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colormepurplex2 · 17 days

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Shatter With Me | Epilogue: Room 613

↳ Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader ⤜ Surrogacy, Best Friend’s Husband ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 1,481 ⚠️ Breastfeeding, talk of labor, mentions of divorce/infidelity

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You’re sleeping just a few feet away, exhausted from your journey into motherhood. Jungkook isn’t certain he’s ever seen someone so strong and resilient. Nineteen hours of blood, sweat, and tears—watching you bring his son into the world flooded his life with light in the form of cherubic cheeks and the long, dark lashes that fan over them as he slumbers, too.

Jungkook isn’t certain he’ll ever be able to express to you what it all means to him—what he means to him.

Seojun.

The sweet bundle Jungkook can’t bring himself to put down in the bassinet provided by the hospital. He’s afraid if he puts Seojun down that he might miss something. He knows that’s a bit silly, as his son is only a few hours old at this point—but, just in case.

There are a million reasons for the multitude of feelings that are consuming Jungkook right now. But, the foremost is everything in this very room. Room 613, the labor and delivery suite which will be his sanctuary for the next day until he gets to take you and his son home.

Home. That’s another item on the list of reasons. The unit he purchased, the one he surprised you with that special night—the night you pulled down all the walls in and around him—all those weeks ago. He wanted to go to dinner so he could surprise you with the keys. You clearly had picked up on his excitement, but he tried to play it cool…until he got his hands on you, at least, then his control slipped away with each sweep of his hands and pluck of your lips.

Jungkook chose the unit, which just so happened to be in the same complex as his soon-to-be previous condo, that you put at the top of the ‘wants’ list you were keeping. It’s almost twice as big as his old one, boasting an additional bedroom and full bathroom with a private infinity pool and balcony. It’s one of the higher-tier units available in the community.

With the combined efforts between you and himself, plus the additional profit from selling his old unit, it wasn’t that much of a step up as far as cost goes. Plus, it practically comes with built-in babysitters in the form of Taehyung and Jimin. The moment they found out Seojun was welcomed into the world, they hadn’t stopped asking to come see him; all in due time.

For now, though, he wants to enjoy this quiet bubble a little longer—just Seojun, Jungkook, and the woman he has come to love in ways he never thought imaginable. It might have started out as a different kind of love, but it surely has grown and evolved into something he wants nothing more than to covet and foster further.

Jungkook once thought he knew what love was; that what he felt for Jiyoon was love. But, it doesn’t even begin to hold a candle to the inferno you’ve introduced into his heart and soul. You are the sun, blazing bright and all-consuming.

Seojun stirs in Jungkook’s arms, wiggling his arms and hands free of the blanket swaddle; the olive green onesie underneath a gift from Taehyung. Round, sleepy eyes, so like his own, blink up at him. Seojun’s rounded lips, a feature Jungkook is certain he got from you, form into a pucker before popping open in a wide yawn. A small line forms between his son's brows before that yawn turns into a soft whine, and Jungkook automatically goes into comfort mode.

Checking down the mental list, Jungkook changes Seojun’s diaper, pats his back in a soothing manner, and most everything else the half dozen baby books he read suggested for calming fussy babies. When nothing else works to quell Seojun’s soft cries, Jungkook moves over to the bed you’re still sound asleep on and taps you gently on the shoulder.

“Babe,” Jungkook whispers.

It takes you a moment to rouse, your sleepy eyes blinking up at him as you roll over onto your back. A slow smile pulls at your lips as your eyes brighten a bit more once they land on Seojun.

“Is everything okay?”

“I think someone is hungry.” Jungkook gives you a sheepish, lopsided grin.

You click the button on your bed and it automatically begins to lift into an upright position. “Aw, poor guy. Come here.” Jungkook passes Seojun into your waiting arms.

Jungkook is certain that no matter how many times he witnesses the care you provide to Seojun, he’ll never not be awed by it. It’s not weird or awkward watching as you untie the fastening on your hospital gown and reveal your swollen breasts, if anything, it’s beautiful.

The lactation consultant who came by shortly after Seojun was born explained all the intricacies of breastfeeding and the changes your body might experience. Jungkook finds it utterly fascinating, the way Seojun roots around until his mouth finds what he needs.

You sigh, your lids drooping low as you hide a yawn behind a hand. Exhaustion still lingers in your eyes, but they’re also full of life as they drop from Jungkook’s gaze to Seojun contentedly nursing.

“You’re so beautiful.” Jungkook means that, saying it with as much reverence as he can muster.

“You come here, too,” you tell Jungkook, patting the open space on the bed beside you.

It’s a tight fit sliding in next to you, and Jungkook is certain if a nurse comes in, they might disapprove, but he can’t deny you anything. You lean your head on Jungkook’s shoulder, snuggling into his side the best you can with a baby cradled against your chest.

A comfortable time passes as Seojun takes his fill before falling back into a quiet slumber. You press a soft kiss to Seojun’s brow before passing him back to Jungkook. Jungkook helps you to resecure the drape of your gown and then hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up so he can press his lips to yours, whispering encouragement for you to get some more rest.

You smile dreamily up at him before clicking to lower the bed just a bit, and nuzzling further into his side to do just that. Within minutes, your chest is rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

Jungkook isn’t sure what the future holds, but as long as he can have many more moments like this, everything else seems so insignificant. Shifting Seojun in his arms, Jungkook gets comfortable, and his eyes flick up to the TV mounted in the corner of the room. An amused smirk tilts the corner of his mouth as he reads the auto-generated captions scrolling across the bottom of the screen. A news anchor is on the screen, their mouth moving with silent words, the volume on the TV muted.

BREAKING NEWS: ACTOR DOHYUN KIM, FORMER CLIENT OF KIM EXCLUSIVES, CAUGHT IN SALACIOUS SCANDAL. SOURCES SUGGEST HE HAS BEEN HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH HIS MANAGER AND THAT SHE IS CARRYING HIS CHILD…

Shaking his head, Jungkook focuses back on his son. “Jeon Seojun,” Jungkook murmurs in a whisper so soft, it’s more breath than sound so as to not wake you, “one day, I’m going to tell you the story about how you came to be in this world. It’s not going to be as pretty as some stories, but not as sad as others, either. It’s special, unique to you and this beautiful woman sleeping beside us. She doesn’t know it yet, or rather, I haven’t gathered the balls enough to say it to her, but I love her. I really do. Which, some might find a bit crazy, considering it’s only been a short time and everything else we’ve been through…but, I think that makes me love her even more.” Jungkook sniffs, fighting back the sudden tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume him.

You came into his life, a quiet, professional observer who opened an entirely new world for him. He was young and naive, and he wanted nothing more than to be successful and achieve his dreams. Seven years of nothing but support and help helped him achieve all of that and more. Does he wish he had realized his feelings sooner? That he had acted on them before Jiyoon could pull the wool over his eyes?

Sure. He supposes so. Who wouldn’t want that?

But, deep down, Jungkook knows that if he hadn’t experienced the last seven years the way he had, there’s no telling if he would be who he needs to be for you. In many ways, Jiyoon helped him to see exactly what he needed and wanted in a personal capacity. The ups and downs helped him to grow, to learn, and to become the man he is now—the one you and Seojun deserve.

A man once broken, now slowly being put back together; mended by you.

A/N: Want to see what comes next for JK and his FMC? Mended By You, the follow-up to Shatter With Me, is officially in the works!

The special character POV chapter will come next and tells various events from Jiyoon's perspective across the span of this story, as well as events not seen here 👀

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #dilf jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts imagines #bangtanwhq #btsfests

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gi4hao · 2 months

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slumped on one of your bar chairs, hoshi simply cannot stop complaining about how red his hand looks. but he’s the only one to blame, you’d never have slapped his wrist so many times if he’d just stop dipping his finger in the cookie dough.

“it’s not good for your stomach! also these are for joshua” you emphasize for the hundredth time as you catch him eyeing the sweet dough from the corner of his eyes.

“yeah but what about soonyoung?” he whines, getting off of his chair as you open the oven to put your second batch in. he slowly makes his way to you, his lips spread in a slight pout.

you chuckle, trying your best to ignore him and get back to your cooking. but he’s not letting you go that easily, keeping you close to him with his hands on your back.

“just let me have one and then i’m out of here, i promise!”

your lips pursed, you feign a deep consideration of his offer… which you obviously end up declining. and as if to punctuate your words, you turn around - still held close to him - and grab a cookie to take a bite.

“hey!” he exclaims, his hands unintentionally tickling your sides.

your mouth still half full, you burst out laughing as you try tu push him away; but you already know there’s no use. instead, you just let him grab your hand and open his mouth to put the rest of the coveted cookie in his mouth.

the delighted expression on his face lets you know everything you need to know about how it tastes. he’s got a few crumbs stuck to his lips, and you’re pretty sure you have some too.

“okay you had one, so now it’s time to leave remember?” you tease him, wiping the corner of his mouth with your finger.

with a frown, he points to his ears: “can’t hear you, too busy chewing” before slightly bending down to place a kiss on your lips.

you were expecting a quick kiss, the kind he gives you when he comes back home after a particularly tiring day, or before you leave the car after he’s dropped you off somewhere. but that kiss lingers, making you smile against his (particularly sweet) mouth. your left hand is resting on his waist, but the right one is still brushing against his shoulder.

but as your fingers start tracing their way down his arm, you sense something sketchy. and indeed, you end up feeling his hand digging inside the cookie box on the counter.

“GET. OUT!” you scold him, suddenly breaking the kiss as you point to the kitchen door “no more cookies for you until you learn how to behave yourself!”

“i was just joking!” he tries to defend himself, reluctantly heading for the door. “guess i’m just gonna go lie down and reflect on why you hate me so much…”

you scoff in front of such drama as you roll up your sleeves to keep the baking going, watching him exit the room defeatedly. but you know your boyfriend’s never sulky for long, especially not with you.

and just as you planned, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for him to reappear in the doorframe:

”i’m gonna go buy dinner while you finish, text me what you want” he whispers like it’s a top secret information before blowing you a loud kiss, “love you!”

and he disappears again, leaving a smile on your lips as you put a handful of cookies in a smaller box and put it to the side.

#came to me in a dream #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #hoshi fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #hoshi imagines

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theoldsports · 24 days

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SOUR.

Art Donaldson x Reader (Patrick Zweig x Reader) | SORRY series | 4.2k words

it’s finally here by popular demand. Patrick has entered the plot. this is set before all of the prior chapters, two days before the Donaldson wedding. can be read as part of the SORRY SERIES (read more episodes of their lives here) or on its own. lemme know if you’d like to be on the taglist.

warnings: 18+. angst. it’s brutal angst. more than allusions to Patrick’s canonical use of hard drugs. rehab, allusion to an OD, mention of Art’s disordered eating patterns. they’re bad for each other in a good way. the Donaldsons have a friendly dog. coveting another man’s wife. discussion of niche sexual fantasies. making out. biting. tornados/extreme weather. running away from your problems.

“Art?”

“Nngh.”

“Artie, wake up.”

“‘M up. Fhhh… ‘m up. What’s the matter?” Art grumbled with half shut eyes. “Somethin’ wrong?” He whispered even though they were alone. It was nighttime which meant whispering to Art.

“I don’t like this storm.”

What a sign that storm should have been.

Art smirked. “We’re getting married in, like, three days and you’re worried about the weather?”

“There’s a tornado warning. Or watch. Whichever the worse one is. I saw it on the news.”

Art frowned. “You ever been through a tornado?”

“No.”

Art rolled over from his position in [Y/N]’s arms to face her nose to nose. “I have. A lot. Close your eyes,” he commanded softly. His arm slotted into the dip of her waist and pulled her closer. “Close ‘em for me. That’s it, that’s it.” He coaxed as she followed his directions.

“I don’t see what this has to do with—“

“Shh, listen,” they both got quiet. Rain pelted against the windows. Wind whistled. Branches cracked and crunched. Thunder boomed. [Y/N] could see the gleam of lightning even behind her eyelids. “Hear it?”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Congrats. Your ears are workin’ best as they can,” Art teased to try and get his fiancé to crack a smile. “Now, which one’s the loudest? Which of the sounds?”

“You breathing.”

“I’m flattered. Which one outside?”

[Y/N] listened. “Right now? The rain, I think.”

“We’re in the clear for now. Let me know when the wind’s louder. Like that real, real crazy whooshing, whistling sound. When it starts whipping like that, we’ll go in the bathroom and lock the doors, yeah? Hell, we can head in now if it would make you feel better?”

“What if I fall asleep before the weather gets worse?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay awake,” Art yawned. “How about I get you up if I notice a disturbance. I gotta take care of my wife, right?”

“I’m not your wife.”

Art sighed. “…I know. I’m just practicing.”

Fortunately, no tornado ever touched down. And Art was still there when [Y/N] woke up.

It always amazed her that Art was still there everyday. For every nasty thing she said to him that she didn’t mean, every argument where she told him Patrick was right, every tennis match won or lost, every natural disaster, every tear shed. Art was there for all of it. He liked the bad moments as much as the good ones because it meant simply more time spent by [Y/N]’s side. He wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

It was too much power, [Y/N] frequently thought, that she had over Art.

[Y/N] faced Art and brushed his strawberry blonde hair away from his forehead. Art often looked exhausted. He wore his tiredness on his face and shoulders. The exhaustion of constantly chasing, people-pleasing and being a professional athlete could destroy a kid. Art wore it like a Boy Scout badge. [Y/N] could watch him look relaxed forever. It was so rare he looked like that.

“Good morning, guard dog,” [Y/N] whispered. Art stirred. She could tell he was awake even though his eyes were shut due to that crease the reappeared between his eyebrows. It was never not there in his waking moments. Slowly, Art’s hand crept up and gently clutched [Y/N]’s wrist. Art used his grip to slide [Y/N]’s hand down his own drowsy face. He planted a kiss on her palm before tiredly looking at her. “Good morning.” She repeated to him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” [Y/N] replied. Gray sunlight filtered through the window. “You ready for today?” She smirked.

“What’s today?”

“Patrick’s in town.”

Art dramatically threw his arm over his face and groaned. “I thought he was in tomorrow… Everything was so peaceful… And quiet,” Art mumbled into his elbow. He couldn’t keep a straight face for long and resolved into a soft laugh. “Whose babysitting?” He asked, peering his blue and brown eyes over his arm.

“I’m picking up the cake today, so I figured I could use his strength.”

Art sat up a bit. “You’re getting it today?”

“In the later afternoon, yeah. Why?”

“It’s gonna be, like, stale.”

[Y/N] glanced over at Art. “If we had gotten cupcakes like I wanted, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re such a little jerk.” Art teased.

“Me!” [Y/N] gasped. “It doesn’t even matter because it’s not like you’re gonna eat it anyway because you don’t eat anything.”

“Little jerk!” Art said with his crooked smile widening. He leaned in, slotting an arm over her. “You heard me. You’re a little… troublemaking jerk.” Art’s nose almost pressed against hers.

“Oh yeah? Why are you marrying me then, hm?”

“…You’re pretty,” Art grinned almost timidly, bowing his head. His flat vocal timber sounded like the verbal equivalent of a blush. “Like, really, really pretty. Even if you suck.” Tenderly, Art leaned the rest of the way in to kiss [Y/N]. Once and then twice and then seven times. Maybe fourteen.

And they would have stayed like that all day.

They would have.

BANG BANG BANG.

Like gunshots.

Their lips parted and they held long eye contact. They paused. They sighed.

“Patrick.” They both said.

With a bend of his arms, the full weight of Art’s toned body collapsed on top of [Y/N]’s.

“Pretty baby!”

“No. ‘M pretending he’s not out there,” He laid flat on her, head on her chest. “Can’t go anywhere now.”

BANG BANG BANG on the front door again. Cheese, the couple’s Labrador mix barked at the sound from downstairs.

“Art!”

“Mhm-mm. Nope. Too bad. Sucks for Patrick.”

[Y/N] huffed. “You’re upsetting the dog.”

“He’s upsetting the dog,” Art started to laugh. “He showed up early. I’m just laying here. Hey, hey!” Art jeered as [Y/N] wiggled out from underneath him from backwards. She tried to inch away off the side of the bed. Her shoulders slumped against the carpet, while Art held her legs in place on the bed. [Y/N] dangled in a half on-half off sort of way. Her oversized Stanford t-shirt rolled up during the drama, exposing her breasts to Art. Unashamed, he stared.

[Y/N] twisted her foot into the side of Art’s face, causing a small cry of disgust from him. Just enough chaos for her to slip away. Without hesitation, she tossed the lightweight door open and skittered down the stairs with Art’s long gate keeping pace behind her. His arms reached out in an attempt to grab her. “He’s early! He can wait! He’s never been early in his whole fucking life!” Art laughed. Cheese jumped and barked at the hysteria.

The chase continued until [Y/N]’s hand hit the doorknob and chain. She unlocked it immediately. As [Y/N] ripped the door open, Art’s arm encircled her waist yanking her to the side with the force of his momentum, causing her to laugh with glee.

And on the other side of the door was Patrick Zweig.

Smiling impishly, Patrick took in the disheveled appearances of his two favorite people. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Nice boner.” Patrick smirked at Art, while he pulled [Y/N] into a side hug.

Art didn’t have a boner, or at least a proper one. But the comment was enough to get Art to look. He rolled his eyes and pulled Patrick in for a hug. Cheese ran over to the door for attention, when Art greeted Patrick.

Art closed the door. Patrick ducked down to greet the Labrador too. He liked Cheese, but wouldn’t necessarily choose to be around a dog in his free time the way that Art and [Y/N] did. Cheese really liked Patrick, much to his chagrin, so he pretended to be nice. While Patrick sat on the floor with the animal, he looked up at his best friends. “What’s with the clothes? You just get up?” Art with no shirt in just tube socks and boxers, and [Y/N] in Art’s old college shirt and underwear. They had all seen each other like this so many times growing up that no one particularly cared that the future Donaldsons looked so post coital. It was pretty normal. Patrick’s smirk sliced further across his unwashed face with the ghost of a laugh. “Were you guys fucking?” He said like a horny teenager.

[Y/N] laughed hard and kissed her lifelong best friend on top of the head on her way to make a pot of coffee in the kitchen. “No.” Art sighed in disappointment, flopping onto one of the barstools in the kitchen. This disappointment was either disappointment in Patrick for asking, or disappointment in the lack of sex due to Patrick’s arrival. It was Patrick’s fault either way.

When the dog got bored, Cheese wandered into the kitchen for nonexistent scraps. Patrick pulled up a chair next to Art and dropped his backpack on the floor. “How’s it going, man? You look good. Feeling ready?” He asked, leaning forward to tap Art across his bare knee.

Art nodded as if it say it’s a sure thing. “Thanks. We miss you. We appreciate you being here. It means a lot.”

“I appreciate you being here,” [Y/N] cut in. “Because you’re in my half of the wedding party.” She and Art were always in constant competition over who loved Patrick more. Art wanted him to be his best man. [Y/N] won out, though, having known him since the age of seven and Art only since age twelve.

“Ladies please. Not all at once.” Patrick said. He stood from his chair and wrapped his long arms around [Y/N] in a proper hug finally. Briefly, his chin rested on her head. He stopped before it went on too long.

“Good to see you, kid. How’s it going?” At two months older, [Y/N] had been calling Patrick ‘kid’ diminutively for almost two decades. It was cuter before he got so tall.

“I called you yesterday.” He replied dryly, stepping back to look at her. [Y/N] noted Patrick’s intimately familiar eyes. Too wide, pupils too dilated. Hm. He wore a long sleeved sweater and jeans. And dirty tennis shoes.

“You bring something nicer than this for Saturday?” She teased, pulling on one of his holey sleeves.

Art snorted at Patrick’s expense and cracked a smile. His freckled elbows leaned onto the counter. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here for two seconds, ‘n you’re already giving me tsuris?” Patrick quipped to [Y/N].

“Tsuris… Never thought I’d say it, but you sound like your mom, Patrick.” [Y/N] scoffed. Art snorted a laugh too.

Patrick frowned. “Guess I have to kill myself then.” He joked harshly to more laughter from the other two. M

“Yep. Have some coffee. Both of you. I’m going to put pants on.” [Y/N] turned away and moved to the stairs.

“Aw, do you have to?” Patrick called after her. [Y/N] tossed a middle finger up over her shoulder as she walked away. Art hissed at Patrick’s comment.

“Do you have to flirt with my wife?” Art sneered without malice.

Patrick smiled that boyish small, wicked, unassuming smile. “She’s not your wife yet.” He snapped back. Art smiled at him in return. The two held each other’s gaze adorned with sick grins for a moment before both of them dissolved into laughter. Everything was a competition, but it was only real if they brought it up.

Fast forward a few hours and Patrick and [Y/N] were in the car. Art had taken off for a haircut because his mom thought he looked like a messy little punk and wedding pictures were forever. [Y/N] drove because Patrick drove too fast and without mercy. He had a sports car once when he was in school and still spoke to his parents daily and had notably wrapped it around a telephone pole and walked out without nary a scratch. How’s that for nine lives?

[Y/N] had a sedan.

She and Patrick both held a cigarette out each of their respective windows as she drove.

“You should really quit, y’know.” She told Patrick.

He leaned over and blew smoke in her face. “Yeah, I’ll quit when you do.”

Patrick’s rude gesture didn’t bear acknowledging. “It’s different. You’re an athlete. I watch movies and review them for a living. It’s expected of me. You… you’re making your performance actively worse. You’re kneecapping yourself by choice.” [Y/N] explained.

“I’m good enough to take the hit.”

[Y/N] laughed and took a drag of her cigarette, asking it out the window. “And you’re arrogant enough to make that comment. Sometimes I look at you and you’re still thirteen. I swear to God. It’s fuckin’ funny,” she said. It was quiet for a moment. “Art, though. He doesn’t smoke anymore.”

“I don’t believe you,” Patrick replied immediately with a wild look in his eye. That was apparently a big surprise. “He’s totally lying to you. There’s no way—“

“Nope! Quit on his own too. He just decided he was done with it one day and got all pro-athlete about it.”

“Y-you’re wrong! You’re so wrong. He’s a liar. Last time I was in town, we—“

“No. No fucking way,” [Y/N] shook her head in manic disbelief. “When you came by to—“

“Mhm. Yep. On the patio. You didn’t notice?”

[Y/N] shook her head. “No sense of smell because of… I’m a smoker. I just… He’s such a shit.”

“A shit and a hypocrite!” They both laughed. When the glee dampened naturally and the cigarette butts were pitched out the window, Patrick looked over at [Y/N]. One good, long look. “You ready for Saturday?” Patrick asked because he was a masochist.

[Y/N] found herself often thinking back on this moment. Was this when it had gone wrong beyond repair?

[Y/N] sighed. She would only ever tell Patrick and maybe Art this. “Yes and no.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t say it like that. I have been ready to marry Art since I was, like, seventeen years old. It is unfathomable to me how much love I am capable of giving him, y’know? If he wanted the Mona Lisa, I’d be robbing the Louvre tomorrow. He’s it for me,” she said. Patrick faked a smile very convincingly and nodded for her to go on. “What I’m not looking forward to is everyone I know being in the same room at the same time. I don’t like other people except you and Art. And my editor. That’s about it.”

“You’re not at all worried about spending all that time married to someone?” Patrick tried to jab at her with his words while he scratched his right forearm.

“Not with Art.”

“Wow. That’s awfully grownup of you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a grownup. With a smokin’ hot fiancé. And he actually cares if I live or die. Isn’t that crazy? My parents weren’t like that with each other. It’s… Am I allowed to say how grateful I am to you for bringing him home for break that one time, or is that stupid?”

“It’s kinda stupid,” he agreed teasingly. In reality, he wanted more than anything to put himself out of his misery. My fault, my fault, my fault. The words looped in Patrick’s head on constant repeat. He wanted to rip his skin off for so many different reasons. He couldn’t take it and he was trapped. Fuck.

Patrick scratched his right forearm again.

“Truth or dare?” Patrick slurred. He was twenty-one and drunk for [Y/N]’s birthday. She, Art and Patrick sat on the disgusting archaic carpet in Art’s dorm room.

“Uh, truth.” [Y/N] said too soberly to sober.

“Boring!” Art said, putting his hand on [Y/N]’s thigh.

Patrick took a long swing of his beer while he thought. “Okay, okay. What’s your weirdest sexual fantasy?” He asked.

“Ew.” [Y/N] wrinkled her nose.

Art thought the question was epic, but wasn’t going to facilitate his girl’s discomfort. “Hey, it’s her birthday, she doesn’t have to—“

“Um, no. I’ll do it. This is an actual dream I had. I think about it kinda all the time. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. It so dumb. So, it’s Art and I’m sitting at the kitchen table with coffee or something. And Art… sings me Happy Birthday like Marilyn Monroe did for JFK. And he’s dressed like Marilyn, but like a boy. No dress, but like the boy version of that look. Then we fuck. That’s weirder than you wanted. That was weird, right?” [Y/N] rambled.

Art leaned in closer to her. They were all drunk as skunks and he couldn’t help bite his lip. His arm pulled her closer to him. Art was handsy when drunk, they were all learning.

“Whose Jackie O?” Patrick asked.

“No Jackie O. And I’m not JFK. He’s just Marilyn. Gentlewomen prefer blondes.” [Y/N] had laughed so hard at that while she tangled her fingers in Art’s sandy hair.

The car ride to get cake and the drive back was the last proper conversation [Y/N] and Patrick had. The pair got home. Nothing seemed unusual to [Y/N] at all. They talked the whole time without any dry spells. The cake, in pieces to be assembled, was carefully toted in and placed way out of the way from disaster. Patrick took his bag to the bathroom, claiming he was going to shower.

[Y/N] shouted after him. “You know where the towels are!”

Patrick looked back over his shoulder at her with a smirk and closed the bathroom door behind him.

And he went out through the bathroom window.

[Y/N] had no idea he had gone until she heard his car start. For a minute, she thought it was the neighbors. She walked halfway down her hallway and saw the bathroom door open. No running shower water, no half nude Patrick shaving or something. She ran back down the hall and glanced out the kitchen window and watched his new white SUV whip out of the driveway.

[Y/N] stood there for several minutes. Staring and staring and staring after him. Not a single effort to move. The first thing she did was pick up her blue slidephone from beside the sink. She called Art, not Patrick. Patrick made his choice.

[Y/N] hadn’t realized she was crying when Art picked up on the other line.

“Honey? Honey, you there? You buttdial me?” Art said. [Y/N] thinks he said shit like that for several moments before she spoke. She just faced the window and stared for what felt like ages.

“Patrick’s gone.”

“Hm?”

“Patrick’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone.”

“He climbed through the bathroom window and drove off. We-we didn’t have a fight. Or-or… He just left. Like it was nothing.”

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are.”

Art rushed back in his blue-black jeep wrangler. It ripped into the smooth driveway causing the tires to damn near squeal. When he got out of his car and bounded to the door, it was clear that about half of his hair had been cut instead of all of it. [Y/N] would have laughed in an ideal situation.

“Baby, hey, what happened?” Art said breathlessly as he unlocked the door. [Y/N] sat at the seldom used dining room table the two of them used to hold their junk mail, sitting straight up and looking through Art. Art was alarmed. She never sat at the table and rarely was her face so expressionless. She was always feeling, expressing, something. He couldn’t tell if she was crying or not, but her eyes were red.

“Patrick seems to have decided not to join us this weekend.” [Y/N] said clearly.

Art closed up the door behind him and walked over to [Y/N]. His scraggly hair and bewildered expression lessened into some devastated softness. He knelt, as he often did, in front of her and took her softer hands in his. “Can you tell me what happened?” Art asked quietly. He felt angry tears sting at the corner of his own traitorous eyes.

“We went out, got the cake, got smoothies, and came back. We… He didn’t say anything weird. Nothing happened.”

“Okay. And then?”

“No, I mean, nothing happened. Like, he was on his best behavior. Like, he was doing so well. He seemed okay. Really okay, y’know?” [Y/N]’s voice broke and finally betrayed her. She choked on her last words and the tears followed. Art’s right hand traveled up the side of [Y/N] face to rest there in comfort. “We talked about everything, like always. He was totally fine. I swear. Then we got home and he says I’m gonna take a shower, or something. And then I heard his car pull away. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna fucking murder him.” Art said, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. He stood from the floor and pulled his own phone out of his pocket. Art leaned against the table [Y/N] sat at. He called Patrick. Then he called him again. And another time. Up to what felt like twelve times or so. He left voicemail after voicemail.

“Hey, call me.”

“Hey, it’s Art. Call me.”

“Art again. Call me back. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry about the last one. Patrick, call me. Are you coming home?”

“Hey, man. Fuck you. Fuck off.”

“I’m sorry about the last one too. I’m… Understandably, I’m kinda… Fucking pissed at you. I don’t need to talk to you like that, though. Are you okay? Are you safe? What happened? You can talk to me.”

“You’re an asshole. I wish you could see the look on [Y/N]’s face right now.”

“Don’t come back.”

Eventually, the voicemail box was full.

[Y/N] reached wordlessly for Art’s hand. She could feel his rare anger climbing. He got this ridiculous blush across his cheeks when he got angry and she could see it against the sunset’s glow. “Art?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened,” He said, turning his eyes to her. “I’m so sorry, hon.”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize, pretty baby.”

“Yeah, but he’s my best friend. He’s your best friend,” He ranted. “That was a dick move to leave like that. I’m sorry that happened to you. He’s a piece of shit.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No! I do. I do mean that. For the last year, he’s treated us, especially you like trash. Do you not see how much more you deserve, [Y/N]? I don’t know what’s going on with him… Do you?”

“He’s…” [Y/N] looked down. “You think he’s using again?”

Art didn’t say anything, he just looked down. That was answer enough. [Y/N] buried her face in her hands with a shuddering sob. Art pulled her to her feet and into his chest. He buried his face in her hair, unable to hold his own tears back. Eventually, the pair landed on the sagging green couch. Art’s legs wrapped around [Y/N]’s middle. They kept the news on all night. In case he matched an accident description. They called hospitals and hunted for John Does that were over six feet with dark hair and stubble.

“What are we gonna do? He’s… He’s not coming back, is he?” [Y/N] whispered. Cheese rested his heavy beige head on her thigh. He obviously didn’t understand why Patrick had gone either.

“No, I don’t think he is,” Art replied, lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.

Pathetically, [Y/N] raised her head to Art. “I’m sorry too. I don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” He said. [Y/N] forced Art to lean back against the couch and she laid her head on his chest. Cheese circled for a new position where he could be touching them both at the same time.

[Y/N] knew it was a little bit her fault. She leaned up and kissed Art on the corner of his lips. “It’s my fault.”

“Then it’s both of our faults. You can’t talk about yourself like that. You’re the only you I’ve got, babe.” Art huffed tiredly.

[Y/N] dug her hands into Art’s hair the way he liked. “Can I fix your haircut? Haircut’s a generous way to describe it.”

“Damn, I was actually trying out this new thing. You don’t think it’s cool?”

“Yeah, it’s big for guys who blindly answer their wife’s phone calls, I hear.” [Y/N] said weakly.

Wife was all Art heard and he melted.

“I have never known someone I love as much as you,” Art said. “I’m all in with you. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do.” [Y/N] did know. She sunk her teeth into the freckled skin on Art’s right shoulder gently and he moaned. Over top of the spot, [Y/N] left a trail of kisses down Art’s bicep.

“I’m gonna call his mom.” He said once [Y/N]’s pace had slowed. Art’s stomach growled. When he got upset, he didn’t eat. [Y/N] told herself it was because he had forgotten to in stressful moments, but wondered if it was a punishment instead. She pretending she hadn’t heard the sound.

“They don’t talk.”

“I know. Just in case he turns up.”

Patrick did turn up. About ten hours later, wet and unconscious in the emergency room. Following a psych eval, Patrick went to a short stint in rehab. He had gone once prior at the age of twenty. Needless to say Patrick missed the wedding. It was too much money to up and cancel, according to Art’s piece of shit stepfather, Douglas. Patrick made no efforts to contact the Donaldsons since leaving, as he left or following rehab. Despite all of Art and [Y/N]’s tireless efforts to find him, all they had to show for it was his disconnected phone number and a crippling feeling of shame and loss. Patrick had vanished from their lives without giving either one of them a say.

Patrick was gone.

But Art was there for all of it.

TAGLIST:

@toxiclovergirl @basicallynotbreathing @miniemonie2001 @valentine333 @tremendoushorsepeachbanana-blog @athxnss @babyspice6 @diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @avylanchce @shysstuff @soberbabes @ysuftmikey @pussy-f41ry

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #sorry series #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig

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amirasainz · 28 days

Note

omgg!! could you write baby!sainz going to the met gala and the grid watching the livestream of her walking the carpet 🤍

Omg, I love this story. I'm a huge fan of the Met Gala and Vogue. I hope you enjoy reading and don't forget to send some requests. -XoXo

The Met Gala

Amira’s excitement was palpable. The Met Gala—an event she had always dreamed of attending—was finally within her grasp. As a child, she would secretly stay up late with her Abuela to watch the glamorous affair, hidden from her parents’ knowledge.

When the coveted invitation arrived, Amira couldn’t contain herself. She let out a joyous scream, prompting Carlos Sr. and Jr. to rush upstairs in alarm. “Mijha, what happened?” her father asked frantically. “Papá, Papá! Look! I got invited to the Met Gala!” she exclaimed, her happiness overflowing.

Carlos Sr. breathed a sigh of relief before pulling her into a tight hug. After celebrating with her father and her brother Carlos, Amira wasted no time in sharing the news with her mother and sister. The house echoed with even more screams of excitement, and the two Sainz men exchanged knowing glances. It was a moment Amira would cherish forever—a dream come true at last.

____________________________________________________________

Amira’s long-awaited day had finally arrived. Unfortunately, her family couldn’t be there with her; they were in Spain. Her brother and friends were all in Miami. However, Carlos had promised that they would watch her, which eased her mind.

At 5 p.m., she prepared with her team. Ryan, her makeup stylist, was one of the best in the business. Shanaya, her hair stylist and close friend, was always her go-to for events. As expected, they did an amazing job.

Her dress, a stunning blend of white and blue, was a creation by Dior. It reminded her of the waves in Spain on a windy day—comfortable yet elegant, making her look like a Spanish princess.

“Nervous?” she asked her two friends as she examined herself in the mirror. “Amira, you look—” Ryan began, but Shanaya playfully interrupted, “Perfekt!” Ryan added, “Now, vamos! You want to be fashionably late, not annoyingly late.” Their banter made Amira laugh.

Stepping out of the car, the flashbulbs went wild. Amira tried to maintain her poker face, but when Kim Kardashian and Lana Del Rey greeted her so sweetly, she couldn’t help but grin. They all sat at the same table, and that day marked the beginning of new friendships.

Photographers clamored for her attention, capturing her ethereal presence. With a lovely smile, she waved at one of the broadcast cameras, ready to embrace the magic of the Met Gala.

__________________________________________________________

“There she is! Oh, look at her!” exclaimed an excited George. The drivers gathered in Max’s room, surrounded by snacks. They had banned their girlfriends from entering—knowing that chaos would ensue. For the past hour, they’d been scrutinizing every look, but none of them quite matched Amira’s.

“My God,” whispered a starstruck Oscar. Lando sat silently next to Carlos, unable to put his feelings into words. Carlos himself felt tears welling up, his little sister looked stunning. He couldn’t have been prouder.

Charles and Pierre exchanged excited whispers in French. “Regarde ça, calamar,” Pierre said. “Je sais. Elle est vraiment la plus belle fille du monde,” Charles replied. Pierre teased, “Ne laisse pas Alex entendre ça.” Charles chuckled, “Alex serait d’accord avec moi.” Then he added playfully, “Comme si Kika et toi ne pensiez pas la même chose.” The best friends burst into laughter.

Max was on the phone with Kelly, passionately maxplaining Amira’s perfect look. Daniel busily snapped pictures of her. Even Yuki stopped eating, captivated by her presence. The camera stayed focused on Amira throughout. When it was time to film another celebrity, chaos erupted in the room—they all wanted to see their Amira.

The next day, it came as no surprise that all the Formula 1 drivers bought fashion magazines featuring Amira Sainz. She had left an indelible mark on the Met Gala, and her star continued to rise.

___________________________________________________________

Bonus (+) Amira sat at the table, flanked by her newfound friends Kim and Lana. The Met Gala buzzed around them, a whirlwind of glamour and excitement. Suddenly, someone’s hands covered her eyes, and she instinctively turned around. There stood Lewis, a smile playing on his lips.

“Lew-Lew!” she exclaimed, her joy evident. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Hi, pretty girl,” he whispered into her ear. “I didn’t know you were here.” Lewis’s possessive arm encircled her waist as he settled into the seat next to her.

The star-studded night continued, and Amira found herself surrounded by both old and new friends. And Lewis? He didn't leave her side the whole night.

#formula 1 #baby!sainz!sister #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #george russell x reader #pierre gasly x reader #oscar piastri x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #kim kardashian x reader #lana del ray x reader #met gala #formula 1 x reader

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yandere-writer-momo · 8 months

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🦇New Profile Pin🦇

Welcome to my Domain of Debauchery

Hi, I’m Momo. I am a writer for a fantasy yandere blog. My request blog is only open for original work now, it’s not longer for fandom (once in a blue moon I will dabble).

What you can request: anything. There are no rules because it’s all original work now. For Baki, my rules are simply no incest or Noncon.

This is a fantasy/ horror/ Yandere blog now so I now have creative freedom without worrying about keeping a character ‘in character.’ They can be as insane as anyone wants.

But I still will be writing Baki fanfics/ head canons. (Love my muscular men +Kozue)

If there is a specific original character you have in your head that you’d like to come to life, just let me know. I’ll do my best to make it 🖤

Please Buy Me a Coffee? 🖤

Master list:

Original Work:

Immortal

Insatiable 🌶️

The Sponser

Love Me More

Pinky Promise (Part 1)

Baki Short Stories (Not Yandere):

A Hug (Jack)

Eat (Retsu)

Don’t Push It (Jack)

A Piece of Me (Shiba Chiharu)

Oppai (Katsumi)

Yandere Baki Short Stories:

Mine (Hanayama and Kizaki) 🌶️

Family (Katsumi and Jack)

Him & Him (Katsumi and Retsu) 🌶️

Later (Yujiro)

Pet (Baki) 🌶️

Hold on (Baki)

Extra Eyes (Baki and Hanayama) 🌶️

I’m Here Now (Katsumi)

Promise (Part 1) (Katsumi and Katou)

Promise (Final Part) (Katsumi and Katou)

Katsumi Yandere fluff (Katsumi)

The Edge (Hanayama) 🌶️

Loco (Jun)

Fantasies (Katou)

Training (Katou) 🌶️

All Bark, No Bite (Katou) 🌶️

More (Katsumi)

A Miracle (Katsumi)

Wake Up (Jack)

Awake (Jack and Hanayama)

Three’s A Crowd But Four’s A Party (Pickle)

Belonging (Jack) 🌶️

Fate (Jun)

Baby With My Baby (Katsumi) 🌶️

The Spectator (Hector and Katsumi) 🌶️

Change of Fate (Retsu)

A Game of Cat and Mouse (Hanayama)

Rent-a-girlfriend (Harem)

Courtship (Pickle)

Saccharine Kisses (Matsumoto Kozue)

My Beloved Best Friend (Hector Doyle)

Paparazzi (Hanayama Kaoru)

Covet (Hanayama and Katsumi)

Longing (Part 1) (Katsumi) 🌶️

Longing (Final) (Katsumi) 🌶️

Delusion (Baki)

Destiny (Hanayama)

Genderbend Baki

Bambi, Jackie, and Kaori 🌶️

Head Canon

Suzuna (Sukune)

Jackie

Bambi 🌶️

Taste (Kaori)

Juliana and Oliva

Sonia and Gaia

Humdah Ali Jr

Pickle

Violet Kisses (Kasumi and Jackie)

Violet Kisses (2) (Kasumi, Jackie, & Kaori)

Violet Kisses (Final) (Jackie, Kasumi, & Kaori) 🌶️

Monster Baki

Haunted (Retsu) 🌶️

Little Mate (Katsumi) 🌶️

The Dragon’s Bride (Prelude) (Hanayama)

The Dragon’s Bride (Hanayama and Jack)

The Corpse Husband (Katsumi)

Harpy Hanayama

Moth Man Pickle

Merman Pickle

Merman Pickle (Part 2)

Merman Baki

How Deep is Your Love (Jun and Katsumi)

Merman Hanayama

Werewolf Jack

Lamb to the Slaughter (Jack)

Lost and Found (Part 1) (Jun and Oliva)

Wonderland AU:

Down the Rabbit Hole (Harem)

Tea Party (Retsu)

The Red Knight (Hanayama)

Yandere Baki Book:

Heart Shaped Wound (novel)

Baki Kinktober 2023:

Day 1: Hector Doyle 🌶️

Day 2: Shinogi Kureha 🌶️

Day 3: Katsumi Orochi 🌶️

Day 4: Doppo Orochi 🌶️

Day 5: Gaia & Sikorsky 🌶️

Day 6: Jack Hanma 🌶️

Day 7: Baki Hanma 🌶️

Day 8: Kaioh Retsu 🌶️

Day 9: Biscuit Oliva 🌶️

Day 10: Katsumi Orochi (lime)

Day 11: Kiyosumi Katou 🌶️

Day 12: Biscuit Oliva 🌶️

Day 13: Hanayama Kaoru 🌶️

Day 14: Nomi no Sukune the 2nd 🌶️

Day 15: Yujiro Hanma 🌶️

Day 16: Pickle 🌶️

Day 17: Hanayama Kaoru 🌶️

Day 18: Izou Motobe 🌶️

Day 19: Pickle & Jack 🌶️🌶️

Day 20: Jun Guevara

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eloves-writes · 6 months

Text

so it goes…

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: part 2 here! as dr gaul’s assistant, you find yourself alone in her laboratory bearing an unpleasant task with her other mentee, coriolanus snow, who you strongly despise. or so it goes … warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), slightly public sex, reader is wearing a skirt, think that's it but please lmk if i need to add anything! a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last fic! and thank you anon for this request, i love and appreciate requests more than you know!!! enjoy this. will for sure write a second chapter if one singlular person expresses interest. mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

dr gaul’s lab was filled with weird and wonderful (but mostly weird) things. you sat, bored, on your side of the gamemaker’s desk staring at shelves and shelves of creatures of all shapes and sizes with various muttations. according to the clock beside you, it had been 30 minutes since gaul herself had left the room to ‘see to something’. it was often best not to ask questions when things like that happened, but you really wished she would come back soon as your work day technically ended in a few minutes and gaul’s second-favourite mentee came to visit her after hours almost every day. coriolanus snow was not necessarily an unpleasant person, not to you at least, but he was certainly unbearable. he was so up his own ass thinking he was better than everybody else that he failed to realise how much of a pompous twat he was. ‘snow lands on top’. god, those four words were practically all you heard come out of his mouth when he wasn’t sucking up to dr gaul or spewing fake niceties to any authoritative figure who would listen.

as you were thinking about how annoying he is and how pretentious his stupid hairstyle was, the door to the lab was hauled open by the peacekeepers who stood guard outside. thank god gaul was back, you couldn’t wait to get out of here. not that you weren’t grateful for this assistant’s position, because it was a highly coveted role for university students each year and you’d beat them all out for it. even snow. ha. even suck-up snow. fuck. snow.

the tall blond had entered the lab and was walking up to your desk with his usual self-assured smile and red uniform.

“y/n, good evening.”

“snow.”

his pleasant facade dropped for just a moment at your monotonous response.

“where’s dr gaul?”

you passive aggressively put down the pen you had been tapping on the desk.

“i don’t know,” you replied blandly, studying his face like you trying to read his mind. “she left like a half hour ago to ‘see to something’, but she’s not been back. i’d suggest you leave and speak to her tomorrow instead.”

coriolanus pulled a face as if thoroughly surprised that anyone could be anything less than cordial to him. it was a subtle change in expression, but you figured that’s what he was thinking.

“that’s quite alright, y/n,” he smiled mockingly, “i’ll sit right here and wait. nowhere to be tonight.”

“shocker,” you murmured, watching as snow sat in the empty chair opposite you.

the two of you stayed sat at gaul’s desk for almost 10 minutes before either of you said anything else.

“how is the apprenticeship going?” snow asked, trying to fill the awkward silence by feigning interest.

“it’s great. thanks. thrilling, actually. i’m having the time of my life. this is so much fun,” you retorted.

coriolanus raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “you know, every one of gaul’s students wanted this apprenticeship. if you’re not enjoying it, i am more than certain that you could find somebody to fill the role.”

you huffed sarcastically. “oh good try, snow. i’m not giving it up that easily.”

“so i’ve heard,” he muttered.

before you could respond to that, the laboratory doors hauled open again and dr gaul finally returned.

“ah, coriolanus, good,” she welcomed, entering with purpose in her stride. “i have a small ask of the pair of you.”

there was no way in the whole of panem that this would be a ‘small’ ask, coming from her. coriolanus’ eyes widened in apprehension.

“don’t make that face at me, coriolanus snow.”

“sorry.”

“good. i must continue to deal with a situation that has arisen, i need you two to feed chupa before he gets too hungry. that’s all, then you both may leave and i shall see you," you watched her search for a rhyme, "before tomorrow’s eve.”

then she turned to leave, with you and coriolanus pulling faces of horror. ‘chupa’ was a particularly hideous and dangerous looking creature that gaul had advised you, on multiple occasions, to keep your distance from. and now she was asking you to feed him? sometimes it was like she wanted you dead.

“wait a minute,” you said hesitantly. gaul moved only her head to look at you and you regretted opening your mouth immediately. “sorry, dr gaul, you want us,” you motioned to yourself and snow, “to feed that,” you pointed at the cage where the beast appeared to be smirking.

“yes,” she replied plainly. “he will eat anything, but he most likes the small green snakes.”

with that, she left the lab again.

coriolanus looked at you, looked at chupa, then looked back at you. “what the fuck is that?”

you snorted, enjoying seeing him uncomfortable. “do you want to get the snakes, or shall i?”

“you get them,” he spoke quickly. “i don’t like snakes.”

you were suspicious at this apparently strong aversion to the slithering reptiles. perhaps they’d scared him when he was younger, and never shook it off. or perhaps one had bitten him. you imagined him flailing his arms and screaming and it made you chuckle to yourself as you took a jar half-filled with thin, forest green snakes. they weren’t venomous, in fact they were quite amiable and undeserving of being fed to the ugly brute in the cage beside you. regardless, you removed two snakes from the jar and placed it back on the shelf.

coriolanus was keeping his distance, making you do all the work. lazy asshole.

“can you open the cage?” you directed snarkily. he tentatively unfastened the top of the cage, standing closer to you than he ever had before. up close, he looked like a real person. a real person who was just as real as everybody else in the capitol, not any better. he smelt better than a lot of them though. like cologne and fresh roses. you mentally chastised yourself for noticing and tried to focus on the task at hand.

your snake-holding hand slid towards chupa’s mouth, which opened to reveal a large set of sharp fangs that seemed to be moving upwards

“be careful of the fangs,” snow warned from behind you.

“thank you coriolanus, i’m so glad you told me that. i was truly about to stick my fingers into his mouth,” you retorted sarcastically, starting to feed the snakes to the disgusting creature.

he mumbled something incoherent that sounded something like “i wish you would.”

“sorry what was that, snow? did you say something,” you asked, becoming more irritated by his unhelpful presence.

as chupa finished the tail of the second snake, he bit the air above him in an attempt to get your hand for dessert, making you rapidly withdraw your hand from the cage and leap backwards. coriolanus dropped the lid in shock and it thankfully fastened itself.

when you had leapt backwards, you had leapt backwards straight into snow’s arms that he had instinctively wrapped around you in protection. his arms were stronger than they looked through his uniform jacket, and his chest much more toned. it felt beyond strange to be this close to him. but something deep inside of you suddenly yearned to be closer, and you slowly rotated yourself in his arms to face him, hands pressed against his chest.

coriolanus was looking into your eyes like nothing else was in the room. like he had never seen a person’s eyes this close before. he was looking at you like you were most incredibly fascinating thing he had ever seen.

and maybe you were; he had grown used to the capitol women throwing themselves at him. he didn’t struggle to take them home, had no issues finding a date to all the various events he attended. then there you were- snapping at him and poking fun at him, and not even waiting until his back was turned to roll your eyes or pull faces. in what he deemed a cruel twist of fate, you were the only girl in the capitol who didn’t look at him like he was god, and you were the only girl in the capitol he truly felt something deeper than momentary lust for.

his lust for you was not momentary. it was perpetual. and having you this close to him, safe and protected in his arms, confirmed for him that you needed to be his. the world bent to the will of coriolanus snow. and so would you.

in an instant where your body no longer obeyed your better judgment, you pressed your lips to coriolanus’.

he kissed you back like you were a source of oxygen, using his advantageous hold of you to force you to walk backwards towards the rows of bookshelves behind gaul’s desk without separating your lips. he swiftly checked the door to make sure nobody had snuck in before your bodies were eclipsed by the cover of the well-stocked shelves and you were roughly pushed up against them. snow continued to kiss you, moving down to your neck to leave marks sure to raise questions the next morning, then down to your collarbone, unbuttoning your blouse as he went so that his path was clear to mark you with his mouth all the way down to the waistband of your skirt. his kneeled down before you and pushed up your skirt, looking up at you for approval. you nodded, still caught up in the moment. this was fine. this felt good. it really felt good when snow removed your panties and placed your legs over his shoulders, holding you up at the waist and running his tongue along your folds, earning a loud moan from you. he withdrew his head from you skirt to shush you, before returning his tongue to your centre and flicking it against your clit. you bit onto your knuckle to absorb the sound of the whimpers escaping you. where the fuck had he learned to do this? it felt heavenly, his mouth drawing you ever closer to release with his large hands digging into your hips to keep you in position.

“coryo,” you whispered. “coryo, i’m close.”

he began to hum in acknowledgement, sending you right over the edge. a moan slipped from your mouth as you came, feeling your slick drip onto his face. he continued to lap at your juices as you rode out your orgasm, a blissful haze washing over you. if these were the skills making snow so cocky, you couldn’t fault him for that particular trait any longer. he lifted his head and smiled at you like a man who was very aware you’d just cum on his face by his manipulation. he helped you take your legs from his shoulders with a satisfied smirk when they wobbled under the weight of your body, then he kissed you again, softer this time, to force you to taste yourself on his tongue. you reached your hand forward to his crotch, palming him through his constricting pants. he indulged you for a minute, then removed your hand and lifted it to his lips like a true gentlemen.

you felt a little disappointed to not repay the favour, finally feeling content with your formerly repressed lust for the man.

but then he leaned down to your ear and whispered in a low tone, “you can owe me one,” before giving you one last lewd kiss and leaving you stood behind the bookshelves in the head gamemaker’s office with messed up hair and a realisation that you really wanted coriolanus snow to come and visit after hours again tomorrow.

#coriolanus snow #corio snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow smut #coryo snow #coryo x reader #hunger games fanfiction #tbosas fic #tbosas #coryo smut #coryolanus snow #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #corio snow #corio snow smut #president snow #president snow smut

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villainousauthor · 3 months

Text

"Hero -" The Villain protested through gritted teeth, trying not to pass out from the pain. They focus on exhaling through their nose, trying not to focus on how their vision goes black around the edges. "Hero, leave it alone."

Of course, said hero doesn't listen, leaning over their vulnerable form. "I said, tell me where the injuries are. I can't heal them if I don't know." Hero's voice is stubborn but kind. Villain hates how the sound of it wraps around them like a warm blanket.

"I don't want you healing my injuries. Let me crawl home and lick my own wounds." Villain closes their eyes, knowing it to be easier being assertive to Hero when they don't have to see those pleading eyes. Large, pretty, pleading eyes.

"If you don't tell me, I'll have to start removing your clothes to find where you're hurt." Hero warns, and Villain knows they're serious.

"Appealing idea under any other circumstances, but I'll have to decline this time." Villain tries sitting up but is stopped by a warm press to their shoulder.

"I wanna help you... please let me help."

Damn it. Hero makes it so hard for Villain to deny them. They feel their willpower being plucked away by that soft voice with each passing word.

Sigh.

"My upper back, between my shoulder blades." Villain relents, giving them the information they want. Hero moves smoothly, settling behind them quietly as they begin lifting up their shirt.

Villain can hear them sucking in a sharp breath when they see the state of the injury, but they offer no commentary.

"I can heal this." Hero says simply and matter-of-factly.

"I wish you wouldn't." But Hero pays no mind to this comment, pressing a soft hand to Villain's back, just below the injury. Immediately, the pain starts ebbing away, and Villain lets out a loud noise of relief. Their shoulders and the rest of their body immediately sag as the tension eases up.

Hero's healing touch is, without a doubt, one of the best feelings in the world, and every time they get to experience it, Villain can see why so many people covet it, covet Hero. The price, though, is hardly worth it to Villain.

Villain can feel their Hero's head against their shoulder now, as if barely able to keep themselves up.

"Are you okay? This is why you need to stop using your abilities like this." Villain's voice is no longer streaked with pain, but now concern. "I'm worried you're going to nearly kill yourself trying to heal me one of these days."

They just shake their head, hair brushing up against Villain neck.

Hero sounds weary, tired down to their bones. "It's okay, I'll be fine after some rest, I promise. it's worth it when it's you."

#hero x villain #prompts #dialogue prompt #hero #hero prompt #original writing #whump #villain #villain prompt #villain x hero #superhero #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing #angst

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn.

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn.

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling.

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son.

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth.

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks.

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played.

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole.

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative.

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind.

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly.

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder.

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation.

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums.

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang.

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?”

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding.

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside.

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud.

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?”

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter.

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later.

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy.

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged.

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead.

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

“So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack.

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion.

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes.

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.”

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him.

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future.

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart.

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his?

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end.

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier.

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm.

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now.

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires.

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.”

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?”

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom.

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller.

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you.

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box.

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

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asteroshearts · 5 months

Text

Date Night

Itadori tags along for one of your date nights and wonders how you have a completely different Nanami Kento than the rest of the world.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: she/her pronouns, public nudity?, third wheel itadori

"Good evening, we apologize for the wait. Thank you for calling Gyomei's Ginza branch. How may I help you today?"

"Hello." You could never get sick of his voice. "I have a reservation for Nanami at 19:00. I know it's last minute, but can we add another person?"

"That can be done: we can add another chair to the table you selected," the hostess responded. Grinning wildly, you turned in the passenger seat and met your fist with Itadori's. "Do you have any special requests for this party member?"

"Don't include the drink course for him," your husband stated. Broken beams of white light from the street lamps came and went across his glasses as he drove by. "He's a child."

"Of course, will this extra person need a high chair?"

A gasp rang in the car.

"That won't be necessary." Quickly shutting off the call, Nanami huffed as you burst out into giggles at Itadori's sputtering.

"Aw, he's our son, Kennie."

"Nanamin!" his pink-haired student cried from the back seat. "Why did you say that?! Now they're going to think I'm seven or something!"

"You are a child." The man didn't even bother to glance at the rearview mirror.

"Maybe we should've gone with the long con," you teased. "Do you think they would've given us a discount if we said that Yuji-kun was twelve? That could save us a bit of money at a place like this!"

"Do you think I'm broke?" Nanami scoffed before pressing down on the accelerator, taking off in Tokyo.

Itadori hadn't initially planned to crash your date night.

Although they had finished the assignment efficiently, Nanami noticed something was up with the teen despite how quickly they exorcised the curse. From the boy's slouched posture and tucked shoulders, Nanami easily got the boy to confess what was on his mind.

"Oh…it's my grandpa's birthday today…" Eyes facing the ground, his voice suddenly grew quieter. "It's the first time I've ever had it without him."

It would've been so simple to say his monotone condolences, take a step away, and move on with his day. However, one call to you later, you had no problem with inviting Itadori along your night with your husband. In fact, you were even more certain you had married the right man when he asked permission to bring his student and help take Itadori's mind off his late grandfather's birthday.

But, Itadori didn't want to third-wheel at his pseudo-teacher's date, wouldn't that be kinda weird?

Nanamin seemed just, so – well – cold. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the man as a mentor, but to tag along for a date? He wasn't sure how the blond managed to score a pretty girl like you as his wife, but he didn't want to spend a night with you while Nanami silently ate at his side.

However, when he brought it up to the group chat that Nanami might be paying for his meal at this place called "Gyomei", Nobara yelled at him loud enough that he could hear it through text. A Michelin-starred and free meal was something a teen boy like him couldn't pass up.

"Um!" Itadori called out to you after Nanami had parked in the underground garage of the high-rise you were going to. "Thank you again for inviting me!" Pink coloring his cheeks, you had mentioned earlier when Nanami picked you up that if they didn't allow reservation modifications, you would just let the deposit go and find another spot to have date night at. Not only were they in the most expensive area of Tokyo, but he knew from Gojo's blabbing that Nanami's coveted date nights were never a spontaneous event. They were planned weeks, even months in advance, to get you to the best venues, restaurants, and events. To think that you had just easily let him drag along…touched him more than you realized.

You chuckled at his attempt to bow in the backseat, folding your legs so you could turn in your seat. "It's no problem at all! It's always so fun to talk with you, Yuji-kun! Good thing they let us add another chair though, I've been wanting to try this place forever."

Although, he wondered why you weren't making an effort to get out of the car. Nanamin had parked a while ago, and you still haven't opened your door. Were you waiting for him to pay for your parking spot?

"Yeah! Gojo-sensei tells me these places usually don't allow modifications for reservations."

"Oh. That." Your shoulders fell before a large smile broke out on your face, laughing at your own joke. "Let me tell you a little secret, Yuji-kun." Leaning in closer and lowering your voice, you confessed, "We lie to Gojo."

Huh?

"He wants to crash our date nights all the time, but Ken would rather eat rocks than invite him," you said with a laugh. "So we lie and tell him it can't be done."

Door opening on your side, you perked up as light flooded your car and you turned you head up to gaze at your husband holding the door.

"What are you laughing about?" your grumpy husband asked. Although his voice was dull and drab, Itadori wondered how you managed to brighten up so much just at the mere sight of the blond man. He was even more confused at how you only stepped out of the car after Nanami had opened it, so much more different than the blond he knew who was strict and hated doing anything beyond the required effort.

To the Nanami who told everyone to drag their own baggage, this seemed like night and day, yet here you were, not even lifting a finger.

Where was the real Nanamin?

"Not at you," you reassured, slipping out as Nanami stepped back slightly. "At Gojo."

Face souring as if he had eaten a lemon, he quickly told you that he didn't even want to think of the white-haired man tonight, not when it was your night. "If you wanted to laugh at clowns, I should've taken you to the circus instead."

Holding on to his arm, you looked up at your husband. "Well then, good thing we have Yuji-kun with us, right? At least someone will laugh at my jokes today."

Exhaling tiredly, Nanami pushed up his glasses to hide the small quirk of his lips.

"Itadori-kun, what are you waiting for? Get out of the car."

Eyes widening, he jolted in his spot, clumsily opening the door and trying not the hit the car next to you. "R-Right!"

"Aww, maybe you should be the gentleman and open the door for him."

Rolling his eyes beneath his round glasses, he placed his hand over your hold on his bicep. "Do you think I open the door for everyone?"

In the background, Itadori watched as you were eye-to-eye with your husband.

Oh, he realized. It's still Nanamin. It was just that you got special treatment.

"You were a sorcerer too?!" Yuji shouted in the restaurant, far too loud for your comfort.

"Itadori-kun!" Nanami snapped from beside you, wine glass held up to his lips. Gasping at his mistake, he quickly scanned the restaurant, eyes skimming across lavish tables draped with silky white cloth, dainty lighting up above, and flower bouquets scattered across the room, but thankfully no wandering or surprised eyes from other patrons that were caught up in what he had yelled out.

"Sorry…" he said, dropping his eyes to look at the first few courses in front of him. Sighing, now Nanami was even more glad that he selected the most secluded table in the restaurant, far away from the other booked tables where everyone got an obstructed view of you three, but where he could see everything in the room.

You waved off your husband's irritation and squeezed his hand underneath the table. You waited until his knitted eyebrows relaxed a bit before you even thought of looking away.

"That's alright, Yuji-kun." You had met him before this, but you were sure that you had given off the impression of someone who was pampered and privileged as you opened up the door for Nanami and Itadori that one day in nothing but a simple chemise (that Nanami covered up before the teen's eyes) and your face mask on with your hair up. Certainly not battle-ready. Not to mention, you had introduced yourself as another office worker, leading Itadori to believe that was where you two met.

"You didn't know," you said understandingly before your eyes softened. "That's actually how Ken and I met — Oh, he was so different back then. He actually gave me a whole box of poetry inspired by our favorite emo bands back in — "

"Darling," he said sharply, rather than affectionately.

Laughing off the intense aura Nanami was giving off, you continued. "You know, I come from a pretty old sorcerer family. We were a big deal back in the Meiji period, but we all died off since then." With a shrug, you added, "My mom never wanted me to be a sorcerer anyway, so I guess it all worked out that I ended up quitting after graduation."

"Huh?" Itadori tilted his head in confusion. "If your mom didn't let you, how were you able to join Jujutsu Tech?" With those old coots around every corner, it was harder to get into JJ Tech than leave.

Barking out a laugh, you grinned at the pink-haired teen. "Cause I thought I was sooo edgy back then. I thought I was being so cool." Then, suddenly — you grew pacified as the onslaught of memories hit you. When you spoke up next, your voice was a lot quieter. "I was obsessed with being different and finding myself, I thought…" When your memories conjured up a certain brown-haired boy you had lost once upon a time, you faltered. "At graduation, I realized I ended up losing a lot more than I had discovered."

A large hand landed on your thigh, and you were only called back to earth after Nanami had given your leg a quick squeeze. Nothing suggestive or intense, but as you focused on the warmth of his palm and the feather-like touch of his fingers brushing across your skin, you focused again on the present.

"I was just lucky and landed myself a good job. My brother-in-law was one of the co-founders of a well-to-do startup, and they got me a cushy position, so I'm more than happy with what I have now." Placing one of your hands on top of Nanami's you made sure to point those last words at him, just to assure him. Righting yourself up to push these memories behind you, "And besides, I'm sure Ken has the short end of the — "

Slam!

When you blinked the splatters from your eyes, you realized what had happened around you. A tripped-over waitress was hands and knees on the ground, three dishes of your lamb roast had scattered across the polished wooden floors amongst shattered plates, and furthermore, your pristine button-up shirt was warm and drenched in dark red wine sauce.

"Shit," you muttered into the quiet air, and that was all you needed for chaos to descend from every corner. Itadori was yelling something in your ear, your husband was quickly trying to pat your shirt dry, the tearful waitress was extremely apologetic on her knees, and all while the owner of the establishment came rushing forward to see what the commotion was all about.

"What is the meaning of this!" the man roared, red in the face before whirling in on the girl. "Hima — !"

"M-Ma'am, I-I'm extremely sorry," she said with her head bowed while she was still on the ground. "I hope that you can please forgive me — "

"Hey," you said easily. The last thing you wanted was for a young girl to cry. "It's alright," you tried to speak up against the overlapping voices.

"Please forgive us," the owner said, head bowed as well while he gave her a nasty glare from the side. "She's new here. I assure you that this behavior is unacceptable here, and I'll be sure to — "

"Hey," you sternly spoke through. "It's fine. Really. Everyone makes mistakes," you said gently, keeping your eye carefully on the young girl. "And it's just a shirt. This will come off." Tilting your head up toward the blond man who was worriedly hovering around you. This was something that he gifted you. "This stain will come off, right?"

Giving you a quick nod, Nanami carefully pulled out the strands of hair attached to the side of your neck from the spill. "If it doesn't, I'll buy you a new one," he said immediately.

Quirking up your lip at him, you said, "That's unnecessary. Like I said, it's just a shirt." Catching the girl's eye contact, you said calmly, "Everything's fine. Please go patch your knee up." You excused her.

The boss seemingly wanted to argue, opening his mouth to argue as the girl thankfully nodded, hidden behind a curtain of her hair before she rushed away, but the sight of your husband's dark stare from over your shoulder, as he stood large, muscled, and broad, shut him up.

"Where's your bathroom?" you asked. Your shirt was becoming transparent and sticking uncomfortably.

The owner looked extremely apologetic again. "It's currently closed for cleaning, but I'll let my employees know — no more than five minutes — !"

"That's alright," you repeated shortly.

"Go get my wife a laundry bag and a towel." The owner certainly wasn't going to argue when your husband stood like a pillar behind you. Holding his clean hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he breathed carefully. "As fast as possible."

"R-Right away." With a bow, the owner made another uneasy promise of covering your dry cleaning, restaurant bill, and that he would send someone to clean this up immediately.

"Kennie," you called. As the spill cooled, the sauce stuck to your skin and was starting to become oily and coagulated, overall unpleasant the longer it lingered. Cringing, you said, "I don't want to wear this shirt any longer, can you help me?"

No further words were needed. With a quick flash of movement, almost as fast as how he took down curses with his ratio, Itadori watched as the older man pulled his blazer off his body and stood to hold it up around you like a curtain.

The man's large arms were nearly encircling you, muscles flexing as he tilted his body and blazer to give you all the privacy you needed to change. Facing the ceiling-to-floor windows that gave you the grand view of the Tokyo skyline, you began unbuttoning your shirt.

Although Itadori caught a peek of the top of your lacy black bra, he quickly averted his eyes with pink cheeks, both out of shame, and with how Nanami's gaze could've set him on fire.

"You can put your shirt here," Nanami gestured, nodding toward the back of his chair. Nodding, you quickly dropped your wet shirt out of your hands, allowing Itadori to see the LEMAIRE tag poking out from the folds.

You patted yourself clean with the cloth napkins you had around the table, and you thanked Itadori as he handed you his. Once you cleaned off as much of the spill as possible, your bare shoulders finally met with the sleek silk lining of your husband's jacket. As you slipped your arms around the oversized jacket sleeves, Nanami finished helping you button up his jacket.

Taking a knee, the blond man cleaned up your chair before he let you sit down. The blazer was comically oversized on you, giving you broad shoulders from the sturdy padding, and the lapels gave you a low cut where your bra could still be seen, but it was better than nothing.

The blond man let out a deep sigh. If he wasn't in public, no — if you two were the only people at the table, he wouldn't waste any time to tuck his face in your shoulder or rest his head on your lap even.

"Darling," Nanami started, and immediately Itadori was shocked at how the stern and reserved Nanami seemed so soft. "This date's been a mess, I'm sorry — " Weak even, against your presence.

"Why are you apologizing?" you said with a chuckle. "The date has barely even started yet! And now we get free food!"

Giving you a frown he added, "What's the point if you had to be embarrassed like this?" Beautiful brown eyes peered up at you, and you swore you could never get sick of the sight, not even to this day.

"Embarrassed? I've done a lot more humiliating things as a high schooler — willingly too." With a grin, you reached over to pinch his high cheekbone. "And I love wearing your clothes anyway."

"I — "

"Nothing a shower won't fix," you interrupted him by grabbing his face and leaning over to give him an Inuit kiss. "And what's the matter with one 'ruined' date?" Holding up your hand, you showed off your grand wedding and engagement ring. "You locked me down anyway," you said cheekily. "I'm not going anywhere."

Yet the blond man looked regretful anyway. Ashamed that he made your night anything less than wonderful.

You wondered where it all came from, this insane pressure to give you what he deemed as a perfect life — the perfect adulthood, rather. Perhaps it was from how you constantly repeated how much you valued and appreciated him when he was being bogged down by competitive coworkers who walked all over him.

Or perhaps it was from the look on your face as you sat next to Haibara's body in the morgue, as the light slowly dimmed from your eyes.

Heart swelling with true love, you couldn't resist pulling the man forward for a real kiss. One deep and hearty, skin against skin, until space had never existed, and you could get your atoms to touch.

"Um..." Itadori squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

Did you forget he was here?

#nanami x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff

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frogchiro · 8 months

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Cowboy Casanova

Day 2 entry!! Yay! Today we have our favorite american slasher, Graves! I hope you enjoy reading♡

Warnings: nsfw, mentions of blood, death and a tiny bit of gore but not too much, it's slasher Graves, general pervy, creepy behavior and just kinda toxic and obsessive Graves, stalking

Philip Graves is a particular man. Coming from an extremely rich and privileged background, basically from the beginning he had or would get everything he would ever want. When he wanted his very own horse at 8? His papa got him one from the best breeder. He wanted a fancy pick up truck at 16 to show off to his peers the moment he got his license? His parents gave him the keys with a smile. He wanted to bang a girl when he was in college? Here she was, hopping on his dick an hour later.

But the thing about Philip Graves was that he's a very jealous and possessive man. He might be called a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in his mouth but he jealously covets and protects what he cherishes; the gifted horse had the best everything it could ever want and it peacefully died of old age, the pick up truck was thoroughly loved and taken care of and is still in his garage used for recreational rides, as for the girlfriend? Well...yeah sure he dumped her like a week after but at least he snatched her right from under some shit-for-brains rugby player.

But as years passed by nothing seemed to excite him anymore, sure he had his fun in many ways, even picked up a new hobby or two, but even the screams and begging of his victims didn't do the trick anymore. Now that he's pushing 40, Philip's mind starts to wander to places he never thought it would; a pretty floral sundress or skirt moving around his home, a sweet smile and soft eyes greeting him when he gets home from wrangling his ranch, the delicious smell of a nutricious, fatty dinner wafting through the kitchen and the pitter patter of tiny feet clumsily running towards him, a flash of a tiny pink dress jumping at him. A family. Something Philip never thought about in his youth but he guesses the 'biological clock' wasn't complete bullshit as he thought. The problem was that no one really interested him, no one made his heart squeeze and his cock stir to make them the candidate for Philip's wife and those certainly weren't the women in town. No, it had to be someone perfect, a perfect wife, mother, partner for life but there was no one...

Well... his problem solved itself quicker than he thought with your arrival in town. A sweet looking young thing, you looked just about 20 and like a frightened doe when he first saw you get out of the bus one evening with just a measly backpack and a suitcase, not nearly enough to be moving in here but later when he did his own research and asked the local sheriff after you he found out you were apparently staying here and Philip would be lying if he said that his cock didn't pulse in his jeans with happiness.

He didn't believe in love at first sight, fuck no, that was some bullshit in those terrible romantic comedies and such, he didn't have time for this but with you? The blonde man knew you would be trouble with your big, doe eyes, soft body and those broad hips he was sure would carry a baby for him, his baby...

He found put that you were renting a room in old Margery's home in exchange for working in her orchard and helping her around her little farm. Pff, if he had it his way, if only you came to him for help, you wouldn't ever have to lift a finger again, just be sweet and nice and cook him dinner buuut well, here you are.

You may ask, how did he find out all these things about you? Well the thing about Philip is that he's very persistent and once he sets his sight on something, he will get it even if he has to resolve to some...unethical methods like stalking although he'd rather call it 'gathering information for good, future use' which leads you now to the present where the blonde man is hiding behind some bushes and trees to look at you getting ready for bed.

He still can't believe his luck, your room is on the upper floor facing the dark orchard where especially at night like now, Philip can go undetected and he takes full advantage of it. He watches you undress from your pretty pastel sundress, your tits and soft tummy on show, not to mention your hips and thighs.

"Ohh you're just asking for it darlin', ain't ya?" Philip growled lowly to himself as he watched you slip into a nightgown, a modest thing but still pretty plus it showed off a lot of your cleavage and Graves licked his lips before biting his lip at the thought of suckling your cute nipples, marking up your tits so that everyone would know that you're his-but what is that? What are you doing, you little songbird?

Philip's train of thoughts was abruptly cut short when he saw you dimming your lights and slipping a hand under your nightgown, the other one slipping off the shoulder strap down and starting to finger at your nipple. From this distance and due to the darkness around he couldn't see well but he saw your brows draw in tight, your pretty lips falling open to gasp as your fingers worked probably on your clit.

"You little fuckin' tease..." came growled from Philip, his teeth gnashing at the display, a sudden weave of possessiveness washing over him. Suddenly he's jealous of everything, even your bed and nightgown that they get to witness your pleasure and not him. Not your future husband and father of your babies, it doesn't matter that you haven't formally met yet, he will make sure you will soon.

For now though he needs to retreat, go back to his huge but lonely and quiet house and jerk off until his cock is red and raw, balls empty and his belly and chest splattered with his sperm that he grumbles should be inside you but he has to make do for now.

Just you wait little love, soon you will be by his side and then no one will even think of coming between you♡

#kin speaks #kin's kinktober #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves

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xtra7s · 4 months

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𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 (𝗪𝗟𝗪) ──── 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Regina and Y/N were friends as kids, and it became something more. That scared Regina, so she pushed her away and Y/N moved towns. What happens when she returns to Evanston?

Content: Renee Rapp Regina George x Neutral!Reader, cunnilingus, fingering, angst, internal homophobia, slight homophobia from Regina

Word Count: 3.2k

masterlist

The halls of North Shore High School buzzed with excitement as the first day of the new school year unfolded. Among the sea of students, a figure moved gracefully, navigating the unfamiliar terrain with a mix of confidence and curiosity. Y/N, the newest addition to North Shore, was no stranger to adapting to new environments. However, this time felt different, as memories from the past resurfaced, intertwined with the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Regina George, the reigning queen bee of North Shore High, had made her mark long before the first bell rang. With her signature blonde hair, flawless fashion sense, and a magnetic presence that commanded attention, Regina was a force to be reckoned with. Little did the student body know that hidden beneath the polished exterior was a shared history between Regina and Y/N – a history that stretched back to their childhood.

Y/N had been Regina's best friend, confidante, and partner in mischief during their formative years. But as life often unfolds, circumstances pulled them apart, leading Y/N to move away. The separation left an indelible mark on both their lives, leaving Y/N with a void that no new friendship could fill.

Returning to their hometown for the final year of high school, Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of nostalgia and trepidation. The thought of encountering Regina again stirred emotions long dormant. Would Regina remember their past, or had time eroded those shared memories?

As Y/N approached her locker, the familiar scent of Regina's perfume wafted through the air, triggering a flood of memories. Glancing around, Y/N's eyes landed on the unmistakable figure of Regina George. The queen bee was surrounded by her loyal minions, each vying for her attention.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N summoned the courage to approach Regina, their eyes locking in a moment of recognition. Regina's gaze flickered with a hint of surprise, and for a fleeting second, a softness replaced the usual steely demeanor. The unspoken connection between them lingered, a silent acknowledgment of a shared history that refused to be forgotten.

Little did they know that the reunion marked the beginning of a journey filled with rediscovery, friendship, and the possibility of a love that transcended the boundaries of time and high school hierarchies. The stage was set, and North Shore High School would bear witness to a love story that defied expectations and ignited the flames of passion between Regina George and Y/N.

The first day of school unfolded with a mix of routine and anticipation. Y/N found their way to the classroom listed on their schedule, taking a seat in the back, away from the prying eyes of curious classmates. As the minutes ticked away, the room filled with the hum of conversation, punctuated by occasional laughter.

Regina George, the undisputed queen of North Shore, entered the classroom with an air of confidence that demanded attention. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they met Y/N's, a flicker of recognition crossed Regina's face. The queen bee's lips curved into a subtle smile, an acknowledgment of the shared history that lingered between them.

Throughout the class, Regina's eyes occasionally wandered in Y/N's direction, their gaze meeting in fleeting moments that spoke volumes. As the bell signaled the end of the period, Y/N couldn't help but wonder about the significance of those exchanged glances.

As the days passed, Y/N navigated the complex social dynamics of high school. The hallways were a battleground of cliques and alliances, each vying for a coveted spot on the social hierarchy. Yet, Y/N found unexpected solace in the company of Janis Ian and Damien Leigh, a pair of misfits who thrived on embracing their uniqueness.

Janis, with her vibrant hair and bold fashion choices, exuded a rebellious spirit that drew Y/N in. Damien, on the other hand, was a beacon of positivity and humor, his infectious laughter echoing through the hallways. Together, they formed an unlikely trio that defied the norms of high school cliques.

During lunch, Y/N found a seat at the same table as Janis and Damien, the trio forming a tight-knit circle of camaraderie. Regina's eyes followed the scene from across the cafeteria, a subtle curiosity sparking within her.

It wasn't long before Regina, flanked by her loyal minions, approached the table. The air crackled with tension as the two worlds collided – Regina George, the queen bee, and Y/N, the newcomer finding solace in an unconventional friendship.

Regina's gaze lingered on Y/N, her eyes betraying a mixture of intrigue and possessiveness. Janis and Damien exchanged knowing glances, recognizing the unspoken tension that hung in the air. The encounter marked the beginning of a delicate dance between past and present, friendship and rivalry.

The air seemed to thicken as Regina's piercing gaze met Y/N's, and with a subtle nod, she signaled towards the nearby bathroom.

"Y/N, can we talk?" Regina's voice cut through the ambient noise, her expression a mix of vulnerability and determination.

Caught off guard, Y/N hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. Together, they slipped into the bathroom, the door closing behind them, muffling the sounds of the bustling hallway.

The tension in the small space was palpable as Regina searched for the right words. "I... I've been thinking a lot about us, about the past," Regina admitted, her usually confident demeanor faltering. "I can't shake the feeling that there's something between us, something unfinished."

Y/N studied Regina's face, the vulnerability evident in her eyes. Memories of their childhood friendship flooded back, and Y/N couldn't deny the magnetic pull that still existed between them.

Regina continued, "I know we haven't talked in years, but seeing you again brings back a lot of memories. I know I reacted badly, but I didn't expect you to up and leave town."

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within. "Regina, a lot has changed since we were kids. Life happened, and we went our separate ways. But I can't deny the connection we had, and maybe there's room for us to rebuild something, maybe even something more than friends."

Regina backed up as a student came in, her face morphing into something unrecognizable to Y/N. "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not a lesbo, why are you so obsessed with me?" She scoffs, rushing out of the bathroom away from Y/N.

As Y/N left the bathroom, the weight of the conversation hung in the air. The journey of rediscovery had begun, and Y/N couldn't ignore the stirring of emotions that Regina's presence evoked.

following their bathroom conversation, Y/N attempted to navigate the delicate balance between the past and the present. Despite Regina's initial vulnerability, an unspoken tension lingered beneath the surface. Regina, the queen bee of North Shore, couldn't escape the fear that revealing her true self would jeopardize the carefully constructed image she had built.

As whispers and rumors circulated through the halls, Regina's insecurities intensified. The fear of being exposed as a lesbian, in a world that thrived on conformity, weighed heavily on her shoulders. In an attempt to shield herself from the judgment and potential backlash, Regina withdrew into the safety of her familiar role – the mean girl who ruled with an iron fist.

Y/N, sensing Regina's internal struggle, found themselves on the receiving end of Regina's newfound hostility. Regina's cutting remarks and cold demeanor seemed like a defense mechanism, a shield erected to protect herself from the scrutiny of others. The pain of Regina's words cut deep, leaving Y/N confused and hurt.

One day, after enduring another round of Regina's harsh words, Y/N decided to confront her. They cornered Regina in a more secluded area of the school, away from prying eyes and judgmental gazes.

"Why are you doing this, Regina?" Y/N asked, their voice a mix of frustration and concern. "You wanted to start over, and now you're bashing me all over school? I didn't do anything other than care about you."

Regina's gaze flickered with a combination of fear and defiance. "I can't let people find out, Y/N. I can't let them see the real me. If they knew, everything I've built would crumble."

Y/N sighed, understanding the weight of Regina's struggle. "Regina, you don't have to hide who you are. I get that it's scary, but pushing people away won't protect you. It's okay to be yourself, and I'll stand by you if you let me."

Regina's walls began to crack, her tough exterior faltering. The vulnerability Y/N had glimpsed in the bathroom resurfaced, and Regina's eyes betrayed the fear of being seen for who she truly was.

In the days that followed, Regina found herself wrestling with the conflicting emotions that accompanied the prospect of embracing her authentic self. The fear of judgment and rejection warred against the desire for connection and acceptance. Y/N, undeterred by Regina's initial resistance, continued to extend a hand of understanding and support.

One day, after a particularly intense encounter in the hallway, Regina hesitated before approaching Y/N. The echoes of their shared past and the sincerity in Y/N's eyes weighed on her conscience. Regina took a deep breath, steeling herself for a momentous decision.

"Y/N, I... I've been thinking," Regina began, her usual confident demeanor wavering. "Maybe I need to give us a chance. A real chance."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and hope. "Gina, I would really like that. But are you sure?"

Regina nodded, a newfound determination in her gaze. " Let's do something different, something outside the walls of this school where everyone knows us. Let's go on a date."

Y/N's face lit up with a smile. "A date? Like, a real date?"

Regina chuckled, the tension of the moment breaking. "Yes, a real date. Outside of North Shore, where we can just be ourselves without the judgmental eyes of this place."

The decision to go on a date marked a significant step for both Y/N and Regina. They decided on a weekend getaway, a trip to a nearby town where they could escape the confines of high school gossip and expectations. The excitement and nervous anticipation hung in the air as they made plans for their adventure.

On the chosen day, Y/N and Regina met outside the school gates, a sense of liberation accompanying them as they embarked on their journey. The drive was filled with laughter, shared past stories, and a sense of connection that transcended the roles they had played in the rigid social structure of North Shore.

As they explored the quaint town, Y/N and Regina discovered hidden gems, shared moments of vulnerability, and found comfort in the authenticity of their connection. The date became a pivotal chapter in their evolving story, a testament to the resilience of love that dared to defy expectations.

As Regina let go of her fears, the walls she had built around herself began to crumble. The journey toward self-acceptance was far from over, but in the company of Y/N, Regina discovered the strength to face the unknown with courage and authenticity. The out-of-town date became a turning point for Regina.

The sun dipped below the horizon as Regina and Y/N explored the charming town that promised a respite from the familiar halls of North Shore High. Their laughter echoed through the streets as they explored quaint shops, enjoyed a leisurely dinner at a cozy restaurant, and strolled hand in hand along cobblestone streets, Regina letting go of Y/Ns hand to check her phone every time someone walked by.

As the evening unfolded, Regina suggested checking into a small bed and breakfast-hotel that exuded charm and character. The quaint building, adorned with ivy-covered walls and warmly lit windows, welcomed them as they stepped inside.

The hotel's lobby, with its plush furniture and a crackling fireplace, created an inviting atmosphere. Regina approached the front desk to check them in, while Y/N took in the surroundings with a content smile.

"We have a reservation for George," Regina informed the receptionist.

The receptionist, a friendly woman with a warm smile, found their reservation and handed them a key card. "Room 203, enjoy your stay."

As Regina and Y/N made their way to the room, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. Opening the door to their cozy haven for the weekend, they were met with soft lighting, a comfortable bed adorned with plush pillows, and a picturesque view of the town.

Regina turned to Y/N, a playful glint in her eyes. "Well, here we are. Our own little getaway."

Y/N grinned in response. "It's perfect, Gina. I'm proud of you for being here with me."

Regina reached for Y/N's hand, their fingers intertwining. "No, thank you, for helping me face what I've been avoiding for so long."

The hotel room became a haven where the walls of pretense crumbled further. The air was charged with the shared history of Regina and Y/N, and yet, it felt like the beginning of something entirely new.

As the night unfolded, they shared stories, dreams, and whispered confessions. The weight of Regina's fears began to lift, replaced by the warmth of Y/N's presence. It was a night of vulnerability and connection, an intimate exploration of the depths of their emotions. Regina suggests watching a movie, turning on 'legally blonde', making Y/N roll her eyes in silence.

The moon cast a soft glow through the window as Regina and Y/N found solace in each other's arms. The hotel room, a sanctuary away from the judgments of the outside world, became a space where they could be unapologetically themselves.

As the film progressed, they found themselves getting closer on the crowded bed, their legs entwined and bodies pressed against each other.

The night had loosened them up enough that neither could resist the growing desire between them. Their lips met hungrily, tongues dancing wildly in each other's mouths as their hands roamed freely over each other's bodies.

Y/N's fingers traced slowly downwards, stopping just short of Regina's clothed entrance. "Are you sure about this?" they asked, their voice trembling with excitement mixed with uncertainty.

"I want it," Regina whispered back, her breathing heavy with desire. Regina and Y/N quickly discard their clothes, as if emboldened by her admission, Y/N slid one finger inside her pussy, causing Regina to gasp and squirm in delight. They continued to tease her sensitive spot, building up the anticipation as Y/N pushed another finger inside her, curling their fingers to massage her insides rhythmically.

Meanwhile, Y/N's own pussy throbbed with need, dripping juices onto the sheets below them. Regina reached between their legs, teasing their clit and rubbing it vigorously, moaning loudly as she did so. Their hips arched upward into each other's touch, begging for more.

Regina leaned down, her lips brushing against Y/N's neck before trailing along their shoulder blade and finally reaching their breast. She sucked on the nipple hungrily, moaning in delight as she felt it grow harder in her mouth. Her tongue flicked across the sensitive flesh, teasing and torturing it mercilessly.

Y/N arched their back, moaning loudly as Regina's skilled ministrations sent waves of pleasure coursing through their body. They gripped tightly onto the sheets beneath them, their nails digging into the fabric as they lost themselves in the intensity of the moment.

Y/N's body tensed up, their orgasm building rapidly. "I'm... I'm close," they panted, their voice cracking with need. In response, Regina sucked harder on Y/Ns right nipple, her tongue swirling around it in circles faster than before.

"Cum for me, baby," she moaned, her words laced with lust. Her fingers dug deeper into Y/N, hitting their sweet spot and curling her fingers. This final touch was enough to push Y/N over the edge; they cried out loudly as their entire body convulsed in ecstasy. Their pussy throbbed violently against Regina's fingers, releasing shakily as Regina helps her ride out her high.

Regina kissed Y/N eagerly, groaning in satisfaction as she felt herself nearing her own climax. She continued to suck on Y/N's breasts as they fingered her. Y/N laid Regina down, trailing kisses down her body as they got to her pussy.

They kissed her clit teasingly, Regina grasping Y/Ns hair tightly to guide her to where she needs her most.

Their tongue darted out tentatively, tracing along Regina's inner thigh before brushing against her wet entrance. "You taste delicious," Y/N murmured approvingly, their fingers teasing her clit and massaging her swollen labia.

Regina moaned softly, arching her back into the sensation. Her body trembled slightly as Y/N's tongue delved deeper into her wetness, circling her clitoris delicately. Their tongue flicked at her opening, teasing and taunting her sensitive flesh until she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Please... I need more!" Regina begged, her voice thick with desire. Without further hesitation, Y/N slid their tongue inside her pussy, lapping up every drop of her juices like a starving animal. Their hand moved down to her ass, massaging and kneading it roughly, adding an extra layer of pleasure to the already overwhelming sensations.

Regina's orgasm finally crashed over her like waves crashing onto a beach, and she cried out in pure ecstasy. Her body convulsed violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her sensitive flesh. Her pussy clenched tightly, Y/N helping her ride out the high as they left light kisses on her thigh.

When the intensity subsided, both girls lay panting heavily, their bodies still pressed together. Their hearts raced wildly in sync, their breaths matching each other's rhythm. They kissed passionately again, their tongues tangling together in a messy dance of post-coital bliss. "That was... incredible," Regina managed to gasp out between labored breaths.

As they nestled into the warmth of each other's presence, the weight of Regina's fears and the tension of their shared history seemed to dissipate. The air was filled with a sense of peace, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes without the need for words.

Regina turned to Y/N, her gaze softening as she traced the contours of Y/N's face with her eyes. Y/N met Regina's gaze, their connection deepening in the hushed intimacy of the room.

With a tender smile, Regina whispered, "Thank you, Y/N, for being here with me, and for giving us a chance."

Y/N returned the smile, their fingers gently intertwining. "I'm glad we're here, Regina. It feels like I never left."

In the quietude of the night, they drifted into a tranquil slumber, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. The rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths synchronized, creating a harmony that echoed the unspoken promises of the future.

As sleep claimed them, the hotel room became a sanctuary where the complexities of high school drama, societal expectations, and the weight of past mistakes faded away. In the simplicity of shared dreams, Regina and Y/N discovered a profound sense of peace, knowing that they were no longer navigating the uncertainties alone.

The moon continued to cast its soft glow, a silent witness to the beginning of a journey that transcended the confines of North Shore High and the expectations of the world outside. Wrapped in the embrace of slumber, Regina and Y/N found solace in the serenity of the moment, ready to face whatever challenges the dawn might bring.

But would Regina really change? Would Y/N just get hurt when they return to school? Who knows.

(I do! Let me know if you guys want a part 2!!)

#lesbian #wlw #renee rapp x reader #regina george #regina george x reader #mean girls #leighton murray x reader #the sex lives of college girls

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