tongue pokes out, licking your lips in anticipation. your legs wrap around his back, pulling him in tighter. personal space was an after thought, he thinks you’d climb inside of his skin if you could.
this position is still fairly new to him, looking down at you pressed between the mattress and his body. sometimes he’d be smushed against your chest as you attacked his neck and other times it was more hasty and rushed.
but this- this time, he’s focussed on your face, lingering inches above as his hair falls down against your cheeks.
sliding between your slick folds, nudging inside as his teeth bite down onto his bottom lip, struggling to contain the moan gathering in his throat. he’d been here enough times to know how to move without your bed hitting the wall, it had become an art.
slow, steady strokes, making sure he was moving exactly the way you’d taught him. appreciating the way in which your lips parted and the soft, melodic noises that tumbled out of them.
and yeah, you guys have had sex. plenty of times in fact.
but this felt different somehow, something more.
there’s a lot of that happening lately and eddie’s still unsure about how it makes him feel or if he’s supposed to feel a certain way.
you’re in his hoodie, under his body, moaning his name. that had to mean something, right?
eddie’s hips collide with yours, groaning when your legs tighten around his waist, everything about this feels overwhelmingly intimate. your forehead pressed to his, gazing through hooded eyelids, rolling slightly with every thrust.
“hmm,” you groan, full of rasp, “just like that eds,” manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades, pinching slightly but only spurring him on.
it’s still early, the rest of your house definitely still sleeping, forcing him to swallow his moans. you’re touching yourself, arm threaded between your bodies, circling your clit.
it drives him crazy every time, he assumes that most men wouldn’t appreciate it, a lack of confidence in their abilities or whatever. but eddie loves it, loves that you can make yourself feel good too.
your eyelids flit, breathy moans at every move of his hips, he knows what this means. has learned every tell of your body, the way your mouth falls open and your mind seems to shut off.
“fuck,” you gasp, tightening your grip on his shoulders. moving against him in the final throws, the tip of his cock nestling against the sweet spot.
this is where eddie loses it a little, thrusts becoming sloppy as your fingers work at your clit. he can feel every part of you, squeezing around him and the soft pants that dance into his ear.
his forehead dips, pressed against yours as his senses overcome him, throwing him over the metaphorical edge. “uh shit,” he garbles, spurting his release into your quivering cunt.
you squeak underneath him, mouth agape as your legs shake around his waist, eyes squeezing shut as you cum. it’s fucking magical every single time, it could probably bring him back to life if it really came down to it.
“oh my god,” he breathes, brushing the hair from your forehead, still lingering above as you float down to earth.
your eyes peek open, a smile inching onto your face, once again holding onto his cheeks as you press a solitary kiss to his lips. this was his favourite part of it all, the aftermath.
it usually meant cuddles and chats about nothing. when you were your truest self. eddie wanted to live here for eternity, gazing at the stars in your eyes, happily listening to whatever ramblings you came out with.
the morning is quiet bar you both trying to catch your breath, he can feel your racing heartbeat against his chest and almost wants to say it. to admit to everything he had been feeling.
but you beat him to it. “i love you,” you beam, grinning away to yourself, seemingly unaware of what bomb you had just dropped.
eddie chokes on his spit, coughing and sputtering as he climbs off of your body. lying back on the mattress as his chest heaves. oh my god, he thinks he might be sick.
his head was already spinning, only made worse by your declaration of love. his senses are heightened, looking over at you with bewildered eyes.
“what did you just say?” begging for clarification.
really, the only possible explanation was that this was a dream and he’s about to be rudely awoken and find himself in his own bed, having none of the last six months happen.
“i said,” you smile, pulling yourself into his side, “i love you,” wriggling as you pull your shorts up, intertwining your legs as you do.
“i thought you said that,” eddie laughs deliriously, still frozen in shock. he’s in utter disbelief, just staring at your face in hopes that he’s not cruelly torn out of this moment and it is real.
you tut, pouting slightly, “do you maybe wanna say it back?”
“i do,” he rushes, “i mean, of course i do- love you, i mean,” stumbling over his words, his heart is pounding out of his chest, “i love you too, is what i’m trying to say,” cringing at his severe lack of nonchalance.
even with your extensive training and advice, he’s truly still that weird little virgin boy, still head over heels for you. that’d never change,
“good,” you twinkle, nestling back into his side, arm thrown over his stomach, “you scared me for a minute there.”
he doesn’t understand how you weren’t already well aware that he infatuated with you, he had thought it had been plenty obvious. the man near enough started drooling when you’d touch him for christ’s sake.
“i thought you knew,” shrugging slightly, “i don’t exactly hide it.”
your shoulders shake as you laugh, slightly jittery and still exuberant from your session, “how was i supposed to know you weren’t faking it?”
eddie’s brows thread together, perplexed at your assumption, “you’re the first girl i’ve ever really liked.. let alone loved, i don’t even know how to fake it.”
“shut up,” shaking your head, “you used to like that girl..” clicking your fingers together, “the one with the hair.. whatever her name was.”
“what? you mean carly?”
carly was a friend, helping him pass his marketing class. he had maybe gotten the feeling that she liked him but nothing ever came of it. she wasn’t his type and besides, he’d had his eye on someone else anyway.
“carly! yeah.. you were obsessed i swear, i used to be so pissed off.”
woah. what?
“i didn’t like her.. not like that,” he didn’t, in fact, eddie’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you in reality, “you were pissed off?” he teases, pulling you in tighter.
he felt like he could now, like everything had been established and this was it. you were together. you loved each other.
you give him an over dramatic sigh, “yes i was pissed off,” settling your head on his chest, “i thought you liked her and not me,” he can feel your eyelids flutter shut against his skin, “i’m glad you didn’t though.”
eddie laughs, moving your body as he shakes. he can’t help himself. you were pissed off at the thought of him liking someone else. you. it’s almost nonsensical.
footsteps echo through the hall, stopping outside your door alongside a chorus of whispers. you groan quietly before they pound on the door, obviously eager to collect the gossip.
“what?” you call out, not moving from your position. maybe before you would’ve sprung apart, trying to cover up the obvious but now you embraced it.
robin, nancy and vickie pour into your room, sly smiles on their faces. it’s fairly obvious what had just gone down in here. his cheeks were still blood-red, your leg thrown over his, entangled in the blanket as one.
“so,” robin smiles, pursing her lips, “you have a good night?” alluding to your very public displays of affection.
“i had a fantastic night, thank you,” you grin, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room, eddie respected the fuck out of that.
“mm i’m sure,” robin quips, raising her brows before perching on the end of your bed, “you remember anything from last night?” she asks curiously, cocking her head to the side.
you bite down onto your lower lip before answering, “i may have been informed,” rolling your eyes slightly. the other two girls giggle in unison.
“so it’s official?” robin asks outright, not wasting any time. she’d never been one to beat around the bush, jury’s still out on whether it’s a pro or a con.
your shoulders shrug, eyes trailing to eddie, “i’d say so,” smiling knowingly.
they had no idea what had actually just occurred, ignorant to the declaration of love that had happened just moments before they burst in. he knows you’ll probably tell them the second he’s gone but for now he appreciates the secrecy of it all.
a moment only meant for the two of you.
robin grabs onto your ankle, shaking it as she roars excitedly, “i fuckin’ knew it,” beaming with a certain smugness.
your eyes roll back again, “have you got what you wanted now? can i sleep this hangover off without anymore interference?” your words are sharp but hold a tone of humour.
“yes yes, you can go back to being degenerate perverts now,” robin laughs, standing from the bed, vickie guides her girlfriend out of the room with a raise of the brows.
nancy lingers, “we’re going for breakfast in a little while, if you two wanna come,” flashing her tightlipped smile before following after robin and vickie.
the door clicks shut and eddie lets out a sly sigh of relief. they were his friends too, he just wasn’t a fan of being interrogated by them when he’s practically naked and still recovering from your confession of love.
“i’m sorry,” you apologise for their abruptness though it’s unneeded.
eddie just smiles, relishing this moment. you’re lying on his chest, his girlfriend, you love him and he loves you and that’s all there is to it.
“i love you, i really really love you.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x y/n
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